UNISA CENTRE FOR LATIN AMERICAN STUDIES

Transcription

VOLUME 16 NO 2 2000
BIANNUAL JOURNAL* OF THE UNISA CENTRE FOR LATIN
AMERICAN STUDIES FOR MEMBERS OF THE CENTRE
Editor:
ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell, Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies
Guest Editor:
Deon Fourie, Dept. of Political Sciences, Unisa
Editorial Board:
Virgilio R BeltraÂn, Dept. of Sociology, Instituto Torcuato di Tella
Beluce Belluci, Centro de Estudos Afro-AsiaÂticos, Universidade
CaÃndido Mendes
Horacio Cerutti-Guldberg, Dept. of Philosophy, Universidad AutoÂnoma de MeÂxico
Phil Eidelberg, Dept. of History, Unisa
Deon Fourie, Dept. of Political Sciences (Strategic Studies), Unisa
Roger Gravil, Dept. of Historical Studies (Economic History),
University of Natal
Emilio Meneses, Political Science, Pontificia Universidad CatoÂlica de
Chile
Burridge Spies, Dept. of History, Unisa
Editorial Advisory Board:
Miguel Angel Burelli Rivas, Dept. of Sociology, Universidad SimoÂn
BolõÂ var
Frik de Beer, Dept. of Development Administration, Unisa
Deon Geldenhuys, Dept. of Political Studies, Rand Afrikaans
University
Philip Mohr, Dept. of Economics, Unisa
Juan M Ossio, Dept. of Anthropology, Pontificia Universidad CatoÂlica
del Peru
George Philip, Latin American Studies, London School of Economics
AndreÂ Thomashausen, Institute of Foreign and Comparative Law,
Unisa
Editorial Secretary:
Moetsie du Plessis
Unisa Latin American Report is an interdisciplinary journal of research and commentary relating to Latin America. Its purpose is to
promote scholarly understanding of and general information about that continent. It features research articles, commentary,
interviews, news and information, reports and book reviews.
The editorial policy of the journal and its publishers is to be non-partisan, and responsibility for opinions and accuracy of data
remains that of the contributors. Contributions are submitted for the consideration and recommendation of editorial advisers, the
final decision being that of the editor. Manuscripts should be between 10 and 25 typewritten double-spaced pages. Footnotes
and bibliographic citations should follow the Harvard method. Manuscripts will not be returned to the authors.
Membership of the Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies includes subscription to the Unisa Latin American Report.
All correspondence concerning membership, contributions, comments, etc. should be directed to
The Editor
Unisa Latin American Report
PO Box 392
UNISA
0003
Republic of South Africa
e-mail: Editorial: [email protected]
Tel: +27+12+429±6674
Fax: +27+12+429±3680
Subscriptions: [email protected]
Printed and published by the University of South Africa
# Copyright reserved
ISSN 0256±6060
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
* This journal is indexed in the International Bibliography of the Social Sciences, the Index to South African
Periodicals and Sabinet
UNISA CENTRE FOR LATIN AMERICAN STUDIES VOL. 16 NO. 2, 2000
Editorial
3
RESEARCH ARTICLES
President Fernando
Henrique Cardoso
p 63
. A state failure-violence-resource capture triangle: Comparing the
Angolan and Colombian experiences ± David Broekman
. The cultural formation of Brazil and the present structure of its judiciary ±
Durval de Noronha Goyos Jr.
. Contemporary Shamanism ± vegetalismo in the Peruvian Amazon ±
Wynand Koch
. Academic freedom in Brazil ± Pedro Paulo A Funari
4
35
42
59
NEWS AND INFORMATION
. The South American Summit: A new era for Brazilian foreign policy ±
ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell
. The current YanomamoÈ scandal: Neel, Chagnon et al. ± Chris van
Vuuren
Prof Stuart Hall
p 70
62
67
UCLAS REPORTS
. Cultural studies highlighted at Comparative Literature Conference in
Brazil ± ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell
. South African Navy participates in fleet review commemorating 500th
anniversary of the discovery of Brazil ± Keith Campbell
69
72
IDB NEWS
. On the right path ± Peter Bate
. Soccer meets economics ± Peter Bate
Henry Kissinger (right)
with PeleÂ and Enrique
Iglesias
p 78
74
77
UCLAS NEWS IN BRIEF
. Latin America at SAITEX 2000
. Argentina at Africa Aerospace and Defence 2000 and SAAF 80
ISSN 0256±6060±Unisa Lat. Am. Rep. 16(2) 2000
79
79
1
.
.
.
.
.
Piano performance at University of Pretoria, Musaion
Brazilian historian at Unisa
Uclas fellow reports back
Head of the Centre visits Namibia
Colombian gold exhibit at the University of Pretoria
81
82
82
83
85
BOOK NEWS
Review Essay
Colombian gold artefact
p 85
2
. The Innkeeper's Underwear, or How Fantastic Latin American Fiction
Can Be ± a review of Prospero's Mirror: A Translator's Portfolio of Latin
American Short Fiction by Ilan Stavans, ed ± reviewed by Jeroen
Oskam
86
Editorial
T
he wide range of interests that concern the Unisa Centre for Latin American
Studies is once again emphasized in this issue of Unisa Latin American
Report. The four main articles deal with the fields of law, anthropology,
comparative politics and human rights.
Each article contributes a valuable insight into some aspect of a variety of the aspects
of work which engages UCLAS in its research, publications and consultations.
For foreigners seeking to do business in Brazil, Noronha's article gives useful
background material on the cultural-legal differences reflected in Brazil's history. It
indicates the need for business to become aware of more than simply economic
opportunity when committing itself to foreign countries.
Koch, bringing home the value of what one is inclined to regard as `primitive'
medical practices in a society in which modern medicinal practitioners are too few
and medicine too costly, emphasizes that there are lessons to be learned in other
countries in similar situations of scarcity, poverty or great distances from urban
centres.
In a well-researched paper comparing the phenomenon of state failure in Colombia
and Angola, Broekman offers valuable insights into the inherited perception by
leaders of the state as a source for personal gain to be exploited as an explanation of
why states in Africa and South America have not easily developed into modern
western states after gaining independence.
The article by Funari explains that the constraints placed upon academic freedom in
Brazil by the traditional hierarchical social structure of the country, including the
influence of twenty-one years of dictatorship, have not been lifted by democratization since 1985. Read with Broekman's article, this article also offers the potential for
the better understanding of the nature of the state not only in South America, but
also in Africa.
`To understand is to forgive' ± or perhaps that old adage can be taken too far.
Nevertheless, while the knowledge in the latter articles may be a source of
despondency for those living though early periods of post-colonialism, there is also
room for hope. Read with Crane Brinton's and Charles Tilly's views on the courses of
revolution, the articles give this editor hope that the knowledge they offer provides a
reason for believing in the future for all countries experiencing the problems
described.
Other important issues addressed in this edition are the historic first South American
summit, and the `YanomamoÈ scandal' that is currently convulsing the world of
anthropology.
Good wishes to all for the Christmas season and also for 2001 and after.
Editor
3
A state failure-violence-resource
capture triangle: Comparing the
Angolan and Colombian experiences
by David Broekman
David O Broekman was a diplomat in the South
African Department of Foreign Affairs, and
served at the South African High Commission
in Gaborone, Botswana (1992±1995), the South
African Embassy in The Hague (1995±1996), and
in the Directorate for Latin America at the
Union Buildings (1996±1997). He recently obtained an MA in International Relations from
Webster University, Leiden campus, with distinguished graduate status. He now lives permanently in The Netherlands. This paper is an
edited version of his MA dissertation.
David Broekman
4
ABSTRACT
RESUMEN
RESUMO
In an attempt to identify and analyse
similarities and differences between the
Angolan and Colombian state failure
experiences, three main components or
variables of analysis emerge: violence,
state failure and resource capture. This
article emphasizes their reinforcing relationship brought together in an equilateral triangle used as a heuristic
device. In the subsequent comparison,
each component is emphazised separately, commencing with Angola and
Colombia's history of repressive and
exploitative colonial rule and the absence of incentives for nation building.
Rather than nation building, the corrupt
ruling eÂlite and their main rivals' main
purpose was, and continues to be to
capture, control and exploit the lucrative
resources of diamonds and oil in Angola
and cocaine in Colombia. Their dependence on the global free market forces
of demand and supply, creating wealth
for their war effort and weapons procurement, is also described. By using
empirical data, the author illustrates the
similarities of Angola's and Colombia's
post-independence state decline. The
role of state and non-state actors reflect
interesting similarities vis-aÁ-vis reinforcing the link of the capture of violence
and resources which drive the actors in
both countries. The failure of their
primary commodity exports, again reinforces the actors' commitments to
resource capture. Finally, this author
has examined `constructive' international engagement and preventive diplomacy, as well as possible measures
needed for a definite reverse of the
current disastrous situations in both
countries.
En un intento por analizar e identificar
las similitudes y diferencias entre las
experiencias fallidas del gobierno angolenÄo y colombiano, aparecen principalmente tres componentes o variables de
anaÂlisis: la violencia, el fracaso del
estado y la captura de recursos. Este
artõÂ culo enfatiza la fortalecedora relacioÂn
entablada en un triaÂngulo equilaÂtero
usado como un dispositivo heurõÂ stico.
En la siguiente comparacioÂn, se centra
en cada componente por separado,
comenzando por la historia del gobierno
de represioÂn y explotacioÂn colonial de
Angola y Colombia y la ausencia de
incentivos para la construccioÂn de la
nacioÂn. En logar de la construccioÂn de
una nacioÂn, la intencioÂn primordial de la
clase dirigente corrupta y sus principales
adversarios era y es la captura, control y
explotacioÂn provechosa de los recursos
de diamantes y petroleo en Angola y de
cocaõÂ na en Colombia. Asimismo se
describe su dependencia de las fuerzas
de oferta y procura del mercado libre
mundial, con el fin de enriquecerse para
financiar la guerra y la obtencioÂn de
armas. Por medio de datos empõÂ ricos, el
autor ilustra las similitudes en el decline
del gobierno de ambos paõÂ ses tras su
independencia. El papel de los actores
de dentro y fuera del estado refleja
interesantes semejanzas frente al võÂ nculo fortalecedor entre la captura de la
violencia y recursos que impulsa a los
actores de ambos paõÂ ses. El fracaso de
las exportaciones de sus productos
primarios, refuerza el grado de compromiso de estos actores con respecto a la
captura de recursos. Finalmente, el autor
ha examinado el `constructivo' compromiso internacional y la diplomacia preventiva, asõÂ como las posibles medidas
que se precisan para una definitiva
marcha atraÂs a la desastrosa situacioÂn
actual que atraviesan estos paõÂ ses.
Numa tentativa de analisar e identificar
semelhancËas e diferencËas entre as experieÃncias de fracasso do estado colombiano e angolano, treÃs fatores principais,
ou variaÂveis, veÃm aÁ tona: a violeÃncia, o
fracasso do estado e a tomada de
recursos. Este artigo enfatiza a relacËaÄo
reforcËada desses fatores, encapsulada
em um triaÃngulo equÈilaÂtero usado como
um dispositivo heurõÂ stico. Na comparacËaÄo que segue, cada parte eÂ analizada
separadamente, a comecËar com a histoÂria repressiva e exploradora do regime
colonial tanto em Angola como na
ColoÃmbia, e a falta de incentivos para
a construcËaÄo de uma nacËaÄo. Em vez de
construir uma nacËaÄo, a intencËaÄo principal da classe dirigente corrupta e seus
principais adversaÂrios era e continua a
ser a tomada, o controÃle e a exploracËaÄo
dos lucrativos recursos de diamantes e
petroÂleo em Angola, e da cocaõÂ na na
Colombia. A sua dependeÃncia das forcËas globais do mercado livre ± oferta e
procura ±, a criacËaÄo de riqueza para a
guerra e a compra de armamentos
tambeÂ m saÄo mencionadas. O autor
ilustra as semelhancËas entre o declõÂ nio
do estado angolano e colombiano apoÂs
a independeÃncia. O papel de atores
dentro e fora do estado espelha semelhancËas interessantes quanto ao võÂ nculo
entre a violeÃncia e a tomada de recursos
que propelam os atores em ambos os
paõÂ ses. O fracasso da exportacËaÄo de
seus produtos principais reforcËa o grau
de compromisso desses atores quanto aÁ
tomada de recursos. Finalmente o autor
examina o envolvimento internacional
`construtivo' e a diplomacia preventiva,
assim como possõÂ veis medidas necessaÂrias para uma reviravolta definitiva das
desastrosas situacËoÄes atuais em ambos
os paõÂ ses.
INTRODUCTION
The research topic encompasses three main components of analysis which, put together, could be
compared to the three sides of an equilateral triangle:
(1) state failure, (2) violence, and (3) resource
capture. Figure 1 illustrates this model, ascribing each
component equal importance. Together they form a
solid triangular unit ± once one component is removed
or separated from the other, the full picture of state
failure is no longer reflected. The latter is conceived as
a degenerating process of change over time in which
resource capture reinforces state failure and causes
escalation of conflict and violence.
Using the model illustrated in Fig. 1 as a directive,
the principal aim of this paper is to investigate and
compare the Angolan and Colombian state failure
cases. As a starting point, it is necessary to state the
model's relevance to the aim. Both countries, for
example, had similar historical experiences of repressive, exploitative and violent colonial rule. The
colonial rulers' sole purpose was to capture Angola's
and Colombia's respective mineral wealth. Creating
5
conditions for a strong and viable `nation-state' was
not in their minds. Excessive use of force against the
indigenous peoples ultimately generated revolutionary
violence and wars of national liberation, which, in
turn, reinforced conditions of weak and delegitimized
states. The anti-clockwise rotation indicates this
`colonial moment' in time. Similarly, the clockwise
rotation reflects Angola and Colombia's increasing
levels of post-independence state failure, caused by
initial weak state conditions, resource capture, repressive rule and escalating violence. Consequently, a
nation building process in the image of European
states has remained elusive. Lucrative resource output
links (oil, diamonds and cocaine) and input links
(weapons procurement) (indicated by Figure 1),
created conditions for a prolonged and violent
transition, acting both as a cause and consequence
of their state failure. As such, both countries share an
equally important `third' component ± the availability
of large stocks of high value/low volume resources
within their national boundaries, enabling those in
control of these resources to continue their violent
struggle for political power and wealth. Today,
Colombia has the longest-running and most complex
conflict in Latin America. The same may be said of
Angola in Southern Africa. In a mutual, positive and
reinforcing feedback relation, state failure, for example, to enforce legal controls and secure good
governance through strong, transparent institutions,
creates incentives for powerful and corrupt eÂlite
groups to capture, control and exploit the wealth of
resources for personal gain. Their attempts, challenged by e.g. guerrilla forces with the same objective,
lead to conflict escalation and further disintegration
(Messiant 1998; Pearce 1990).
In one way or another, these and other variables,
such as primary commodity export failure and criminalization of society in Angola and Colombia act
together to fill in the `triangular gap', while the larger
outer bloc indicates the triangle's linkage with the
global economy. The arrows to and from the triangle
(Fig. 1) indicate, on the one hand, the global demand
for Angola's and Colombia's lucrative resources of oil
and diamonds and cocaine. On the other hand they
indicate that those who control the resources are able
to earn sufficient foreign revenues to pay for weapons
procurement and so to reinforce violence and state
failure. A general hypothesis incorporating these
components is that: ex-colonial states, which have
in their borders high value/low volume exportable
commodities, are vulnerable to disruption and collapse. Describing the complexities of Angolan and
Colombian state failure, comparable to a tangled knot
with no clear discernible beginning or end, would
require a much more inclusive approach, dealing with
a wide array of potential causes and consequences of
their failure. However, this is beyond the scope of this
paper. Instead, a narrow approach and focus are
favoured, partly inspired by increased media emphasis
on the key role of lucrative resources `behind the
unsavoury business of wars of a third kind' (International Herald Tribune 17 February 2000: 6). The paper
goes on to provide an introductory glimpse of the
applicability of the state failure-violence-resource
capture components, allowing for a comparison
between the Angolan and Colombian experiences.
Colombia's independence from Spain in 1810 (with
FIGURE 1
GLOBAL (CRIMINAL) ECONOMY
SUPPLY
DEMAND
3
DIAMONDS
OIL
COCAINE
SUPPLY
DEMAND
3
~
~
!
RESOURCE
CAPTURE
WEAPONS
!
VARIABLES
VIOLENCE
3 "
STATE FAILURE
6
final military liberation in 1819) did not bring about
conclusive state and nation-building. Rather, Colombia has experienced an almost constant seesaw
process of partial disintegration, followed by brief
periods of reconstruction, the result of formidable
challenges to internal state legitimacy, as well as
control over territory, and political and economic
space. The elected government's exclusive right to
rule has been violently opposed by powerful nonstate
actors such as guerrilla groups and drug cartels.
Colombian independence also commenced with the
birth of a violent order based on political factionalism
(Conservatives versus Liberals), where the ruling
party had no lasting opportunity to consolidate its
power through strong state and civic institutions.
Consequently, central government was unable to
provide adequate collective security and development
opportunities to Colombians (Keen 1996).
Most subsequent governments have suffered the
same fate. Prominent is the co-existence of the
`formal' Colombia which, to the outside world, boasts
all the trappings of a modern polity, and the `real'
Colombia of the people ± a weak, incompetent state
plagued by societal collapse, corruption, crime,
violence, gross human rights violations, and large
income gaps between rich and poor. Central government's state and nation building capability have been
severely restricted by a conflict between the need for
short-term political survival and the longer-run collective interests in economic performance and regime
stability. However, Colombia is far from a collapsed
state (representing the extreme form of state failure).
It is among Latin America's oldest, most stable
functioning democracies, with regular national elections the rule, and military coups d' etat the exception.
Contrary to Latin America's largest state, Brazil, it did
not have to reschedule its debt during recent
economic crises. Steady progress has been made
towards a more diversified and industrialized economy, with textiles leading the way. Notable improvements in education and health standards have taken
place. However, income inequality remains a decisive
constraint. State and government legitimacy, while
being contested, does exist. Other states do recognize
Colombia's national sovereignty and territorial integrity. However, as one of the world's most violent
nations, the result of a wide array of historical, political
and socio-economic problems, the state has failed in
its most important responsibility: to protect and secure
the well-being of its citizens. Generations of ordinary
Colombians have experienced the harsh realities of
rebellion, civil war, corruption, and violent crime
(Pearce 1990; Osterling 1989; Keen 1996:502).
The Angolan `triangle' reflects very similar features.
The violence represents a domestic situation of almost
permanent war ± first a war of liberation against its
colonial ruler, Portugal (1961±1975), and then civil
war between the two main liberation movements, the
MPLA, governing independent Angola, and its main
guerrilla force rival, UNITA (1975 to the present)
(Somerville 1997). Over half of Angola's 11 million
citizens were born after independence 25 years ago,
which ushered in the civil war (Mail and Guardian
1 July 1999:2). While the ingredients of potential
state failure (e.g. traditional clientelism), were already
ingrained during Portuguese rule, a protracted civil
war set into motion state failure in numerous fields,
such as government institutional capacity; the legal
controls; nation building; socio-economic development; human rights, and citizens' well-being and
security. Contrary to the Colombian experience,
Angola has never really managed to become a modern
state. For example, based on 1996 figures, only 27 TV
sets are in use per 1 000 of the population, compared
to 117 per 1 000 of the population in the case of
Colombia (Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe 1999:6).
Angola's current telephone network has only 56 000
lines, compared to Zimbabwe's 212 000 and Colombia's 1,89 million (1994) (Lexis-Nexis Academic
Universe 1999:7; Sowetan, 2 March 2000:23) At the
most, only small, heavily guarded islands of strategic
political and economic centres exist (e.g. oil refinery
works in Cabinda) ± strategic, due to their importance
as generators of foreign capital investment and
revenue for the ruling eÂlite.
Angola exists by default rather than on merit ± it is
not a socio-political reality where Angolans can
peacefully develop to their full potential. Similarly to
Colombia, the Angolan state is clearly recognizable on
a world map; it enjoys equal national sovereignty and
territorial integrity among other nation-states; it has
embassies worldwide and participates in international
organizations such as the UN. However, domestically,
their respective governments have never been willing
or able to fully extend the power and range of a more
or less autonomous national political unit, either by
legal force, national identity, alliances, bargaining,
chicanery, and/or administrative encroachment. Both
tend to act and negotiate from a point of weakness.
Notable examples are the Pastrana government's
willingness to recognize the largest guerrilla force
FARC's freedom of movement and control over large
parts of Colombian territory for the sake of peace
negotiations (the so-called Plan Colombia). In Angola the MPLA government has been willing to
recognize UNITA's control over certain diamond
producing areas (Fituni 1995; Sweeney 1999).
Differently from Colombia, where deep-rooted
political factionalism and social class discrimination
has fuelled violence, Angolan state formation has
been plagued by a mixture of Cold War ideological
divisions, nationalist politics and ethnic polarization
(Messiant 1998:150). Colombians are largely a nation
of Creoles (people of mixed blood: 58 per cent of the
7
total population) with different political group rather
than ethnic allegiances. In Angola, ethnic polarization,
exacerbated by an acute rural-urban development
gap, remains a barrier to unified socio-political
formation. UNITA, for example, has its support base
among Angola's largest ethnic tribe, the Ovimbundu
(37 per cent of total population), while anti-tribal
urban Creole eÂlite groups support the MPLA. Colombia's independence occurred at a time of hegemonic
change, with Great Britain defeating Spain. Angola
became independent in a very different world dominated by the Cold War. It was soon turned into a
superpower proxy conflict, involving foreign intervention by a Soviet-Cuban force supporting the MPLA,
and a US-backed South African force in support of
UNITA. This period also saw mass proliferation of
small arms in Angola and the region, exacerbating
violence and destruction. Colombia did not experience this kind of foreign intervention as a cause of
state failure. Rather, from a US-international security
perspective, the threat of Colombian-based illicit
cocaine trafficking became the prime incentive for
US intervention in Colombian sovereignty. No doubt,
economic backwardness and poverty, worsened by
unevenly distributed domestic income growth and the
crisis of the decline of primary (agricultural) commodity export revenue, have also been ingredients of
Angolan, and to a lesser extent, Colombian state
failure. In both countries, desperate smallholders and
peasant farmers have been forced to consider generating income from more profitable commodities as
the market price of staple products such as coffee,
saw a sharp decline. For many of them, absence of
legal controls and of effective government has
encouraged an illegal way out of misery ± diamond
mining and coca production, which brings us to the
final side of the triangle: resource capture by state and
sub-national actors (Central Intelligence Agency
1999; Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe 1999:3).
Again, parallels can be drawn between the Angolan
and Colombian experiences. Angola has enormous
natural resources wealth ± potentially some of the
largest untapped crude oil reserves in the world, while
diamonds are extremely plentiful. It is one of the few
countries where gem quality stones consistently
predominate, comprising 70 per cent of total production (Global Witness 1998). Yet, as a least developed
country (LDC), Angola is one of the weakest partners
in the international community of states with formidable structural handicaps. The state failure-civil wars
since independence have created favourable conditions for resource capture, control and exploitation by
the rival eÂlite groups. The corrupt MPLA government
has `captured' oil production and export income
(responsible for 95 per cent of foreign export earnings), in order to finance its war effort and the
luxurious lifestyles of the political and military eÂlite.
8
UNITA has done the same with diamonds. The
Angolan experience fits recent ICRC observations,
that prolonged internal violence in countries with
significant natural resources wealth but with corrupt
or weak governments may best be understood as
battles for high value/low volume resources which are
in high demand by other states and the open
international market (The Economist 4 March
2000:51). Crude oil is of strategic importance to
industrialized states, while MNCs and nonstate actors
in the global (criminal) economy (e.g. crime syndicates), can make large profits from diamond earnings.
By disregarding ethical morality for profit-making in
global markets for oil and diamonds, MNCs, until
recently, have willingly conducted unconditional
trade with both the MPLA government and UNITA,
enabling them to continue their deadly war for power
and wealth. With adequate oil income, the MPLA
government has seen little need for commitment to the
painstakingly slow and far less lucrative process of
efficient empirical capacity building. Instead, it is
shelving its main responsibility ± the security and
well-being of all Angolans (Time 27 March 2000:41).
Similarly, Colombia's contemporary history also
reflects a link between state failure on the one hand,
and violence and resource capture on the other. This
has been constantly reinforced by the co-existence of
a legal `formal' economy, and a so-called informal
underground economy, where the majority of Colombians work and live. Population movements shifted to
where sources of wealth (e.g. emeralds, gold, oil, coal,
and natural gas) opened up. However, rarely did the
poor gain access to more than a small part of this
wealth. The emerald war of the mid 1960s is but one
example of acute resource capture by emerging Mafia
empires, leftist guerrilla movements, and right-wing
paramilitaries, made possible by state incompetence,
neglect and corruption (Pearce 1990:106). However,
of far greater importance to these groups currently, is
the control and exploitation of coca plantations,
providing the raw material for cocaine. Colombia is
the world's largest producer of coca leaf and cocaine.
Given the illegal nature thereof, any direct state
control and exploitation of this resource would be
inconceivable due to the international illegality of
cocaine trade. Rather, the emphasis is on non-state
actors. FARC, the largest and most powerful guerrilla
force in Colombia, for example, receives about 60 per
cent of its income (about US$ 500 million annually),
from taxing coca farmers in areas under its control
(The Economist 26 February 2000:68). Through the
capture, control and exploitation of cocaine, one of
the most lucrative illegal trade commodities in the
world, these nonstate actors have been able to gain a
level of military power which by far outweighs their
political support. Similarly to the Angolan experience,
for them war itself has become the prime means of
enrichment. Solving the resource capture variable
remains one of the most challenging tasks faced by
those who favour strong democratic rule, peace and
prosperity for all in Angola and Colombia.
Given the limited scope of this paper, no further
reference is made to equally important factors such as
the decisive role of geography and climate, where
both countries' territorial vastness, large rivers, and
high mountains have posed tremendous transport and
communications problems, weakening government's
ability to effectively control territorial, political and
economic space. The geographical features have
encouraged the establishment and functioning of
local bosses, controlling regimes and rivalries, challenging central government control. In both Colombia
and Angola, religion and churches (e.g. the Roman
Catholic Church) have played an important role as a
mechanism of social control ± an aspect that is also
not discussed (Oquist 1980:12). The briefly discussed
three triangular sides ± state failure, violence, and
resource capture ± and their relevance to the general
hypothesis mentioned, constitute the sole focus.
While some reference is made to the legacy of colonial
rule, the emphasis is largely on developments since
independence, representing the period when one
expects to see state and nation building consolidation,
and not continuing decline. At best, only some
prominent events or issues would be discussed,
pertaining to each case, given the significant length
of time involved, particularly in the case of Colombia
(1810 to the present).
Using the triangular model as a basis, this study is
organized as follows: The state failure component is
discussed in part 1. First, reference is made to the
underlying theoretical notion in which the nature of
the state and its role as the prime object of security are
essential ingredients, followed by the inclusion of
relevant (similar and diverse) detail on the Angolan
and Colombian experiences. The aim is to create a
basis from which real cases of state failure (Angola
and Colombia) could be further investigated, not to
discuss in detail the complex and multi-faceted notion
of state failure. Reference is also made as to why
certain states are failing while others are not, as well
as why the phenomenon of state failure is important to
the international community at large. Part 2 describes
the prominence of violence as a key common variable
in both cases. It commences with a brief discussion of
the colonial state legacy, followed by reference to
post-independent violence, where `La Violencia' and
its present-day èxtended' version in Colombia, and
protracted civil war in Angola, share many similarities
in terms of e.g. the actors involved and consequences
for both state and nation. Attention is also given to the
proliferation of small arms destruction as a contributing factor to state and national security failure. Part 3
is a consideration of similarities and differences
pertaining to the current scale and scope of Angolan
and Colombian state failure. Extensive use is made of
basic indicators of states at risk, listed in Daniel Esty's
State Failure Task Force Report of 30 November
1995, such as lack of democratic practices, sharp and
severe economic distress, complex humanitarian
emergencies, and a situation where the ethnic
composition of the ruling eÂlite differs from a large
percentage of the population (Carnegie Commission
1997:44). Subsequently, Part 4 discusses the protracted civil war-resource capture link. The emphasis
is on the constructive/destructive role of the various
actors or òbjects of security' involved in state decline
and collapse, particularly in terms of the resource
capture variable. Reference is made to the role of
central government, its main rivals (FARC in the case
of Colombia, and UNITA in Angola), the global
(criminal) economy, acting as òutlets' for the trade
in oil, diamonds and cocaine, MNC involvement for
the purpose of profit-making, and last, but not least,
international engagement towards preventive diplomacy, reconstruction and sustained development
(notably the US and UN). Attention is given to, for
example, the US financial and military support to the
Pastrana government. The question arises to what
extent this support is constructive, given its dual
purpose: to militarily engage in the re-establishment
of state control over illegal FARC and ELN political
and economic activity, and by doing so, to combat the
illicit trade in cocaine finding its way to the US. The
aspect of solutions and future reconstruction is not
elaborated specifically. However, the conclusion gives
some attention to this (Sweeney 1999).
THE NOTION OF STATE FAILURE
Posing the problem of state failure
Fituni (1995:143), puts it in rather simple terms: `no
matter what the scientific definitions of a failed or
(near) collapsed state-nation are, a person immediately knows he is in a collapsed state the moment he
arrives in one'. Yet, it has been difficult to define the
phenomenon and problem of state failure. To begin
with, it is both historic and contemporary. Poland, for
example, has a history of state collapse, yet it has
survived. Cure and remission is therefore possible. In
other acute cases of anarchy, the state has ceased to
exist, while its people have been forced to resort to
clan or ethnic pre-state social structures of allegiance
(e.g. Somalia) (Buzan 1991:52). It is evident that
state failure comes first, then individual resort to
ethnic nationalism, and not the other way round.
Furthermore, it is not merely a life cycle in the rise and
fall of nation-states. Society carries on, amidst a
situation in which state power is up for grabs. While
most contemporary cases of state failure appear
among ex-colonial Third World states, some indus9
trialized states have also become victims of (near)
collapse, notably in the former Soviet Union and
Yugoslavia (Zartman 1995). A state's existence may
have commenced in a situation of partial collapse,
with Angola and Colombia as examples, or it may
have suffered gradual decay to the point where even a
strong government, in terms of its monopoly over the
means of power, could no longer avoid collapse (e.g.
the Soviet Union). The magnitude of fall differs from
case to case, where Colombia, for example, has failed
more in terms of domestic security for its people than
in terms of their quality of life. Political assassinations
are more common in Colombia than in Angola, yet the
latter's failure is of a greater magnitude when it comes
to political, economic, social, and physical (human)
security. Variables such as government legitimacy,
institutional capacity (comprising the entire machinery of government), and effectiveness are therefore far
more decisive than mere sporadic coups d'eÂtat and
political assassinations. Against this background, it is
evident that the problem of state failure is both
complex and a multivariate phenomenon. Zartman
(1995:8) sees it as a `long-term degenerative disease'.
However, any meaningful attempt to pose and define
this phenomenon will first have to consider the nature
and key functions of a state. After all, when a state
fails, it would have to do so within the terrain's
representing its basic nature and responsibilities. This
would also allow for the possibility to delineate more
specific, narrow and identifiable state failure contours
(variables; actors; causes; consequences) for the
subsequent studying of individual real cases (Zartman
1995:1±3; 8).
Zartman (1995:5) defines a state as `the authoritative political institution that is sovereign over a
recognized territory'. For a state to function as an
international legal personality or unit under international law, it should possess the following qualifications: (a) a permanent sizeable population; (b) a
sizeable, defined territory; (c) an internationally recognized government, and (d) the capacity to enter
into relations with other states (Shaw 1997:140).
Then sovereignty and territorial integrity is recognized
by the international community and protected by
international law. These definitions focus on four
identifiable functions and responsibilities: the state as
sovereign authority, acting as the legitimate source of
political, social, economic and cultural identity in the
minds of its population; the state as an institution,
functioning as a strong, rule-based organization of
decision-making and implementation which, through
its undisputed control over the legal means of power,
is both able and willing to protect its defined territory
and the population of this territory. Buzan (1991:65),
in his descriptive model of the nature of the state and
national security, identifies three components which
largely correspond with the above: the idea of the
10
state (its legitimacy in the minds of its people); its
physical base (territory and population); and institutional expression (which governs the physical base
and provides symbols of national identity). While
identifiable, these functions and components are
interlinked in myriad ways. For example, without
tangible territorial control, state recognition becomes
problematic, while such a state will be unable to
protect all of its population by the legal controls. With
statehood comes a specific responsibility in terms of
security, protecting and promoting both domestic and
international security. The notions of a state and
(national) security are therefore inextricably linked.
Traditionally a state's right to sovereignty and territorial integrity, as well as its ability to function and
survive, amidst external threats to national security,
such as foreign intervention, has been measured in
terms of military power (Buzan 1991:2). Traditionalists see a military balance of power between different
states as essential to national security ± the relative
freedom from harmful external military threats (Buzan
1991:17). Today, this view is no longer representative
of the full array of contemporary state vulnerabilities
and threats to national security, which are of both a
domestic and external nature. Newly independent
statehood has to build upon the shaky foundations
created by colonial rule and Cold War legacies and
threats and vulnerabilities resulting from growing
political, economic, social and cultural interdependence between nation-states (Van Benthem van den
Bergh 1998:1). Apart from raison d'eÂtat (national
interests), the security of human collectivities (e.g.
democratic values; legal controls; good governance,
and human rights protection), increasingly underpin
the notion of security (Zacarias 1999). Buzan
(1991:19) identifies five major sectors that may reflect
threats to the security of human collectivities: military,
political, economic, societal and environmental.
Based on the stated aim of this paper, the Angolan
and Colombian experiences of state failure will be
measured and compared within these sectors, excluding the environmental one.
State failure is not merely an òrganic characteristic
of growth and decay, a life cycle in the rise and fall of
nations' (Zartman 1995:1). This brings us to the
question why some states do fail while others don't?
Part of the answer lies in a distinction between two
types of states: the strong state and/or strong power,
and the weak state and/or weak power (Buzan,
1991:97). The US and France are examples of the
first kind (strong both as a state and a power), where
their respective domestic political structures and
institutions have sufficient mass, decision-making
momentum, legitimacy and stability to be able to
withstand anything but a threat of large-scale external
military intervention (Bugan 1991:113). Their strong
institutional strength is reflected in their control over
ample resources in many sectors, enabling them to
effectively adapt to, absorb or deter many threats, also
in terms of human collectivities. Industrialization,
democratization, interstate competition for wider
markets and mutual identification between rulers and
ruled, all made this possible (Van Benthem van den
Bergh 1998:6±9). Botswana is one of the few strong
Third World states in terms of ideological and
structural (domestic) legitimacy, as well as physical
base, but remains a weak power with limited
capabilities to deter extensive military, economic or
ecological threats to its national security. Even more
so than Colombia, which has stronger economic
structures, Angola's weakness is almost absolute: its
weak state institutions do not have control over the
natural resources wealth available within its borders,
thus making it vulnerable to most such threats. Both
Angola and Colombia possess some attribute of
importance to other states and nonstate actors,
namely oil and diamonds, and cocaine, which even
result in constant domestic and external pressures on
their state weakness and vulnerabilities. This does not
mean that strong states do not experience vulnerability to significant threats. For example, the US state
and society have been unable to escape the subversive penetration of its political and social fabric by
the threat of illicit cocaine trafficking from Colombia.
This also explains US determination to intervene in
Colombia's internal affairs to protect its own national
security (discussed in Part 4). Strong socio-political
cohesion (the consolidation of domestic political and
societal consensus), however, has placed the US in a
much stronger position to deal with this international
criminal economy-related threat. On the whole, weak
and insecure states find it almost impossible to
adequately perform their basic functions. Their central
government authority and institutional decision-making capacity is paralyzed. Summarizing, a failed state
is the sum of a disputed state legitimacy, an underdeveloped national identity, and absence of strong
empirical statehood to secure sustained protection of
the nation and territory by the legal controls, socioeconomic organization and regulation (Zartman
1995:5±9).
The foregoing explanation is far from complete.
However, in combination with brief reference to some
academic definitions of state failure, it serves to
establish an adequate basis for the subsequent
elaboration and comparison of the Angolan and
Colombian state collapse experiences. Furthermore,
reference to conventional definitions of state failure is
also useful in so far as it serves to identify a number of
(additional) key variables, as well as forces or actors
actively involved in the dynamics of such failure. For,
certainly in the case of Angola and Colombia, the
state's (partial) loss of the exclusive right to rule
(related to the people's unwillingness or inability to
support the state), has been constantly abused by
nonstate actors, also becoming objects of security
(e.g. guerrilla movements; secessionist groups; paramilitaries; crime syndicates; mercenary (security)
organizations, and oil and diamond MNCs).
Defining state failure
Fituni (1995:143), describes a collapsed state as one
whose èconomic, political, cultural, and civilization
links have been disrupted to such an extent as to have
brought about drastic deterioration of its condition of
existence'. This definition correlates with Buzan's
different sectors of security mentioned above. Woodward (1998:1) adds the `collapse of sovereign
capacity', where the sovereign territorial state as the
standard unit of security has failed to secure harmony
between the interests of the state, on the one hand,
and the interests of the nation (people), on the other.
Its functional balance of inputs and outputs is
destroyed. People remove or divert their support to
other objects of security because they realize that the
state is incapable or unwilling to provide essential
supplies. Zacarias (1999:124) refers to failed states in
Southern Africa as `states in gestation whose governments find it hard to consolidate and acquire internal
legitimacy'. Helman and Ratner describe the failed
nation-state as ùtterly incapable of sustaining itself as
a member of the international community' (Dorff
1996:3). Other sources mention, inter alia, loss of
state control over political and economic space;
ungovernability of the state; civil war and ethnic
strife; warlordism, and a pervasive sense of chaos and
anarchy, as features or variables of state collapse
(Zartman 1995). Most, if not all of these variables
reflect one common feature ± institutional weakness,
reflecting the inability to maintain its independent
identity and functional integrity (Zartman 1995:5;
Zacarias, 1999:124±125).
No doubt, both the Colombian and Angolan
experiences reflect a significant amount of the variables listed in the definitions. Many Angolans and
Colombians do not regard the state as the sole
legitimate symbol of national identity and guarantor
of sustained socio-economic and territorial protection.
The state has come to share its `legitimate' right to rule
with nonstate actors eager to grab the political,
economic, social and legal power of state planning,
decision-making and execution. Following parts will
indicate how some of these groups have violently
exploited the government's weakness to serve their
own interests of power and greed. However, the
saying is that it takes two to tango. State failure,
particularly in the case of Angola, has not been a
totally undesirable outcome for the influential political
and military ruling eÂlite. The latter realize too well that
a strong state with strong empirical statehood (good
governance, democratic values, and legal controls)
11
would diminish their ability to capture, control and
exploit the lucrative oil and diamond resources for
power and financial gain. The definitions do not
address this crucially important issue and its contribution towards the persistence of state failure in
both Angola and Colombia. For the thesis that excolonial Third World states, contrary to most industrialized states, have not been allowed sufficient time
to consolidate from a stage of primitive accumulation
of power and legitimacy into strong states with
undisputed sovereign capacity, may be true in the
case of Angola, but perhaps less so for Colombia,
which gained independence as early as 1819 (Zacarias 1999:124).
Why do states fail?
In simplified terms, states fail because they can no
longer perform the functions required for them to pass
as states. These functions are so intertwined that a
weakening of one function drags down performance
in others. In general, weak states (and powers) are
much more susceptible to state and government
faltering and collapse for reasons already stated.
However, there must be some root causes, which
became active at one point or another in the state
formation process, causing the first degenerative
metastasis of eventual failure. Authoritarianism and
tyrannic rule, for example, acted as a root cause in the
failure of a number of states, such as Uganda (under
Idi Amin); Romania (under Ceaucescu); South Africa
(under the NP), and the Soviet Union (under the
CPSU) (Buzan 1991:43). Successful state and nation
building is as much a top-down process as it is a
bottom-up one, where a strong legitimate government
needs a willing and loyal civil society with regulative
and regenerative capacities (Buzan 1991:73). Authoritarian tyranny rule tends to neglect and destroy these
capacities. This root cause is absent in the Colombian
and Angolan experiences. Rather, the thesis emphasizing collapse of the colonial order as one root cause
seems more appropriate.
Angola was a Portuguese colony since 1575 (with
the first Portuguese settlement at Luanda), until
independence in 1975 (Somerville 1997:14). Spain's
colonial rule commenced with the founding of San
SebastiaÂn de UrabaÂ along the coast of contemporary
Colombia in 1509, followed by establishing the
colonial state of Nuevo Reino de Granada (Oquist
1980:21). When Angola and Colombia commenced
their respective territorial nation-state formation, the
only immediate means (institutions and resources)
available to facilitate this, were those created and
developed by their colonizers in the image of their
own European states. Portuguese and Spanish rule
took little account of existing cultural and ethnic
boundaries nor did they create any new, unified
nations to live and prosper within them. They had
12
no real policy or rationale for advancing the development of indigenous groups save when such development served the long-term productivity and wealthgenerating potential of the colony (Oquist 1980:24).
For example, at Angolan independence the illiteracy
rate was over 90 per cent. Instead, they inherited a
divisive clientelist rule, favouring certain class and/or
ethnic groups above others, such as the LuandaMbundu mestizos in Angola (from which the MPLA
eÂlite originated). The unfortunates were doomed to
slavery (4 million young Angolans were èxported' as
slaves to the Americas) (Hare 1998:4).
In Colombia, a land-owning `hacienda' or `criollos'
eÂlite (prosperous Spanish-Americans), supported by
the Spanish Viceroyalty, dominated local society,
characterized by a strongly developed hierarchical
class divide, land-grabbing from the rural poor
(Indians), and brutal slavery ± all generating social
tension, grievance, and violence (Pearce 1990:15).
Ownership of gold and emerald mines was mainly
restricted to the local oligarchy of merchants and
landowners. While taxing the latter, the Spanish
Crown was determined not to hand over any
significant political control to the local eÂlite. They
were largely excluded from important government
positions. The Comunero movement and its uprising
in 1781 against Spanish bureaucratic oppression and
new exploitative taxation policies, is a notable
example where poor and wealthy `Colombians' joined
forces to challenge Spanish rule. However, at most,
the Comunero movement and other similar developments represented an uneasy, negative alliance
between the Colombian wealthy and poor, fostered
by a common opposition to Spanish rule, but
inherently weakened by an irreconcilable division of
political, economic and social circumstances, priorities and challenges: power and greed, in the case of
the local eÂlite; physical survival in the case of the rural
poor (Indians; African slaves; poor whites, and
classless mestizos) (Keen 1996:482; Oquist 1980:13).
Similarly, deep-rooted regionalism and competing
interests between the west, slave-owning and mining
region, and the eastern region, experiencing vigorous
agricultural and manufacturing production activities,
were to make state and nation building efforts almost
obsolete at the time of independence. Not only were
the Creole eÂlite divided among themselves, but their
leadership, based on different perceptions of the
political and economic future of an independent
Colombia, also created tensions between their followers. This deplorable situation-in-the-making is
highlighted by victory over the Spanish, but `defeat'
in terms of state and nation building. SimoÂn BolJ v1 ar's
final military victory over Spanish forces in 1819,
made possible by Spain's declining fortunes in
European power politics and economics, especially
vis-aÁ-vis England, and its inability to re-impose
Spanish rule in Nuevo Reino de Granada (Colombia),
brought independence without the existence of one
nation and one strong emerging government-inwaiting. At the time of Colombia's independence
wars (1810±1819), the principle of self-determination
was largely absent from the state formation debate.
However, as the following paragraph indicates, a
certain level of similarity with the case of Angola is
evident (Pearce 1990:14±15; Keen 1996:503).
As Buzan (1991:98) notes, the apparent surge of
violent nationalism, justified by growing international
recognition of the (Angolan) people's right to selfdetermination, was not the positive unity of a
coherent group with one national identity, but a
negative one of common opposition to repressive and
exploitative colonial rule. In the case of Angola, the
Portuguese had to leave in a hurry, following a coup
d'eÂtat in Lisbon in 1974 (against the Caetano regime)
(Somerville 1997:14). Apart from plundering what
was left of the state apparatus, there was no
opportunity to gradually transfer, inter alia, state
institutional capacity (bureaucracy) and resources
(economic infrastructure) to the new Angolan government. France managed to facilitate this in a number
of its own Third World colonies (e.g. CoÃte D' Ivoire),
but Portugal was too poor and too weak a state and
power itself to accomplish transfer of power and
resources stability. Then again, apart from a reasonably developed agriculturally based economy and
infrastructure, serving the needs of the colonial state,
there wasn't much to inherit in terms of industrial
development. The Portuguese deliberately held back
industrialization to protect national industries in
Portugal. The MPLA, winning the race for Luanda
(1974±75), established political control over a state
lacking strong empirical statehood in the sense of
European states, whereby the latter, over a long and
violent period of time, first secured domestic trade
resources, territorial control, strong institutional capacity, nation building and undisputed (sole) legitimacy
over the use of power and resources, before establishing the nation-state (Zacarias 1999:124). Furthermore, in the absence of one nation, but merely a
constellation of urban-based Creole mestizos and
rural-based sub-ethnic tribes, the national liberation
movements (MPLA, UNITA and FNLA) were unable
to act in an integrating state and nation building
capacity. None of them represented the whole of the
Angolan territory as one nation, inclusive of all the
different sub-ethnic nationalities living within Angola.
Similarly to Colombia, Angola had no single government-in-waiting, but three armed movements all
claiming sole legitimacy. Today, the MPLA and
UNITA are still fighting each other over this matter ±
an aspect that is elaborated in the next part (Messiant
1998:148; Van Benthem van den Bergh; 1998:12).
The Angolan experience differs from Colombia
when it comes to the role of Cold War rivalry and
superpower competition in shaping the domestic
order of newly independent ex-colonial states. While,
in Colombia, Marxist ideology, Soviet and Cuban
communism strongly influenced small opposition
parties (e.g. the PCC) and guerrilla movements, with
a closed bipartisan system limiting its influence on
central government, the MPLA government introduced Marxist-based one party rule (Fituni 1995:143±
144). Central government's political and military
survival, and escape from total state collapse, depended on sustained Soviet and Cuban aid, amidst a
significant diplomatic and military challenge posed by
UNITA aided by the United States and South Africa.
The Cold War superpowers set the rules for engagement. Both the MPLA and UNITA could do little to
change them. When Angola lost its strategic significance as an apparent proxy in a war, following the
Soviet Union's collapse in 1989, limited successes in
state formation, such as institutional and infrastructural capacity building and control over territory, were
now endangered by the superpowers' withdrawal of
interest and resources. This process acted as a catalyst
for near state collapse. The Angolan people remained
deeply divided along political, cultural, ideological
and ethnic lines. Soviet and Cuban withdrawal left
behind a weak state and government, acting from a
severely restricted territorial base. In the absence of
legal controls, uncontrolled predatory activities by
eÂlite groups (once protected by Cold War patrons),
also increased, resulting in the capture, control and
exploitation of Angola's mineral wealth. Realizing that
the prolonged protracted civil war and failure of peace
initiatives (e.g. the Bicesse Accords of May 1991), left
little time to work out new favourable political and
economic accommodation terms, powerful and corrupt MPLA eÂlite, army generals, UNITA leadership,
and local warlords opted for lucrative resourcegrabbing to secure their privileged positions (Part 4
refers) (Messiant 1998:156±157). Uncontrolled proliferation of small conventional arms in and around
Angola also continued, fuelling further destruction
and human suffering (Woodward 1998:2; 4).
Cases of contemporary Third World state failure can
also be attributed to a sustained decline and deterioration in the state's relative position in trade,
investment, production and consumption vis-aÁ-vis
other states or regions of the world. A dependency on
primary commodity exports, particularly agricultural
exports, is a key variable in this. The world prices of
these commodities have been depressed since the
mid-1970s. Suffering a sharp decline in foreign export
earnings, these states have been largely unable to
generate sufficient economic growth and investment
to diversify their economies towards higher value
added goods. Under these conditions, their marginalization from the terms of global trade, favouring
13
value-added goods and services above primary
commodities, has become a fait accompli. A direct
link appears to exist between primary commodity
export failure and crises on the one hand, and the
emergence of illicit cocaine and diamond exploitation
in areas worst affected by agricultural sector decline
(Castells 1998:198). In part 3 this cause is discussed
with regard to the Angolan and Colombian experiences.
Olson (1993:572) has an interesting `theory' on
why states tend to fail, which seems appropriate,
particularly to the case of Angola. His reference to a
dictator's `short time horizon', aiming at accumulating
wealth and power as quickly as possible, because
tomorrow may bring an abrupt end to his rule, has
relevance, despite the fact that Angola is not ruled by
a dictator. The MPLA eÂlite has developed a similar
`short time horizon' policy comparable to a mixture of
`roving banditry' and `monopolized and rationalized
theft in the form of taxes' (Olson 1993:567). The
prolonged civil war has severely restricted the state's
ability and opportunity to accumulate wealth through
taxes, while simultaneously securing this source by
creating incentives for Angolan citizens to produce,
earn and invest under conditions of adequate national
security. Realizing this, the ruling party has deliberately embarked on violent and corrupt resource
capture (oil and diamonds) and enrichment, caring
little about the dire long-term consequences for
country and people. This greedy `short term horizon'
ignores the political and socio-economic consequences of instability, disinvestment, societal collapse, discontent and even anarchy. UNITA has done
the same, regarding diamonds. The Colombian state
has done more to develop `rational monopolization of
theft' by taxing only part of citizens' income, while
also striving to protect the interests of its taxgenerating subjects (Olson 1993:568). However, as
this study indicates, Colombia also has a tendency to
fail in these respects when considering the acute
levels of violence, corruption, elitism, deprivation, lack
of investment confidence and gross human (and
property) rights violations. Both Angola and Colombia still have to reach `long-term horizons' of peace,
stability and sustained development. State failure has
made it possible for nonstate challengers to conduct
monopolized theft through introducing taxes in sizeable areas of the country under their control. As `defacto governments' they even provide protection to
their `subordinates', allowing the latter to continue
producing coca leaves and mining diamonds from
which both benefit ± the ruler the most of course.
14
State failure and its global importance
Why is the failed state phenomenon important to the
international community? Globalization requires
strong states that function, with governments capable
of providing sovereign guarantees, exercising sovereign power and responsibility, and controlling their
sovereign borders (Woodward 1998:1±2). Failed
states, which can also be regarded as weak states,
endanger the system of òrder in anarchy' among
nation-states (Buzan 1991). They cannot convincingly fulfil the functions of statehood and security.
Given its inherent weakness, a failing state is itself a
potential target for internal or external disruption and
insurgencies. Reference has been made to the disruption caused by rival Cold War factions inside and
outside Angola, trying to consolidate alliances to
secure political, military, territorial and economic
control of the country, dividing innocent and peaceseeking citizens into opposite camps (Somerville
1997:11±38). Compared with the strong state, a
weak, failing state's nation building process is
incomplete; the ruling eÂlite's view of the state's
political, institutional, cultural, religious, economic
and territorial identity may be disputed and challenged
by a significant proportion of its people, organized
along ethnic lines (Buzan 1991:70). Again, Angola is
a case in point, where UNITA, with its support base
among the Ovimbundu tribe (37 per cent of the
population), has continuously exploited the ruling
MPLA's lack of internal legitimacy and control over
territory, in order to promote its own agenda ±
securing its power base, as well as capturing and
selling Angola's diamond wealth to finance its war
effort. The different tribes of Angola had little in
common, apart from their experience of colonial occupation. Even this was hardly uniform and rigid, due to
elitist favouritism, forced labour, corruption, nepotism,
and mismanagement. Angolan nation building started
as an MPLA eÂlite enterprise with a foreign (Western)
ideology (Marxism), in contrast to the popular appeal
of ethnic sub-nationalism ± a state of affairs constantly exploited among the Ovimbundu by Jonas
Savimbi, leader of UNITA (Somerville 1997:12±13).
This is partly the reason why fragile peace efforts
(accords in 1975, 1992, and 1994), until now, have
proved futile (Somerville 1997; Fituni 1995).
While cases of state failure differ in scope, scale and
features, a combination of all the variables mentioned
so far, creates a dangerously unstable situation that
could easily embroil neighbouring states. It could lead
to the destabilization of an entire region. Recent
violent incidents of Namibian border violations by
UNITA forces and the latter's collaboration with rebel
groups in the neighbouring DRC, indicate this
potential for regional destabilization. The same could
be true of transnational criminal activities such as drug
trafficking and weapons smuggling, where crime
syndicates exploit to the maximum the vacuum of
legal authority in a failed state. Using it as a safe
haven, terrorists and crime syndicates can consolidate
and expand their operations, creating a threat to
international security. It is feared, for example, that
powerful narco-traffickers and guerrilla forces operating from Colombia may extend their criminal activities
into Panama now that the US has withdrawn most of
its forces from the latter. Last, but not the least, failed
states also pose a challenge to the international
community because they frequently generate gross
human rights violations (Part 3, dealing with the key
indicators of states at risk of failing, elaborates this
issue). As Woodward (1998:5) remarks: `the problems
of a non-functioning state, for both citizens and
interveners, are first and foremost the absence of
physical security and the collapse of law and order'.
Universally recognized non-derogable erga omnes
obligations under international law are thus being
violated (Shaw 1997:204). Furthermore, the political,
economic and social development strategies pursued
by international agencies and bilateral donors have
been rendered virtually irrelevant under conditions of
acute state failure. For example, UN-sponsored
emergency relief and peacekeeping operations in
Angola have been among the organization's most
costly and frustrating disappointments: `the bill: US$
1.5 billion; the result: failure' (Time 27 March
2000:41). It needs to be seen whether current US
financial assistance to the Pastrana government,
totalling US$ 1.6 billion, will succeed in combating
the threat of cocaine trafficking as a cause and
consequence of state failure (The Economist 26
February 2000:68). Against this background, it is
clear that the growing post-Cold War phenomenon of
failed states is of great concern to the international
community, requiring costly and risky humanitarian
intervention (UNCTAD 1997:127; UNDP 1999).
ANGOLAN AND COLOMBIAN STATE FAILURE:
THE VIOLENCE VARIABLE
Born in violence
Domestic violence has been an important and often
decisive social process in the structuring of Angolan
and Colombian state and society. This is not unique.
In general, domestic violence is endemic in the early
stages of any state and nation building (Zartman
1995). Such violence, then, signals the vital process
of central state power accumulation. However, as
soon as the state-in-the-making has mustered the
economic and political sources necessary to secure
strong statehood, while simultaneously enhancing a
social contract between state and society, rule by
force is replaced by legitimate consensus rule. Most
industrialized nation-states secured their existence in
this way (Zacarias 1999). In the absence of this
scenario, large-scale use of force tends to prevail ± its
violent expression being a component of state faltering, amidst equally threatening use of (military)
violence by its challengers. This represents the current
scenario in which Angola and Colombia tend to find
themselves. Learning from a colonial history of
`rebellions, cimarronism, slave palenques, and national liberation wars' (Oquist 1980:27), both `nationstates' have developed a tendency to fight, initially
based on violent political factionalism in the case of
Colombia, and ethno-ideological conflict in Angola's
case. In both cases, the delegitimized state and certain
nonstate actors emerged as prime conditioning agents
in post-independent violent conflicts. While political
violence has not led to total anarchy and absence of
central government rule, it has been decisive enough
to derail the vital process of power accumulation ± a
precondition for strong legal controls and the state's
legitimate monopoly over the means of violence.
Violence in its many distinct forms is, of course, not
unique to Angola and Colombia. It is, however,
endemic to both at a national level, making violence
a key variable in their state failure experiences.
Colombia, for example, has 90 intentional homicides
per 100 000 inhabitants, annually compared to
neighbouring Venezuela's 12, and 10 in the USA.
Similar data for Angola is not available (United
Nations 1998).
It is impossible here to provide a detailed account of
all the notably distinctive events of violence since their
independence, or to discuss all major categories of
violence, particularly in Colombia's case. For example,
at least 13 important periods of violent political
conflict occurred in the first century of the latter's
independence; not to mention `La Violencia' of the
1950s, and subsequent protracted civil war (Oquist
1980:42). Rather, the emphasis is on the commonality
of political violence and guerrilla activities, with a brief
acknowledgement of other categories, such as narcoterrorism by powerful drug cartels. The latter category
is absent in the case of Angola. Instead, foreign
private (mercenary) armies have been hired by the
MPLA ruling eÂlite to support its military offensive
against UNITA and provide `political' services such as
procuring weapons. Reno (1997:172±177) refers to
this development as the `privatization' of violence,
involving clandestine companies such as Executive
Outcomes and Saracen International. Subsequent
paragraphs are concerned with the origins, causes
and occurrence of political violence at independence
and thereafter, providing some clarity on the violencestate failure link, the latter component being elaborated in the next Part.
While more than 150 years apart, certain parallels
can be drawn between the Colombian and Angolan
experiences of political violence. In Colombia, BolõÂ var's military success resulted in the criollos' assump15
tion of political power and the expulsion of the
Spanish Viceregal administration. The new government favoured England's replacing of Spain as the
main trading `partner'. Little else changed. By 1825 all
of Gran Colombia's territories (including the regions
of present-day Panama, Venezuela, and Ecuador), had
been liberated. This was the time for the new
Republics to consolidate, inter alia, through constitution making, civil institution-building and public
education. However, similarly to Angola, the ruling
criollos' eÂlite did not inherit a relatively intact Spanish
colonial state. They had to create new power and
authority relationships, amidst the appearance of
serious constraints: the military demanded a greater
role, favouring a centralized, highly hierarchical,
authoritarian state. The criollo oligarchy itself was
deeply divided between those in favour of such a
unitary regime, and others supporting a federal
alliance. They could not agree on one political project
for the new state and whether the colonial socioeconomic structure should be retained or reformed, or
a new system should be developed, to serve the
interests of the wealthy eÂlite. Furthermore, the classbased hierarchical social structure continued; political
power remained in the hands of a small `white'
criollos' eÂlite; Indians, mestizos, and the descendants
of the African slaves were to remain at the bottom of
this structure. And the Roman Catholic Church and
State were not separated (Keen 1996; Oquist 1980).
State and nation building was further constrained
by regionally based oligarchies demanding that the
central government respect and recognize their power.
This explains to some extent the difficult context
within which contemporary Colombia's two main
political groups and parties, the (pro-clerical) Conservatives and (anti-clerical) Liberals originated. For
most of their existence, no group has been powerful
enough to rule alone. Internal ideological disagreements, both locally and regionally, the civilian-military
political confrontation, and unresolved Church-State
disputes, fuelled Colombia's first nation-wide civil war
from 1839±1841 (Keen 1996:50±51). Since then,
bipartisan politics have remained a serious obstacle to
the establishment of a strong state with undisputed
legitimacy. Political violence erupted sporadically
throughout the 19th century, the depths thereof were
reached in the `war of 1000 days' between 1899 and
1903, killing some 100 000 people (Keen 1996:506±
507). Brutal times occurred again in 1948 after the
Conservative and Liberal parties became more extreme, the first veering towards fascism and the latter
towards left-wing populism. Colombia's domestic
politics (similarly to Angola) were unable to escape
profound developments at international level, notably
the Second World War and the rise of communism,
with the Cuban revolution acting as an important
regional catalyst. Violent inter-party rivalries and
16
increased rural banditry, in which deprived poor
peasants were fighting to reclaim land captured by
the politically powerful eÂlite, occurred simultaneously
at a nation-wide scale. This period, known as La
Violencia, lasted in distant, geographically isolated
areas at least until the 1960s and took some 200 000±
300 000 lives. Angola's `Guerra das Cidades' (War of
Cities) (1992±1994), while years away and much
shorter in duration, is comparable in terms of the
horrendous levels of starvation and destruction
(500 000 died). This `phase' in the Angolan civil
war saw the use of heavy artillery, aircraft and
sophisticated weaponry on a scale not hitherto
witnessed in Africa (Hare 1998:10; Global Witness
1998).
La Violencia was rooted in a chronic lawlessness
exacerbated by the fact that the state's own agents of
legal controls and security, the police and defence
force, were also deeply divided by political factionalism, openly supporting either the Conservative government or Liberal opposition, instead of being
politically neutral. Politically motivated murders became common. People took the law into their own
hands, while central government implemented a
policy of armed repression to neutralize the peasant
and leftist labour union movements. Inequitable land
distribution has been an important cause of violence
since colonial times, fuelled by rural poverty amidst
the wealth of large landowners. The same accounts
for revenge and hatreds passed down from one
generation to the next. A mixture of political fanaticism, personal vendetta, unresolved land allocation,
and lack of strong, reliable state agents and institutions created favourable conditions for near anarchy
and collapse, epitomizing the state failure-violence
link visualized by the triangular model. In 1957 the
Conservatives and Liberals reached a power-sharing
pact (Frente National) that ended much of the
violence, but did not remove the causes thereof.
General disillusionment prevailed. By agreeing to
allocate the presidency alternately to a Liberal and a
Conservative and equally split seats in cabinet and
Congress (Parliament), ordinary Colombians were
again marginalized by an undemocratic deal from
which the powerful landed gentry, political and
business eÂlite profited. In addition, it also tended to
immobilize central government, leading to the avoidance of difficult but necessary reforms (Keen
1996:513). The National Front lasted until 1974.
Subsequently, attention is given to two new directions of violence in Colombia: leftist guerrilla activity
and drug trafficking. (Osterling 1989:85±87, 97, 270;
UNHCR 1997:109).
Similarly, in Angola the main national liberation
movements could also not agree on one unifying
political and socio-economic project for the new
state. Ironically, it was only the weaker UNITA which,
then, seriously considered compromise and legitimacy
through elections. However, covert US actions deliberately are alleged to have derailed this possibility. The
MPLA and UNITA developed competing ideas on
how the state should be managed. The coalition
government of 1975 soon broke down, following
failed FNLA attempts to take military control of
Luanda, while the MPLA and UNITA also engaged
in military confrontation. While the issue of unitary
versus federalist government rule was absent in
Angola's experience, ideological divide exacerbated
the deep-rooted colonial era mistrust between the
`privileged' urban Mbundu-creole eÂlite, on the one
hand, and the marginalized rural Ovimbundu and
Bakongo tribes (supporters of UNITA and the FNLA
respectively). Instead of seeking unity and reconciliation at a time when the weak remnants of the colonial
state desperately needed new structures (similarly to
Colombia), the liberators opted for civil war, fuelled
by foreign intervention. No one movement was able to
muster sufficient national popularity to obtain legitimacy. With the FNLA's dwindling support and
eventual decline (for reasons beyond the focus of
this article), UNITA emerged as the only other
decisive actor in determining and fomenting political
violence and military bipartisan politics. Similar to
Colombia, no one of the two remaining movements
were strong enough to obtain outright victory,
resulting in a prolonged violent conflict. However,
very different from Colombia, the nature of Angola's
bipartisan politics has experienced almost no `lasting
legacy of anti-militarism' among the eÂlite (Pearce
1990:16). On the contrary, UNITA has never been
willing to fully denounce the military option in favour
of democratic elections. The weak MPLA government
could not afford relying solely on regular general
elections as a means to obtain popular legitimacy and
control. UN-sponsored peace initiatives have repeatedly failed, while no political solution to the war is
immediately foreseeable. The Bicesse Accords, cosponsored by the US and the Soviet Union and signed
in Portugal, failed to bring about demilitarization,
democratization and free elections. Neither the MPLA
nor UNITA were ready to answer the people's security
needs. On the eve of the October 1992 elections,
UNITA resembled less of a political party and more of
a rival army waiting to grab power. The MPLA was
not prepared to renounce its criminalization through
abuse for political ends ± its control of state resources.
Similarly to Colombia, subsequent phases of the civil
war have seen the returning logic of war and violence,
with international mediation marginalized in attempts
to turn the tide (Global Witness 1998; Hare 1998;
Maier 1996).
Different from Colombia's experience of intra-class
and inter-party conflict and violence, inter-movement
and inter- politico-ethnic violence have characterized
the Angolan post-independence situation of almost
constant civil war. While the 19th century Colombian
civil wars reinforced political party identification and
allegiance, also among ordinary citizens, the immediate years of the Angolan civil war reinforced class and
ethnic-based movement identification (Oquist
1980:13; Messiant 1998). However, such identification was of a far lesser magnitude among ordinary
Angolans than in the case of Colombia. The Colombian civil wars of the 19th century were not between
small armed groups, but armies of thousands of
ordinary men, seeking both rewards from the eÂlite
and revenge for loved ones killed (Pearce 1990:20).
The majority of Angolans simply welcomed liberatorsat-large and initially had no idea that their future
would be determined by a violent and destructive civil
war, putting them on opposing sides of a bloody
barrier (Pearce 1990:149).
New directions of violence
The emergence of perhaps a dozen different leftist
guerrilla forces in Colombia coincided in time with
increased guerrilla violence of national liberation in
Angola (1961±74). The FARC was established in
1966 as the military wing of PCC. The smaller ELN
originated in the 1960s and was inspired by Fidel
Castro's revolution in Cuba (Sweeney 1999:4). Both
sought to establish a Marxist Colombian state by
force. Similarly to Angola, externally charged domestic resistance subverted the goal of nationhood. As
`successors' to the communist agrarian groups of the
1950s, operating from semi-autonomous isolated
areas characterized by the virtual absence of a strong
central state authority and legitimacy, the leftist
guerrilla movements in Colombia strengthened the
proposition that `he who rules determines the meaning of [domestic] security' (Buzan 1991:11). Whereas
the state has failed to conclude a mutually beneficial
social contract with the people to foster strong and
sustainable state and nation building in exchange for
shared security, well-being and protection, FARC and
other guerrilla movements did succeed in creating a
support base by organizing the economically deprived
communities politically and militarily, while providing
social services and facilities (Osterling 1989:99).
Realizing the danger of Colombia's fragmentation
into countervailing regions with own power centres
(balkanization), the ruling Conservative Valencia
administration launched military-sponsored antiguerrilla operations (Keen 1996).
Despite the fact that until the 1980s the FARC had
fewer than 1 000 guerrillas, the central government
was unable to destroy it. Now there are more than
15 000. Again, acute state de-legitimization and
criminalization through, inter alia, fraudulent election
practices, internal divisions and a weak and ineffective
government-opposition equation, brought about its
17
failure to effectively `tame the contiguous periphery'
(Zartman 1995:35). The urban based MPLA government has failed in the same respect. For example, in
recent years, the poorly trained and corrupt national
army has lost more than 80 engagements involving
300 or more guerrillas (Sweeney 1999:8). In contrast,
the MPLA army has booked substantial success
against UNITA forces since 1998 (Global Witness
1998).
The sustained withering of central government's
power, reflecting its avoidance of necessary but
difficult choices and the lost of control over its own
agents, became `signposts' in the failure of intermittent peace initiatives aiming at the successful cooption of FARC and ELN (the latest peace talks began
on 7 January 1999). Instead of reforming institutionalized abusive and discriminatory policies, thus
removing the incentive for violent guerrilla activity,
the state embarked on severe persecution. Similarly to
the Angolan experience, a `drift to non-compliance'
has occurred. (Basic Papers 1997:6). Factionalism
and disagreement among and within guerrilla groups
have also led to violence, while the mushrooming of
right-wing paramilitary groups to counter guerrilla
activity, opened yet another front of sometimes
irrational, horrendous violence. These groups, sponsored by big business, major land-owners and powerful elements within the state army and police, have
tended to supersede the weak Colombian army in
recent years as the front-line force against the
guerrillas (AUC, for example, claims to be active in
over 550 municipalities). In waging a low-intensity
war to reclaim guerrilla-held territory for their (eÂlite)
sponsors, they have continuously terrorized rural
communities, `leftist' local authorities, and human
rights activists, accused of sympathizing with FARC
and the ELN. Well over half of Colombia's political
murders are committed by the paramilitaries and selfdefence units (AUC, for example, killed 902 people in
1999 alone) (The Economist 8 April 2000:63±64).
The rise of the MedellõÂ n and Cali drug cartels in the
1980s again plunged Colombia into a period of
widespread violence, corruption and ungovernability.
Developing the cocaine (and heroin) trade into a
powerful, highly profitable industry, these cartels were
able to gain a significant share in the `monopoly over
violence'. Challenging a weak central state, they
fought a violent all-out war against state security
agents between 1983 and 1993. For the first time in
Colombia, nonstate actors resorted to urban narcoterrorism, principally car bombs to liquidate its (state)
adversaries. As many as 5 000 police officers were
murdered by the drugs gangs between 1986 and
1992. Abusing state weakness, they have further
corrupted the system by forging alliances with
legitimate business, the legal system, state agents,
and by controlling politics and the media in cities such
18
as MedellõÂ n and Cali. Apart from becoming highly
politicized, the MedellõÂ n cartel boosted its popularity
among the poor through social support and low-cost
housing programmes. The Cali cartel, on the other
hand, practised `social cleaning' by killing off prostitutes, beggars, street children and homosexuals. While
narco-terrorism was dealt a temporary blow, following
the decimation (killing, detention or extradition) of the
MedellõÂ n and Cali cartels' top leadership in the mid1990s, it did not disappear altogether. The cocaine
trade continues to flourish, while the drug cartels have
become increasingly rooted in Colombian society
through their attempts to infiltrate legitimate sectors
(sport; culture; media; health, and social services).
BogotaÂ, for example, with its 12 million inhabitants,
experiences acute levels of violent crime linked to the
illicit cocaine trade. Many urban youths facing a bleak
future have resorted to the lucrative and dangerous
world of cocaine trafficking as one of the few means of
escaping poverty. This situation is exacerbated by a
continued flight to cities from rural areas devastated by
the guerrilla war (Castells 1998:198±199).
Another important variable in the state failureviolence-resource capture triangle is small arms
proliferation. While Colombia has developed a limited
across-the-board capability to produce indigenously
designed small and heavy weapons, Angola has no
such capability at all. Nearly all weapons need to be
imported. Their domestic situation of prolonged civil
war (fought mainly with small arms) creates a demand
for such weapons, both by the state and nonstate
actors. During the Cold War, the US and Soviet Union
were both eager to supply large quantities of munitions (e.g. AK47's, personnel mines) to the domestic
`defenders' of their ideological stance and national
interests. Both developed a global network of black
market supply channels to funnel arms to insurgent
organizations. The demise of Cold War proxy conflict,
particularly in the case of Angola, did not bring an end
to small arms proliferation and their indiscriminate use
in the ongoing civil war (estimated at 2 million light
weapons. Apart from the fact that these weapons tend
to have a long life, leading to dangerous accumulation
when new weapons are also imported, the `former'
suppliers have merely replaced their ideological
motive with a profit motive. Particularly the `cashstrapped' former Eastern European countries such as
Russia, Bulgaria and Ukraine have been hard pressed
to strengthen and increase their market share in the
global supply of (small) arms. Ironically, many of the
state failure variables active in Angola and Colombia
have also acted as incentives towards e.g. Bulgaria's
failure (unwillingness and/or inability) to impose
barriers to prevent the free flow of small arms fuelling
the formers' destructive civil wars. State failure and
the availability of an abundance of firepower provide
both the guerrillas and government forces of Angola
and Colombia with a reason to bypass the democratic
process of power accumulation. This explains the
state failure-arms proliferation-violence link. These
components' link to resource capture is also straightforward, enabling the conflicting parties to pay in hard
cash or diamonds in a global arms traffic market where
increased supply has made the client-buyer `the king
of the market'. Heavier and more sophisticated
weapons (e.g. SAMs) have also been obtained this
way. The large black market for small arms that can be
purchased for as little as the price of a second-hand
shirt, is also exacerbating non-political criminality
(Basic Papers December 1997:1±7; Pierre 1997).
Today, Angola and Colombia share the unfortunate
status of being major conflicts of the 1990s, with at
least 1 000 deaths in any one year during the past
decade alone (Carnegie Commission 1997:12). It is
estimated that at least 35 000 Colombians died of
political violence during this period. Protracted civil
war in Angola has caused around 1 million deaths
between 1975 and 1991, while an estimated further
300 000 Angolans died since the resumption of civil
war in 1992. Around 700 000 people were injured by
landmines (Angola has an estimated 9 million landmines placed) (The Economist 25 September 1999:1;
The Economist 18 March 2000:57). For ordinary
Angolans and Colombians, violence has become a
`de-personalized phenomenon of daily life' as they
have become almost numb to thousands of unsolved
murders and irrational killing (Osterling 1989:264).
On the whole, any understanding of violence in both
countries must be placed in the context of their
political, social and economic structures of elitism and
deprivation on the one hand, and politico-economic
pressures from the outside. Much has already been
said about this; much remains to be said. Subsequent
parts elaborate current state failure as a consequence
of earlier partial disintegration, violence and last, but
not the least, the role of lucrative resources determining domestic, as well as international activity of
national interests.
SCALE AND SCOPE OF STATE FAILURE
Reference has already been made to the key indicators
of states at risk of failing or collapse, such as
demographic pressures; lack of democratic practices;
deterioration of public services, and sharp and severe
economic distress (Carnegie Commission 1997:44).
These and other indicators are applied to establish and
compare the scale and scope of Angolan and
Colombian state failure. In addition, the warning
signals or ùltimate signposts', mentioned by Zartman
(1995:9±10), are also relevant, such as the devolving
of state power to the peripheries; withering of central
government's power by default; its avoidance of
necessary but difficult choices, and the state's loss
of control over its own agents.
Political failure
Lack of democratic practices is common to Angolan
and Colombian political failure, giving rise to the
criminalization and de-legitimization of state and
government. It is also closely linked to political
violence in both countries, discussed in the previous
Part. Contrary to Angola, Colombia has a long history
of democratic rule, characterized by a civilian, participatory political system. Its Constitution of August
1886 was Latin America's oldest. In Colombia, almost
painstakingly regular elections have been the rule and
coups d'etat the rare exception. Only twice did the
latter replace democratic rule, and then for a very
limited duration. In general, the leadership and
nation's commitment to a democratic framework has
strongly facilitated compromise and return to democracy at times of political violence. So, why then talk
about its political failure? The answer to this aspect is
complex and requires substantial research. Considering the limitations of this paper, only brief reference is
made to certain prominent `signposts' of Colombia's
political failure. The first one is a tradition of deeply
rooted conservative politics generally unfavourable to
change over time. With the ruling eÂlite failing to
profoundly change the colonial legacy of class-based
socio-political and cultural exclusionism (referred to
in previous Parts), Colombian democracy has remained a closed system. The formal political structure
in theory allows broad participation, but in practice
the bipartisan system, dominated by the Conservative
and Liberal parties, has led to factionalism, clientelist
politics, elitism and centralized politics. Under these
conditions, it has proved extremely difficult for any
new party to develop and consolidate adequate
political power and support to pose any serious
challenge to either major party (Keen 1996; Osterling
1989).
A new Constitution, promulgated on 5 July 1991,
for the first time ever introduced provisions to increase
other parties' chances of election, but given the fact
that clientelismo is one of the most profound political
phenomena in Colombia, it needs to be seen whether
these measures will prove effective (Kline 1999).
Political power is still largely centred in the hands of a
privileged eÂlite minority, the `la clase polõÂ tica', who
pull the strings when it comes to senior appointments
at national government level. Qualified citizens who
are not members of either the Conservative or Liberal
party have seldom been offered positions of power
and influence. Even appointments at lower levels are
strongly determined by family connections and personal relationships and loyalties. The extent of these
discriminatory practices are country-wide. They
spread either through political manipulation by the
two main parties or by the leftist guerrilla forces in
areas under their control. The media, while allowed
substantial freedom to criticize the state and govern19
ment, have been unable to escape the control of the
powerful and wealthy eÂlite. For example, the country's
major newspaper, El Tiempo, is owned by the family
of former Liberal president Eduardo Santos, while
BogotaÂ's La RepuÂblica belongs to the powerful
Ospina family whose members include three former
Conservative Party presidents. Due to the rigidity of
Colombia's imperfect political system, it should come
as no surprise that grassroots discontent and frustrations have turned violent time and again, either within
own party ranks, or through òutsider' guerrilla groups
such as FARC (Osterling 1989:158±172).
In the absence of any third party strong opposition
with a `clean' past and accessible to ordinary Colombians, the state has become criminalized and delegitimized by undemocratic practices. Corrupt and
unwilling to utilize the available `democratic resources', it failed to produce lasting positive results
for most of its people. This unhealthy state of affairs
has encouraged violent opposition, weakening the
state's central authority in contemporary Colombia,
particularly in regions where guerrilla groups and drug
syndicates control the enormous profits from illicit
cocaine production. Accordingly, they are able to
continuously finance their war against government
forces. Cocaine profits have also had a profound
corrupting effect on influential elements of the state,
further weakening the latter's commitment to good
governance, democratic principles and legal controls ±
an issue further discussed in Part 4. One notable
example is the web of corruption exposed during the
presidential election campaign of 1994. Elected President Samper's main opponent, (the current President) AndreÂs Pastrana, caused a severe state
legitimacy crisis by releasing tapes confirming Cali
cartel donations to Samper's presidential campaign,
also implicating former senior government officials
(The Economist 26 February 2000:22). Sharp economic decline, intensified guerrilla activity and state
criminalization thus provide the variables (material) for
the state failure-violence-resource capture triangular
model. Today, many Colombians are experiencing a
`democracy shock', disillusioned by the fact that
democratic rule and practices have not been able to
produce any solutions to the rampant violence, crime
and prolonged semi-civil war. A voter turnout of only
45 per cent of eligible voters at the latest elections
(March 1998) is evident of this (UNDP 1999:218).
When compared to the Colombian democratic
experience, it is evident that Angola has very little to
show in this regard, apart from a `multi-party democracy' constitution in theory. The weak MPLA government, unable to complete the vital process of central
power accumulation, could only secure its position by
the use of force. So far, all attempts to gain political
legitimacy through democratic elections have failed,
despite the fact that the latest elections (September
1992) recorded a desperate voter turnout of 91 per
20
cent of eligible voters (UNDP 1999:220). UNITA, in
defiance of the MPLA's victory in the 1992 parliamentary elections, and Savimbi's narrow defeat in the
presidential elections, returned to the bush to continue
its guerrilla war, financed by unrestricted access to
diamonds. While winning the elections, the MPLA's
support was still largely confined to urban centres
under its control. UNITA was still in control of large
areas of the interior with strong popular support
among rural dwellers (Basic papers, December
1997:6).
At the time of independence, the MPLA inherited a
completely disorganized colonial state apparatus when
nine-tenths of all Portuguese colonizers suddenly left
the country. However, it could be blamed for not
taking decisive action to avert political failure. First, the
MPLA failed to see that its revolutionary liberator
status was an insufficient condition for legitimacy. It
failed to recognize its inability to command support
from the majority of the population. Second, in its
Marxist-based one party rule (officially abandoned in
1990 in favour of democratic socialism) there has been
no place for reconciliation with the FNLA and UNITA
leadership and supporters. Instead, political exclusion
has largely prevailed. The only notable exception is the
October 1992 elections, when `half-hearted' attempts
to incorporate elected UNITA candidates into government and national parliament were torpedoed by
UNITA itself. While a constitution is in place, MPLA
rule has seen very little of its fundamental democratic
principles and values being implemented in real life. In
violation of the 1975 Constitution declaring à free and
democratic society with sovereignty vested in the
people', a policy of severe repression was followed
against those suspected of sympathy and support of
the FNLA and UNITA. Similarly to the Colombia
experience, political control, for the greater part of
Angolan statehood, remained in the hands of a small
Creole mestic,o and assimilado MPLA eÂlite. Political
loyalty became the prime qualification for top and
middle-rank government positions. Political failure was
enhanced by a new post-colonial ethno-political and
class-based hierarchical social structure, excluding
most of the Bakongo and Ovimbundu eÂlite. Ordinary
people in the cities and rural interior controlled by the
MPLA, continue to experience political marginalization. A notable example in this regard is the government's severe repression of growing populist
opposition by young MPLA cadres in 1977, reducing
the country to silence. By effectively controlling the oil
wealth and creating a unifying nomenklatura eÂlite
sharing in the wealth, the MPLA defined a mode of
exercising political power. It did not take much trouble
to establish stable political legitimacy by consensus
rule, or by enhancing a social contract between state
and society. Instead, widespread corruption and
clientship networks have widened the gap between
state and people, while the prolonged protracted civil
war has made state and nation building almost
impossible. Post-independent Angola continues to
experience the absence of robust democratic means
of venting disenchantment with government policies
and measures. In such a situation of political failure,
the MPLA state depends on power, war and resource
capture to secure its undemocratic grip over society ±
all variables incorporated into the triangular model. As
mentioned before, the state did not hesitate to recruit
aid in the form of private mercenary armies to marginalize the opposition. The problem is that military
solutions are generally short-term, invariably abusive
of human rights and inevitably fail to heal the underlying causes of state failure (Messiant 1998:151±153;
New African Yearbook 1999:26; Global Witness 1998;
Mail and Guardian 12 May 1999:1).
It suffices to say that the sustained ability of FARC,
ELN and UNITA to act as `de facto' rival government
in sizeable areas under their control also contributes to
the state's security failure. In the case of Colombia,
FARC and the ELN control and administer nearly half
of the territory; organize their own local elections;
patrol roads and waterways; collect taxes, and hold
trials of suspected criminals. Their counterpart, UNITA, cannot boast of the same magnitude of power and
control (Sweeney 1999:3).
Socio-economic failure
Angola and Colombia's socio-economic failure experiences have different origins. In Angola, the MPLA
government initially favoured the classical Soviet
model of development, imposing radical collectivization and state-controlled industrialization with little
room for gradualism. About 65 per cent of GDP were
controlled by the state between 1976 and 1985. In the
country, Angolans were cut off arbitrarily from their
traditional tribal structures and beliefs. Instead of
uniting all segments of socio-economic society, the
state alienated large sub-ethnic tribes and the farming
community through its centralized development policy. The latter began to adjudge the MPLA in the same
light as their Portuguese predecessors, while many
considered UNITA as the new `liberator'. The prolonged civil war that followed made socio-economic
failure and collapse inevitable, disrupting state structures responsible for food and other aid disbursement,
and forcing thousands of people from their agricultural land. Production suffered in every sector, with
agriculture, the livelihood of most Angolans, the
hardest hit. Agricultural sector collapse did also have
dire consequences for the nutrition and health status
of the population, worsened by severe rural income
decline. Instead of producing food surpluses, people
have been forced into subsistence farming with little
or no export capacity. Central government could no
longer adequately facilitate and secure the availability
of consumer goods. A dynamic private sector was
almost non-existent.
With increased poverty and infrastructural destruction, the state was no longer able to secure domestic
taxation income, thus creating greater dependency on
the Soviet bloc for its economic survival. The `minivortex' created by state failure during the Cold War era
developed into a full blown war, due to increased
Soviet and Cuban political, economic and military
influence in Angola. Fear of communism in the US and
South Africa was followed by increasingly destructive
overt and covert military support and backing of
UNITA. However, superpower withdrawal following
the end of the Cold War, did not bring an end to the
long-term degenerating process of socio-economic
failure in Angola. Instead, the protracted civil war and
its socio-economic destruction continuing, new `nonideological' state (and nonstate actor) survival strategies merely saw an increased shift towards resource
capture, control and exploitation, allowing them to
`hang on'. For most Angolans, the weak MPLA state
and government has been no better at generating
resources and stabilizing allocation for sustained
socio-economic development than was its predecessor ± so it relies even more on control and coercion. In
the absence of strong and dynamic government
institutions and the physical infrastructure in a state
of disarray, recent trade liberalization policies have
been unable to generate socio-economic reconstruction beyond the oil production sector. Furthermore,
foreign revenues from this sector have been selectively
mis-allocated to exclusively benefit eÂlite groups.
Socio-economic failure has also given rise to a
situation where the informal economy tends to take
over, overshadowing the formal economy in its
transactions and escaping the control of the state
(Messiant 1998:151; Zartman 1995:8±9; Fituni 1995).
Angola, and to a lesser extent Colombia's economic
failure can be attributed to their inability to benefit
from enhanced market opportunities created by global
trade liberalization, stimulating a demand for exports.
On the one hand, as primary commodity exporters
both countries have experienced mixed fortunes.
While the recovery of crude oil prices resulted in a
large surge in the value of exports (crude oil and
petroleum products are among Angola and Colombia's main export commodities), the same could not
be said of the agricultural commodity sector (e.g.
cassava, bananas, coffee, cotton, sugarcane). Colombia, for example, is the world's second-largest coffee
producer, after Brazil. Growth in world market
demand for agricultural commodities has lagged
behind that of value-added industrial goods, while
industrialized countries have continuously boosted
their own supply capacity through the application of
new technology. To protect their domestic markets,
industrialized countries have also resorted to restrictive trade measures such as quotas and tariffs. The
result: downward pressure on, for example, coffee and
cotton prices, as well as limited market accessibility.
21
Global competition among growers has rendered most
legal cash crop cultivation unprofitable, causing in
Angola and Colombia a sharp decline in the production of these commodities. This has led to rural
poverty and unemployment, as well as a loss of
dynamism in legal rural business activity. Urban
entrepreneurial centres have also suffered as a result
of this. In Colombia, for example, increased international competition and quota restrictions have damaged the textile and sugar industries in MedellJ n
1 and
Cali to such an extent that they now serve as centres
of cocaine trafficking (Castells 1998:198). Furthermore, agricultural sector decline and collapse has led
to food shortages, necessitating increased grain
imports at high prices (given the USD-local currency
exchange rate crisis). In both Angola and Colombia
the price of staple foods has risen more rapidly than
the already low wage (Keen 1996:557).
Theoretically, Angola and Colombia should have
the advantage of lower labour costs, but, apart from
the acute civil strife and serious deficiencies in the
institutional and physical infrastructure (in Angola's
case), shortages of capital, entrepreneurial, technological and educational workforce, as well as a small
domestic market for industrial output, have scared
non-energy sector foreign investors away. In turn,
inadequate investment has reduced capacity utilization in industry. As a late industrializer, Colombia has
been less able to compete with the technologically
advanced industrialized states, which dominate global
trade with their ability to produce high quality
products at much lower cost. A notable example is
the negative impact that synthetic fibres have had on
Colombia's traditional textile industry. Its industrial
sector has a limited supply capacity that can meet
exacting standards of cost, quality, reliability and
delivery schedules. Angola's failure in this regard is
almost complete. Both countries' economic failure is
not a consequence of failure to take trade liberalization measures, but rather a failure to expand
industrial commodity production for which there is a
global demand. Worsening the domestic situation,
Angola's population continues to grow faster than per
capita income (Table 2 refers). In 1995, GNP per
capita was a mere US$ 410, compared to Colombia's
US$ 1910 for the same year (Castells 1998:91±92).
Both are highly indebted states, with external debt
of US$ 11 billion (Angola), and US$ 18 billion
(Colombia) (1998 figures). A poor repayment record,
particularly in the case of Angola, has largely cut off
access to favourable, low-interest loans. A persistent
inflationary environment (16,7% for Colombia, and
90% for Angola (1998), has caused local currencyUS$ exchange rates to collapse. The exchange rates
now run into the thousands: Angolan kwanza (NKz)
350 000 per US$ 1, and Colombian peso (Col$) 1562
per US$ 1 (February 1999). It is therefore clear that
Angola, and to a lesser extent, Colombia, are locked
22
into a cycle of poverty and underdevelopment from
which there is no obvious escape. Unemployment is at
an all-time apex of 19,8 per cent of the Colombian
workforce, while the construction sector, the major
employer of unskilled labour, is at a standstill. More
than half of the workforce in Angola is unemployed.
Subsequent application of socio-economic data and
figures aims to `visualize' both states' level of current
socio-economic failure (Mail and Guardian 1 July
1999:1±3; National Security 15 January 2000:1±2;
Central Intelligence Agency 1999; Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe 1999).
The World Bank's `Development diamond' (Figure
2), portrays four selected socio-economic indicators:
(1) gross primary enrolment, (2) access to safe water,
(3) GNP per capita, and (4) life expectancy. Comparing the corresponding averages for the income group
to which Angola and Colombia belong (low and
middle income developing states respectively), clearly
indicates that, in the case of Angola, its position is
remarkably below the group average. Colombia, on the
other hand, fares much better in this regard.
Table 1 indicates UNDP Human Development
Index (HDI) figures for certain Third World developing countries, including Colombia and Angola. The
same indicators are used, excluding access to safe
water, calculated for each country on a range between
0 (lowest) and 1 (highest) value. The figures are for
1997.
TABLE 1
Comparing Third World countries' HDI figures
Country
Human Development
Index
Sierra Leone
0,254
Angola
0,398
South Africa
0,695
Brazil
0,739
Colombia
0,768
Source: UNDP Human Development Report 1999:135±
137.
From the above table it is evident that Colombia's
performance is much better than that of Angola, even
surpassing relatively strong and stable developing
countries such as South Africa and Brazil.
Table 2 reflects a compilation of certain key
demographic pressure (population, health and education) indicators of Angola and Colombia compared to
the corresponding averages for (low-income) developing states (where available). These indicators
clearly reflect the magnitude of state failure in terms
of physical well-being and socio-economic developISSN 0256±6060±Unisa Lat. Am. Rep. 16(2) 2000
FIGURE 2
Development diamond
Source: World Bank: Angola and Colombia at a glance 1998.
TABLE 2
Demographic pressures
Indicator
Angola
Colombia
Low-Income
Average
Population growth rate (2000 est.)
3,0%
1,3%
1,7% (1998 est.)
Population distribution urban (1995)
32,2%
72,7%
38,4 (1997)
Age distribution: age 15±64 (1998)
52%
62%
0
Life expectancy in years (2000 est.)
52,8
71,8
63 (1999 est.)
Infant mortality (per 1 000 live births)
129,19 (1999 est.)
95 (2000 est.)
69 (1998 est.)
Access to safe water (% of population) 32
(1998 est.)
75
74
Access to health care (% of population)
24 (1996)
87 est.
0
Doctors per 10 000 people
1 (1997)
9 (1993)
Adult literacy rate (% of population) (1997) 45
90,9
50,7
State expenditure by function as % of total 1994
expenditure: health education social secur- 3,4%; 2,6% ; 1,4%
ity
1993
5,4%; 19,0%; 7,8%
*14,8
(1993±96 average)
* data not available
Source: World Bank: Angola and Colombia at a glance, 1998; Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe Country Profile Angola and
Colombia, 1999, http://web.lexis-nexis.com; UNDP Development Report 1999:173±175, 179.
23
ment. It is evident that particularly Angola, more than
Colombia, has failed to adequately protect and
promote the basic well-being of its citizens through
access to tapped water, education and health services.
The high population growth rate further axacerbates
the domestic situation. Colombia experiences less
population growth pressure, but it is clear that
increased urbanization puts significant stress on state
Angola's relatively better performance in trade (and
investment) could be attributed to accelerating oil
production and export. Large oil MNCs Chevron, BP
Amoco and Exxon Mobil are planning to invest as
much as US$ 19 billion developing Angola's off-shore
oil fields in the next decade. Angola already supplies 7
per cent of the US annual petroleum consumption,
expected to increase to 10 per cent by 2005 (The
FIGURE 3
Economic ratios diamond
Source: World Bank: Angola and Colombia at a glance 1998.
resources while also aggravating urban problems of
adequate food, housing, transportation, schools,
sanitation etc. In both Angola and Colombia, increased urbanization has lead to the state's urban bias,
the consequence of which is poor or inadequate rural
infrastructure and lack of basic facilities, exacerbated
by the civil war and criminal activities. For example,
Luanda has 4 million residents but only 20 000 of
them have running water or modern toilets (International Herald Tribune, 11 April 2000:13). Furthermore,
a large percentage of the population is of productive
employment age (15±64) seeking job opportunities
which do not exist or lack, thus creating incentives for
large-scale discontent, tension, insecurity, violent
opposition, and a growing flight to crime.
Figure 3 reflects Angola's and Colombia's economic
ratios diamond, comparing their respective figures for
gross domestic savings, trade and gross domestic
investment (all measured as a share of the GDP), as
well as indebtedness (the ratio of present value of
debt to export income), to the corresponding averages
of low and middle income developing countries.
24
International Herald Tribune 11 April 2000:13). However, domestic savings are extremely low, indicating
that ordinary Angolans do not share in the financial
benefits of increased oil exports. Where does the
money then go? Certainly not to external debt
repayment (up from US$ 5.4 billion [1987] to US$
13 billion [1998]. Rather, it goes to financing the
MPLA government's war effort ± 25 per cent of GDP
on military expenditures [1998], at the expense of
Angola's already desperately ravaged social infrastructure. For example, in 1997, President Dos Santos
stated that two-thirds of the Angolan population live
on less than a dollar a day. In the case of Angola, more
oil exports, resulting in larger capital inflows, mostly to
MNCs and the government eÂlite, have meant more
human deprivation (Central Intelligence Agency
1999:6±8). Contrary to this, Colombians are able to
benefit from a more stable indebtedness economic
environment with room for improvement in trade
expansion.
Socio-economic failure is also evident from an everincreasing exodus of young educated professionals,
particularly in the case of Colombia. From October
1998 to August 1999, the US Embassy in BogotaÂ
handled almost 215 000 visa applications. Some
300 000 Colombians may have left in 1999. Severe
economic recession and endemic violence is to blame
for this. GDP output, for example, shrank as much as
three per cent in 1999. In Angola, for most of the
unemployed, emigrating to seek a decent, safe living
remains a distant fantasy. Those who manage to leave
are usually the few educated eÂlite. Ordinary Angolans
and Colombians share the commonality of `cruel
choices between liberty, country and safety' (The
Economist 18 March 2000:57; Freedom Magazine
International December 1999:1±2).
Human security failure
Both Angola and Colombia are clear cases where the
security apparatus of the state, threatened militarily by
non-state actors, have appealed to national (domestic) security, in order to justify harsh actions and
policies with little regard for fundamental human
rights. In the absence of citizen loyalty to the state,
civilians turned soldiers not because of patriotism, but
due to fear, corruption, and escape from dire living
conditions. Badly paid, they may even turn ordinary
criminals. Instead of meeting their prime responsibility
to protect the nation, security has become a political
tool of convenience to the ruling eÂlite to secure their
own survival and interests. Where state agents (police
and defence force) have been too weak to effectively
protect `national security', they have been constantly
àssisted' by either paramilitary and self-defence
groups (in the case of Colombia), or private security
(mercenary) organizations in Angola (Reno
1997:165). The indiscriminate use of freely available
small arms by these and other groups (guerrillas) have
produced hundreds of thousands of refugees and
internally displaced people. Struggle for economic
and political power increasingly places unarmed
civilians in the line of fire ± in violation of international
humanitarian law. The methods of fighting underscore
the extent of human security failure: physical intimidation, terrorism, torture, rape, siege, famine, kidnapping, and robbery (Amnesty International 1999 and
Carnegie Commission 1997).
Angolan and Colombian state failure are comparable through the extent of complex humanitarian
emergencies taking place there. Roughly 17 million
Angolans and one million Colombians are refugees in
their own countries. Both governments have been
criticized for failure to comply with commitments
guaranteeing the safety of returnees and emergency
assistance to displaced families. UNICEF calculates
that 3,7 million people have been affected directly by
the Angolan war (out of a total population of 11,1
million) [1999 est.] (New African Yearbook 1999:26±
27). Malnutrition and famine have also become part
of daily life. In Angola, the share of agriculture had
fallen from 50 per cent of GDP in 1960 to 17 per cent
in 1995 ± the seriousness thereof evident when
considering that subsistence agriculture provides for
the main livelihood of 85 per cent of the population
(Central Intelligence Agency 1999). Unemployment
is estimated at more than 50 per cent, with the
industrial sector production almost at a standstill, and
government-employed people earning on average
US $ 15 a month (The Economist 19 February
2000:42).
Both states and governments have failed in protecting and promoting at least three fundamental freedoms: freedom from fear and want, as well as freedom
of speech. Millions of people, particularly children,
face the threats of hunger, neglect, malnutrition, and
disease. In Angola, the media is largely statecontrolled, political demonstrations are unheard of,
and the police do not use rubber bullets to disperse
attempted demonstrations (The Economist 19 February 2000:42). The fac,ade of multi-party democracy
represents little more than front parties of the MPLA.
There are no distinct differences between the state
(MPLA) and non-state actors (UNITA and criminal
groups), when it comes to systemic human rights and
humanitarian law violations. According to the Amnesty International Report of 1999, both conduct
scores of extra-judicial executions, while hundreds of
people are reportedly arrested and tortured for political
reasons. In what has been declared an all-out war, the
government is forcibly conscripting young males
(born in 1978). The human security failure situation
in Colombia reflects similar features. In the past six
months alone, five journalists have been killed and 14
kidnapped for ransom money or intimidation purposes
(The Economist 18 March 2000:57). The judiciary has
made little progress in, for example, enforcing arrest
warrants against paramilitary leaders implicated in the
murder of judicial officials of the Human Rights Unit
of the Colombian Attorney General's Office. Several
senior army commanders, closely collaborating with
rightwing paramilitary groups, have been implicated in
intimidation and attacks on human rights defenders.
For example, four (former) Presidents of the Permanent Committee for the Defence of Human Rights
have been killed during the past ten years. Legal
controls failure has enabled many of these perpetrators to continue evading accountability. Approxymately one in a hundred politically motivated murder
cases reach the courts, despite recent reforms of the
legal system (Amnesty International 1999:132±133).
The problem of internal displacement remains largely
inadequately addressed. Again, state and international
organization institutional failure is a key factor in this
(UNHCR 1997:111).
Angola and Colombia share the commonality of
certain counter-insurgency strategies of `dirty' war. In
Colombia, the army, supported by paramilitaries, has
developed a `Vietnam' variation by, instead of exclu25
sively concentrating its war effort on FARC and the
ELN, targeting people considered to be sympathisers
of these groups. Armed groups are intentionally
driving people from their homes and land in an
attempt to remove potential bases of support for the
other parties in the conflict. Similarly, UNITA is
employing a brutal new tactic: forcing rural people
into towns, surrounding them and cutting off food
supplies, in order to delay and derail the MPLA's
concentration and use of resources to gain victory and
stability in the interior (The Economist 25 September
1999:2). The Angolan civil war has also seen
indiscriminate shelling of besieged towns by both
UNITA and the MPLA, resulting in massive destruction and untold human suffering. While it is not
known whether UNITA has been involved in any high
profile kidnapping cases, their counterparts in Colombia (FARC; ELN) have obviously realized that
kidnapping demanding ransom money, serves their
immediate financial needs. It is also an important
means of political intimidation, challenging the state's
power and coercing local political leadership into
adopting pro-guerrilla policies. At least 800 people
have been victimized in this way, including majors,
local and national politicians, journalists, and top
MNC officials (Global Witness 1998; Amnesty International 1999).
From the above it is evident that the Angolan and
Colombian cases satisfy two of the characteristics
depicted in the triangular model on page 1: state
failure and violent conflict escalation. Their `strong
empirical statehood' failure is evident by the little
progress being made to, for example, equip the
judiciary and train the police to protect and enforce
human rights, or to curb the culture of impunity and
lawlessness (Amnesty International 1999). Corruption and the absence of ethical values are also a key
variable ± for example, in Angola, certain government
ministers and the generals sell weapons and fuel to
UNITA, while the latter pays with diamonds (The
Economist 25 September 1999:2). Profiting from
large commissions on weapons purchases has also
become lucrative business (Mail and Guardian 1 July
1999:3). In the next Part, both variables will be linked
with the third one ± resource capture.
THE RESOURCE CAPTURE, CONTROL AND
EXPLOITATION VARIABLE
In terms of the central hypothesis, Angola and
Colombia's first and second `vulnerabilities' have
already been stated and discussed: their inception as
partially disintegrating ex-colonial states, and their
inability to overcome political, socio-economic and
cultural constraints to state and nation building in a
domestic situation of civil war. What remains, is to
indicate how the capture, control and exploitation of
high value/low volume (and strategic) resources
(diamond, cocaine and oil) continue to keep state
26
failure and the `perpetrators' thereof, afloat. This key
component in the triangular model is not necessarily a
new phenomenon in the Angolan and Colombian
experiences. Neither is it only linked to mineral
resources, but it involves also land capture. Historically, the capture, control and exploitation of gold and
emeralds (in Colombia) and oil and diamonds (in
Angola) had been a primary objective for colonial
rulers. With Angola becoming a new proxy `flash point'
during the Cold War, the US, Soviet Union and Cuba
were also motivated by the need to secure future
access to the country's oil and diamond wealth. While
cocaine, as a lucrative economic good of supply and
demand, gained significance only during the 1980s,
there can be no doubt that it has since taken a central
place in transforming the economy and reshaping
political and social relations. For most of Angola and
Colombia's contemporary history, non-state actors
have played a key role in the above regard, whether
it be guerrillas, powerful eÂlite groups, drug cartels, or
MNCs. Similarly to the MPLA and UNITA's experience
at the demise of the Cold War, having lost support
from Moscow and Havana, FARC and the ELN began
to increasingly rely on cocaine capture, control and/or
exploitation to finance their struggle. In areas prized
for their commercial and/or strategic value, rural
communities are particularly vulnerable as armed
groups vie for control. Examples in this regard are
the diamond-rich Luanda Norte province and strategic
city of Huambo in Angola (its total destruction
resembling Berlin at the end of World War Two), and
the coca producing southern provinces of Colombia.
The applied `dirty war' strategies (mentioned before)
also frees-up large tracts of land for (eÂlite) commercial-scale ranching and agri-businesses, destroying
the livelihood of tens of thousands of poor farmers and
their families in Colombia (the wealthy banana
producing district of Uraba is one example).
Thanks to oil, diamonds and cocaine, Angola, and
to a lesser extent, Colombia, have not become fully
marginalized from global trade networks and benefits.
Global demand for these lucrative resources has led to
their selective integration ± a process almost solely
controlled by either a small affluent ruling eÂlite (also
oligarchy), and/or powerful non-state actors responsible for securing supply, while external (MNC)
involvement has facilitated sustained demand (see
figure 1). Ordinary citizens have been mostly excluded
from the financial benefits incurred, while other
sectors (e.g. agriculture) from which they could have
earned a living have experienced increased marginalization and collapse (see Part 3). Under conditions
of democratic rule, good governance and legal
controls, the availability and global demand for oil
and diamonds would make state reconstruction
possible. However, with these preconditions almost
absent or weakly developed, those with the military
and financial power moved in to secure their own
survival by capturing, controlling and exploiting these
valuable resources. While the overwhelming majority
of the population are left to their own fate `between
bare subsistence and violent pillage', the eÂlite have
been able to link up to the global networks of wealth,
power, information, communication and trade. Angola
and Colombia share this commonality though, ironically, illicit cocaine profits during the mid-1980s,
brought about a significant boom which construction,
real estate, infrastructural development and investment in Colombian cities. Cocaine (with foreign
revenues of between US$ 3±5 billion annually), have
resulted in Colombia gaining a `hegemonic position'
in a major sector of the global criminal economy
(Castells 1998:196±197). Oil and diamonds have
failed to do the same for Angola.
The emphasis should therefore not be on availability, but on exploitation. For, in the words of De
Beers diamond conglomerate chairman, Nicky Oppenheimer: `natural resources are morally neutral ± the
key element is not the resource itself, but how it is
exploited, which makes the difference between
becoming a curse rather than a blessing' to Angola
(The Mining Journal 19 November 1999:1). Coca
plant cultivation, however, is not morally neutral, but
intended outrightly to serve a highly profitable illegal
and destructive purpose. It is also a matter of demanddriven and exports oriented economics. Cocaine is
profitable ± every step along the way ± from coca
cultivation to processing to street selling. A coca
grower earns between US$ 1000 and 10 000 for
enough coca leaves to produce a kilo of cocaine
which has a street value of US$ 800 000. A hectare of
coca may yield up to three times the income of a
hectare of bananas (The Economist 26 February
2000:23). While it is difficult to indicate any specific
price value for uncut diamonds as it depends on the
carat measurement, it is common knowledge that
uncut diamonds are substantially more profitable than,
for example, coffee or cotton ± primary commodities
being exported by Angola and Colombia. Both coca
(cocaine) and diamonds continue to enjoy a considerable price advantage over most legal cash crops.
This becomes evident when comparing potential
coca/cocaine earnings with the world market prices
for coffee, cotton and maize (see table 3).
The illegal smuggling of diamonds, and coca
cultivation often provide rural dwellers and subsistence farmers the best hope of escaping a life of
extreme poverty. They have long abandoned hope of
making a decent living from legal crops alone. Worse
in the case of Angola, the state has largely abandoned
them to care for themselves. Ironically, their shift to
producing (or mining) these lucrative resources in
itself, has become an incentive for guerrillas, paramilitaries, private `security' firms and narco-traffickers
to violently seek control of the areas in which rural
farmers and dwellers engaged in coca cultivation
(Colombia) and diamond mining (Angola). For
example, both the largest concentrations of FARC
guerrillas and the biggest expanse of coca fields are
located in Southern Colombia. Securing òutlets' for
cocaine smuggling, and ìnlets' for weapons procurement, FARC controls about 50 small ports in the Gulf
of Uraba (North Pacific Ocean) (Sweeney 1999:4;
Messiant 1998:162±164).
Linking institutional failure to resource exploitation,
it suffices to observe that, in the case of Angola, there
is no orderly mining regime, operating within a
transparent and predictable legislative and fiscal
framework ± in fact, there is an almost total absence
of `strong imperial statehood' (Sweeney 1999:1;
Buzan 1991; Zacarias 1999). This state of affairs has
proved conducive to the capture, control and exploitation of these high value commodities by corrupt,
greedy and power hungry eÂlite groups. One example is
the rich Catoca diamond mine in North-eastern
Angola, seized from UNITA in 1996, and now
protected by a private security force controlled by a
national army general (International Herald Tribune 7
April 2000:2). Ironically, the MPLA leadership's
comment that `the country's revenues are meant for
resolving the country's problems' has been devoid of
real meaning to the extent that deprived Angolans
have much reason to view oil and diamond revenues
as a threat to their survival (Global Witness). However, the resource capture variable is determined by a
complex situation, involving different actors with
TABLE 3
World Market Prices for Selected Commodities
Commodity
Unit Price
1996
1997
1998
1999*
Coffee (arabica)
US$/kg
2,65
4,10
2,90
2,35
Cotton
US$/kg
1,77
1,74
1,44
1,29
Maize
US$/metric
ton
165,00
117,00
102,00
93,60
* provisional
Source: IMF's The Primary Commodities Prices
27
different and similar objectives. It is a situation where
international open market forces provide a demand for
lucrative and essential goods for which Angola has
the supply. For certain players, whether this demand
and supply route is legally or illegally determined is of
less importance. MNCs are already a dominant part of
the global economy ± yet many of their actions go
unrecorded and unaccounted. It is in the national
interests of industrialized countries and their multinationals to trade in crucial energy resources such as
oil ± Angola can meet the demand, while it desperately needs foreign revenues (Central Intelligence
Agency 1999). From a Marxist perspective, it could be
argued that imperialist states are interested in the
exploitation of the rich diamond and oil wealth of
Angola. It is a matter of choice backing the `winning
horse' and the one which serves (US) national
interests best (Stevens 1999:3). While simplistic a
view, ignoring the interaction of several variables in
the Angolan state failure case (mentioned in previous
Parts), the absence of decisive `good guys' involvement to bring an end to the war is obvious.
State institutional failure is also a key variable in the
illegal coca cultivation and processing of cocaine in
Colombia. Without repeating what has already been
discussed in previous Parts, it suffices to observe that
the cocaine industry has been able to flourish due to,
inter alia, a similar lack of transparency, control and
work ethics in the Colombian state apparatus.
Systematic corruption is encouraged by the state's
failure to pay its civil servants in law enforcement
agencies decent salaries. The weak state has been
unable to eliminate drug syndicate networks extended
to also include other criminal activities such as money
laundering, arms traffic, international prostitution and
kidnapping. Despite violent state repression, the
underground cocaine network continues to subtly
penetrate and corrupt all crucial points of the state's
institutional environment. Being unable to adequately
protect state employees, the latter are constantly
confronted by the alternative of much needed bribes
or seeing their families terrorized (Castells 1998:194).
Colombia is increasingly turning into a safe haven for
a complex criminal world stretching its tentacles to
neighbouring states and the industrialized world. Even
more than illicit diamond smuggling, the Colombian
cocaine industry is fully internationalized, with very
strict division of labour between different locations.
This makes effective combating very difficult and
costly (Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe 1999).
Colombia's state failure-cocaine-internationalized
crime link and the dangers thereof, remains the prime
incentive for US `constructive engagement' there.
Through its controversial drug de-certification process
(which rates the anti-narcotic efforts of other states),
as well as substantial financial and military aid, the US
has become increasingly involved in Colombia's
`Balkan-type' domestic conflict. The central objective
28
is to combat cocaine trafficking at the point of
production ± FARC and ELN territory. It is therefore
obvious that such engagement contributes to political
violence, while turning a blind eye to demand (and
with it societal ills) in the US as a root cause.
Furthermore, the Colombian central government often
openly employed US military support for violent
counter-insurgency campaigns that kill more innocent
peasants than insurgents. On the whole, US engagement has been `costly, messy and unsuccessful'
(Sweeney 1999:2). Economic sanctions against Colombia during 1995±1998 for not meeting the decertification criteria, have further weakened the state's
ability to provide for the security and well-being
needs of the population. The drug certification policy
has been an equally ineffective tool in combating the
violence and illicit drug trade. Cocaine is as easily
available in the US as it was 15 years ago and at
cheaper prices. Rather, increased emphasis on supporting viable crop-substitution and job-creation
programmes in Colombia seems to be a small step in
the right direction (Keen 1996:555).
There is not much to say about the MPLA government's role in resource capture, control and exploitation. After all, it is the legitimate, internationally
recognized government, waving the flag of perceived
Angolan statehood at its embassies. The British human
rights pressure group, Global Witness, reported recently in no uncertain terms, that the bulk of Angola's
US$3,5 billion a year oil revenues bypasses the
budget, disappearing straight into the hands of the
presidency to buy new arms, or to finance the lifestyles
of the super-rich eÂlite (The Economist 15 January
2000:1). As such, the MPLA eÂlite nomenklatura
(consisting of about 30 families) has a vested interest
in the protection of oil production facilities as their
principal source of wealth (International Herald
Tribune 11 April 2000:13). Given its own inability to
do this effectively, private mercenary `security' companies (e.g. Executive Outcomes, with which government, until recently, had a US$ 40 million contract,
and Ango Segu), have been hired to protect oil
installations and help train MPLA soldiers (Maier
1996:157±158). As Reno (1997:172) remarks, `from a
weak ruler's perspective, it is better to have reliable
foreigners control state assets (than domestic enemies)'. Ironically, Executive Outcomes (consisting of
certain demobilized South African military units) used
to be a staunch supporter of UNITA, but for them,
sharing in the enormous oil and diamond profits have
proved too tempting. While ordinary Angolans have
been excluded from their rightful share in the country's
oil wealth, mercenaries have been able to negotiate
salaries ranging from between US$ 2000 and US$
8000 a month (Maier 1996:158). Again, human rights
protection is certainly not their strong point.
While the Colombian state and government's hands
are reasonably clean when it comes to the actual
`capture', control and financial exploitation of cocaine
(non-state actors are the main perpetrators), legal
cases against corrupt senior officials abusing their
position of power and influence to share in cocaine
profits are quite common. Even the country's highest
office, the presidency, has been implicated in the past.
Oil multinationals are also not without blame ± for
example, by allowing the Angolan government to
mortgage its future oil production for short-term highinterest loans for the above purposes, the former
continue to turn a blind eye to corruption, resource
capture, and a crime against the people of Angola.
Chevron's complicity in this regard is evident, as it
accounts for about two-thirds of Angola's daily
production of 500 000 barrels (Maier 1996:62).
Interestingly, Amnesty International has made a
similar observation with regard to the alleged role of
oil (MNC, BP) in Colombia. In the absence of
adequate state protection of its recent investment in
a 880 km long oil pipeline to the Caribbean coast, BP
has hired a UK-based mercenary firm, Defence
Systems Limited, to train an eÂlite mobile army group
in counter-guerrilla tactics to protect this pipeline
against FARC and ELN sabotage. Given the Colombian army's bad human rights record and its grave
atrocities against civilians, in collaboration with
rightwing paramilitaries, such BP involvement is
unfortunate (Global Witness 1998).
Reference has already been made to UNITA's main
objective in the above regard ± to sell diamonds to
finance its costly war effort. Without diamond sales
(estimated at US$ 3,5 billion (1992±1999), its war
effort would be crippled; it would loose its monopoly
over power and legitimacy in large parts of Angola,
and would no longer be able to finance its leadership's greed (Global Witness 1998). And the civil war
would end. It is therefore evident that UNITA has a
vested interest in seeing that their principal source of
income (diamonds) is not interfered with. If and when
this happens, the consequence thereof is escalating
violence. As such, political and economic motives are
increasingly intertwined. Currently, UNITA utilizes a
supply route running through both Uganda and the
DRC (also a failed state case), or Zambia and
Rwanda, with or without the official consent of the
respective governments, en route to the international
diamond markets of Antwerp, London and Tel Aviv.
Weapons are smuggled more or less along the same
routes, with Kigali (Rwanda) allegedly acting as a
rendezvous for the conclusion of deals in the above
regard. It could be argued that globalization (easy
access to markets and advanced technological communication), has also become a friend of the
guerrillas. Against this background, it is evident that
constraining the illicit diamond trade curse, thus
increasing opportunities for a political solution to
the war, would be extremely difficult (Mail and
Guardian 1 April 1999; Business Report 16 March
2000:1; Global Witness 1998).
The UN, a key player in recent peace initiatives and
preventive diplomacy in Angola, has taken responsibility for achieving the above objective by extending
the Security Council embargo on the sale of weapons
and oil to UNITA (introduced in 1993) to also include
an embargo against diamond smuggling, effective
from June 1998. Whilst resulting in a significant
decrease in UNITA's diamond sales, the implementation of UNSC Res. 1176 appears token at best. This is
confirmed by the UN-sponsored Fowler Report on
UNITA sanctions busting (of 15 March 2000), listing
at least 10 African countries assisting UNITA in one
way or another (Time 27 March 2000:41) Today,
UNITA, through its control of diamond producing
areas, as well as the lack of adequate law enforcing
capacity in neighbouring states, is still able to secure
outlet routes for diamond smuggling, as well as inlet
supply routes for weapons procurement. Particularly
Eastern European countries such as Bulgaria, Ukraine
and Russia are eager to do business with UNITA
leader, Jonas Savimbi. Interestingly, FARC also obtain
weapons from these countries (Pierre 1997). The
Fowler Report implicates these and other countries,
such as Burkina Faso, Togo and Gabon in allegedly
aiding UNITA. Reference is also made to South
African diamond and arms dealers' alleged involvement in the diamond-for-arms network of illicit UNITA
suppliers. With the world's premier market for uncut
diamonds situated in Antwerp, Belgium is obviously a
key player with significant responsibility to enforce UN
sanctions to curb UNITA's illicit diamond trade. The
Fowler Report strongly criticizes the Antwerp High
Council for Diamond trading for lax and inadequate
control measures, such as verification of certificates of
origin. However, this seems almost an impossible task,
as diamonds imported from neighbouring Zambia,
Congo-Brazzaville and the DRC do not require any
verification of source. After all, how do you distinguish
between a `politically correct' and `politically flawed'
uncut diamond? Furthermore, corrupt officials in these
countries are more than eager to share in UNITA's
lucrative trade, selling false certificates of origin
(priced at about US$100). There is also little in terms
of effective border policing. Another key factor has
been the large number of middlemen involved in the
diamond trade and smuggling ± cases have been
reported where Angolan army generals and UNITA use
the same middlemen to secure this lucrative trade on
the open market. It is extremely difficult to accurately
trace the movements and origins of uncut diamonds.
Above all, Belgium and, for example, Israel have a
strong demand for Angolan type uncut diamonds,
encouraging trade through a generous system of tax
breaks. There is thus an underlying incentive to evade
the terms and spirit of Res. 1176 (Global Witness
1998; Time 27 March 2000:41).
29
By controlling between 70±80 per cent of the global
trade in diamonds, De Beers diamond cartel is an
equally important actor in the Angolan case. In fact,
De Beers' annual reports during the 1990s clearly
reflect its heavy involvement in buying uncut diamonds at a time when about 70 per cent of the latter's
production was controlled by UNITA. This suggests
that, at least during this time, profits counted more to
De Beers than any corporate ethic-based accountability. During this time, UNITA was the main
beneficiary of De Beer's involvement, enabling the
former to pay for weapons in the hardest currency on
the market ± diamonds (Global Witness 1998:3). It is
therefore obvious that no progress can be made
towards removing the diamond `curse' as a state
failure variable without the full co-operation of De
Beers and its subsidiaries in Antwerp, London, and Tel
Aviv. Against this background it is evident that Angola
and Colombia share the commonality of war and/or
criminal-based (sub) economies in which oil, diamonds and cocaine continue to reinforce predatory
practizes by the state as well as challenging non-state
actors (Messiant 1998).
CONCLUSION
The principal objective of this study was to investigate
and compare the state failure cases of Angola and
Colombia. While being continents apart, with a
different history and culture shaped by vastly different
international circumstances, justification for a comparison between the two countries has been found
first and foremost in their shared status as Third World
developing states with a profound history of domestic
violence and civil war. As Third World states they
share the same state and nation building, as well as
developmental constraints and challenges. As excolonial countries, they were both established as
weak and partly disintegrating states born in blood
and whose `democracy' would continue this condition. The roots of their civil wars are the same: poverty,
neglect and exclusion. Angola and Colombia are
certainly not the exception. Numerous former colonies
in Africa have suffered the same fate, with the DRC,
Liberia, Sierra Leone and Rwanda as notable examples. Then again, others have managed to overcome
colonial legacies of rule by force, deprivation and
exploitation through democratic transition, enhancing
state and nation building. Chile and South Africa are
good examples, while states such as Vietnam,
Mozambique and Guatemala are progressing in this
regard. Why have potentially prosperous Angola and
Colombia failed in this respect? The answer to this is
complex, involving a wide array of contributing
historical and contemporary variables in terms of
causes, consequences and actors.
Inspired by the hypothesis that states which were
former colonies which have in their borders high
value/low volume exportable commodities are vulner30
able to disruption and collapse, it was decided to
narrow down research and elaboration to three
components represented by an equilateral triangle
model: state failure, violence and resource capture.
Reference to the equilateral nature of the triangle
representing the full picture of Angola and Colombia's
state failure suggests that the three components be
allocated equal importance. Subsequent Parts have
aimed to meet this requirement, commencing with a
discussion of the theoretical notion of state failure,
including academic definitions thereof and reflecting
upon its various variables. One pertinent conclusion is
that state failure does not occur overnight. Rather, it is
a long-term degenerative process where the inherent
causes and consequences of failure to become a
strong state with strong empirical statehood and a
united and prosperous nation are of such magnitude
that escape seems extremely difficult. By tracing these
theoretical variables and causes to the state failure
cases of Angola and Colombia, this study has
confirmed the long-term degenerative nature thereof.
Contemporary Angolan and Colombian state failure
cannot be separated from their shared colonial legacy
of brutal violence, deprivation, discrimination and
exploitation of the indigenous people and mineral
wealth, to mention a few. When Angola and Colombia
gained independence there was no strong central
government in place to act as a catalyst for state and
nation building, concluding a mutually beneficial
social contract with society in exchange for its
submission to state authority and rule. The ruling
party's exclusive legitimacy, monopoly over the means
of violence, and control over political, territorial,
cultural and economic space was challenged right
from the beginning. In the absence of one unified
nation with a clear view of its ultimate destination, the
state and emerging non-state actors resorted to those
means familiar to them during colonial rule: violence,
intimidation and elitist-clientelist exclusivity, culminating into a prolonged protracted civil war. While
Angola and Colombia's state failure differs in terms of
magnitude, with Colombia far more a modern state
reality than Angola, their comparison is adequately
justified by shared characteristics of deeply-rooted
undemocratic state rule, violent political factionalism
and ethno-ideological divide, deprivation of the poor
majority by a powerful and wealthy eÂlite minority and
the sustained ability of challenging groups longing for
state power and wealth to continue their violent
struggle against the central government.
From Part 1 onwards, this paper has aimed to
gradually fill in the gaps of the full comparable picture
of contemporary Angolan and Colombian state failure.
Discussion centred on the weak nature of the state as
the principal object of security and how this has
allowed non-state objects of security, particularly the
guerrilla movements, FARC and UNITA, as well as
paramilitaries and narco-traffickers (in Colombia),
mercenary `security' companies and MNCs to play a
determining role, transforming the unstable domestic
political and socio-economic situation to serve their
own narrow interests. They have become so deeply
embedded in society that it is doubtful whether peace
and reconstruction efforts would last without either
their total destruction or total commitment. Both
options seem not to be viable given the state's crises
of persistent weakness, delegitimacy and criminalization. Reference was also made to Angola and
Colombia's experiences with regard to the constructive and destructive nature of other states and an
international organization's involvement. Such elaboration has been complicated by two additional
facts. Instead of acting as the prime object of security,
the state and central government in both countries
have been inclined to deliberately act as an agent of
insecurity to overcome its inherent legitimacy and
power weakness. Part 3 reflected upon this matter,
elaborating the state's political, socio-economic and
human security failure, exacerbated by violent repression, gross human rights violations, corruption and
resort to military force. In essence, comparing the
Angolan and Colombian experiences has brought to
the fore the existence of `grey areas' where it has not
always been possible to distinguish the `good guys'
from the `bad guys'. This observation is inextricably
linked to all three components of the triangular model.
Which groups or actors are exclusively responsible for
state failure, violence and resource capture and who
are not to blame? Again, no simple `yes' or `no' answer
exists. Angolan and Colombian state failure does not
take place in a vacuum with little or no external
(global-level) interference. The European scramble for
colonies and its consequences set into motion their
failure. Cold War ideological divisions and superpower proxy conflict exacerbated their state failure
through, inter alia, small arms proliferation in a
domestic situation of civil war and acute citizen
insecurity. Today, the global free trade conditions of
supply and demand act in an equally important way,
providing strong incentives for external actors to
secure access to Angola and Colombia's lucrative
resources. Powerful, corrupt and criminal domestic
actors do everything possible to meet this demand
through adequate supply. The real victims of protracted social conflict are ordinary citizens suffering
domestic and externally fuelled deprivation, insecurity
and marginalization. Given the failure of exclusive
state control through strong empirical statehood and
legal controls, it is not surprising that both the state
and its non-state challengers have increasingly resorted to violence and disruption to secure their
capture, control and exploitation of oil, diamonds
and cocaine. This third key component, visualized by
the triangular model and incorporated into the central
hypothesis, was elaborated in detail (in Part 4). As
such, the òbjects of security' need state failure and
violence to conceal and continue their illegal activities
of resource capture. The wealth incentive also makes
it unlikely that any one of them would unilaterally seek
an end to state and societal collapse. Oil, diamond and
cocaine wealth has permitted them to simply abandon
efforts to build unselfish, democratic political and
socio-economic links. Strong concerted external engagement and pressure through sanctions is necessary to enforce their crossing of the Rubicon. What
should be avoided is single-handed military intervention, which may tip the two countries over the edge
into full-scale civil war and anarchy.
While this article has delved into the `minefield' of
Angolan and Colombian state failure complexity of
diverse and common causes, consequences and
actors, it has averted doing the same with regard to
solutions. In essence, the antidote of the discussed
ultimate signs and features of the two countries' state
failure is simply to reverse them. In this regard, brief
reference was made to externally driven attempts to
achieve peace and reconstruction. Again, failure has
prevailed. UN-sponsored (UNAVEM) peacekeeping
missions to Angola have been unable to halt the civil
war. Economic sanctions against UNITA have had
little effect on the role of diamond capture as the
latter's financial lifeline and an incentive for war.
However, renewed international efforts are now being
enhanced to cut this lifeline: Belgium has agreed to
tighten controls, the UN Security Council is considering `secondary' sanctions against countries which
assist UNITA, and De Beers no longer buys any uncut
diamonds from UNITA sources. Similarly, international efforts have largely failed to remove the curse of
the cocaine-violence-state failure link in Colombia.
Sustained demand in the US (the largest market for
Colombia's cocaine) continues to encourage increased coca cultivation and cocaine processing.
Time and again, peace efforts between the Pastrana
government and FARC have been derailed by selfish
eÂlite interests, the rule of the gun, impunity, as well as
the parties' unwillingness to compromise. Cocaine
supply can only be restricted if FARC and other nonstate actors co-sponsored central government's policy
of crop substitution in the areas under their control.
However, for them to willingly cut their cocainetaxing financial lifeline, the political rewards offered
need to surpass the huge cocaine profits. If this
implies the balkanization of Colombia with little
guarantee that peace would prevail, the price would
be too high, both for the Pastrana government and the
US, fearing increased instability in the region.
Against this background, Angola and Colombia will
find it extremely difficult to overcome their `minivortex' of societal collapse, development failure and
prolonged violence. For both, the pendulum of state
failure-violence-resource capture continues to move
between the `no maÂs' (no more killings) public outcry
on the one hand, and vague hopes for peace and
31
security. Unfortunately, this pendulum is not controlled by the people, but dictated by powerful,
undemocratic, corrupt, greedy and brutal state and
non-state actors with little or no incentive to negotiate
an ùnprofitable' peace. Both countries are on the
verge of becoming a no-win situation. To reverse this
dire state of affairs, peace would have a cost, requiring
certain distinct steps involving an all-out effort by all
sides. First, the civil war needs to be concluded,
preferably by the successful co-option of the main
challengers to state legitimacy. This is to be followed
by serious efforts of demilitarization and pacification
of the countryside, thus removing the threat of
sustainable guerrilla war. Co-option implies a choice
in favour of competition for legitimate popular support
in a general election. Next, the nature of the regime
needs to be changed fundamentally, involving the
establishment of effective, accountable, transparent
and democratic state control over territory, people and
the natural resources wealth of the country. Peace,
reconciliation and good governance should act as
passwords for state legitimacy, fostering a mutually
beneficial `long-term horizon' for both state and
nation. In the case of Angola, this would ensure that
diamonds and oil no longer function exclusively as a
lifeline to corrupt, power-hungry and greedy eÂlite, but,
instead, provide the much-needed impetus for peaceful and prosperous societal development. In essence,
three crucial factors would determine whether Angola
and Colombia would move from state failure towards
state reconstruction: enlightened, honest leadership,
social cohesion (removing the incentives for conflict),
and strong international engagement (Carnegie Commission 1997; Zartman 1995:120; Olson 1993).
For each vicious circle of destruction (state failure;
violence, resource capture, arms proliferation, poverty), Angola and Colombia need the àntidote' of
constructive international engagement by (trans)national civil society (NGOs; the Church), MNCs, other
states and international organizations. The role of
Global Witness in securing De Beers and other MNCs
commitment towards business practices that not only
permit profitability, but also contribute to political,
economic and social justice in Angola (and Colombia), is evident of what sort of engagement is needed
to remove the resource capture curse. Similarly, UN
member states' commitment towards the International
Code of Conduct on Arms Transfers would go a long
way in combating deadly arms proliferation in Angola
and Colombia's violent civil wars. Failure to do so
would merely foster the state-failure-violence-resource capture curse in both countries and would
render renewed UN-sponsored humanitarian intervention and preventive diplomacy meaningless (Oxfam 1999; Carnegie Commission 1997:30, 78).
ABBREVIATIONS
AUC
CIA
DRC
ELN
FARC
FNLA
ICRC
MNC's
MPLA
PCC
UNAVEM
UNHCR
UNITA
US
United Self-Defence Forces of Colombia
Central Intelligence Agency
Democratic Republic of the Congo
EjeÂrcito de LiberacioÂn Nacional (National Liberation Army)
Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (Colombian Revolutionary Armed Forces)
Frente Nacional para a Libertac,a5 o de Angola (Angolan National Liberation Front)
International Committee of the Red Cross
Multinational Corporations
Movimento Popular de Libertac,a5 o de Angola (Angolan Popular Liberation Movement)
Partido Comunista Colombiano (Colombian Communist Party)
United Nations Angola Verification Mission
United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees
Unia5 o Nacional para a IndependeÃncia Total de Angola (National Union for the Total
Independence of Angola)
United States of America
REFERENCES
Newspapers and Magazines
Basic Papers, (1997). Àfrica: The Challenge of Light Weapons Destruction During Peacekeeping Operation',
December (23), http://www.basicint.org
Business Report, (2000). `South Africans fingered in UN Report on UNITA's diamonds', 16 March, p. 1.
Freedom Magazine International, (1999). `Young professionals are fleeing Colombia', December, pp. 1±2,
http://web.lexis-nexis.com
International Herald Tribune, (2000). Àngola's Misery Amid Huge Riches Unnerves Investors', 11 April, p. 13
International Herald Tribune, (2000). Èxpose the Unsavoury Business Behind Cruel Wars', 17 February, p. 6.
International Herald Tribune, (2000). `To Some Countries, Gems Bring Only Misery', 7 April 2000, p. 2.
32
Mail and Guardian, (1999). Àngola's debt burden', 1 July 1999, pp. 1±3, http://www.mg.co.za
Mail and Guardian, (1999). ÙNITA's six new MiGs shift balance of power', 1 April, pp. 1±3, http://
www.mg.co.za
Metro, (2000). `VS: cocaineproductie Colombia veel hoger dan gedacht', 16 February, p. 5.
National Security, (2000). `Trouble in the near abroad', Vol. 32(3), 15 January, pp. 1±2. http://web.lexisnexis.com
Sowetan, (2000). `Telkom to have seven million lines by 2002', 2 March, p. 23.
Time, (2000). `Striking at The Root of Civil War', 27 March, p. 41.
The Economist, (1999). Àngola's endless war', 25 September, p. 1, http://web.lexis-nexis.com
The Economist, (2000). `Tracking Angola's oil money', 15 January, p. 1.
The Economist, (2000). Àngola Ouch!' 19 February, p. 42.
The Economist, (2000). `Colombia War and Peace', 26 February, p. 68.
The Economist, (2000). À muddle in the jungle', 4 March, pp. 15±16.
The Economist, (2000). `The Andean Coca Wars: A crop that refuses to die', 4 March, pp. 21±23.
The Economist, (2000). `War and Money: The business of conflict', 4 March, pp. 50±52.
The Economist, (2000). Àngola: Amazing grace', 18 March 2000, p. 47.
The Economist, (2000). `The assault on democratic society in Colombia', 18 March, pp. 57±58.
The Economist, (2000). `Dealing with Colombia's death-squads', 8 April, pp. 63±64.
The Mining Journal, (1999). `Diamonds: blessing or curse?' 15 October 1999, p. 309, http://web.lexis-nexis.com
Books, Reports and Journals
Amnesty International Report 1999. London: Amnesty International Publications, pp. 76±78, 132±133.
Buzan, B. (1991). People, States and Fear: An Agenda for International Security Studies in the Post-Cold War era.
London: Harvester Wheatsheaf.
Carnegie Commission. (1997). Preventing Deadly Conflict: Final Report. New York: Carnegie Corporation.
Castells, M. (1998). End of Millennium: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture Volume III. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Central Intelligence Agency. (1999). World Factbook Country Report: Angola, pp. 1±9,
http://www.emulateme.com
Dorff, R. H. (1996). `Democratisation and Failed States: The Challenge of Ungovernability', Parameters, 26(2)
summer, pp. 1±12, http://www.unc.edu
Fituni, L. L. (1995). `The Collapse of the Socialist State: Angola and the Soviet Union', in Zartman, I.W. (ed.)
Collapsed States: The Disintegration and Restoration of Legitimate Authority. London: Lynne Rienner
Publishers, pp. 143±144.
Global Witness. (1998). A Rough Trade: The role of companies and governments in the Angolan conflict. London,
http://oneworld.org/globalwitness.html
Hare, P. (1998). Angola's Last Best Chance for Peace. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press.
Kaldor, M. (1999). `The Structure of Conflict', in Wohlgemuth L. et al. (eds.) Common Security and Civil Society
in Africa. Stockholm: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet.
Keen, B. (1996). A History of Latin America (Fifth Edition). Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company.
Kline, H. F. (1999). State Building and Conflict Resolution in Colombia, 1986±1994. Tuscaloosa: The University
of Alabama Press.
Lexis-Nexis Academic Universe. (1999). Country Profiles: Angola and Colombia, http://web.lexis-nexis.com
Maier, K. (1996). Angola: Promises and Lies. Rivonia: William Waterman Publications.
Messiant, C. (1998). Àngola: the challenge of statehood', in Birmingham, D. and Phyllis M. Martin (eds.) History
of Central Africa: The Contemporary Years Since 1960, pp. 130±165.
New African Yearbook 1999/2000, 12th edition. London: IC Publications, pp. 26±32.
Olson, M. (1993). `Dictatorship, Democracy, and Development', American Political Science Review, Vol. 87(3)
September 1993, pp. 567±572.
Oquist, P. (1980). Violence, Conflict, and Politics in Colombia. New York: Academic Press.
Osterling, J. P. (1989). Democracy in Colombia: Clientelist Politics and Guerrilla Warfare. New Brunswick:
Transaction Publishers.
Oxfam. (1999). Case Studies: Colombia, http://www.oxfam.org.uk
Pearce, J. (1990). Colombia Inside the Labyrinth. London: Latin American Bureau Limited.
Pierre, A. J. (ed.) (1997). Cascade of Arms: Managing Conventional Weapons Proliferation. Washington, DC:
Brookings Institution Press.
33
Reno, W. (1997). Àfrican Weak States and Commercial Alliances', African Affairs Vol. 96 (383), April 1997,
pp. 165±178.
Somerville, K. (1997). Àngola ± Groping Towards Peace or Slipping Back Towards War? in Gutteridge, W. and
J.E. Spence (eds.) Violence in Southern Africa. London: Frank Cass, pp. 11±38.
Shaw, M. N. (1997). International Law Fourth Edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
South America Central America and the Caribbean 2000 (Eight Edition) (1999). London: Europa Publications.
Stevens, P. (1999). ÙN pulls out to let Angola fight resume', Socialist Outlook, pp. 1±3,
http://www.labournet.org.uk
Sweeney, J. P. (1999). `Tread Cautiously in Colombia's Civil War', The Heritage Foundation Backgrounder, 25
March 1999, http://www.heritage.org
United Nations. (1998). World Statistics Pocketbook. New York: Department of Economic and Social Affairs.
United Nations Conference on Trade and Development. (1997). The Least Developed Countries Report. New York
and Geneva: United Nations.
United Nations Development Programme, (1999). Human Development Report. New York: Oxford University
Press.
United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. (1997). The State of the World's Refugees: A Humanitarian
Agenda. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Van Benthem van den Bergh, G. (1998). Development and the Riddle of the Nation. The Hague: Institute of Social
Studies.
Woodward, S. L. (1998). `Failed States: Warlordism and Tribal Warfare', pp. 1±11,
http://www.nwc.navy.mil/press/review/1999/spring.htm
World Bank Group (1999). Country Data: Angola and Colombia at a glance, pp. 1±10,
http://www.worldbank.org/countrydata
Zacarias, A. (1999). Security and the State in Southern Africa. New York: Tauris Academic Studies.
Zartman, I. W. (ed) (1995). Collapsed States: The Disintegration and Restoration of Legitimate Authority. London:
Lynne Rienner Publishers.
34
The cultural formation of Brazil and
the present structure of its judiciary*
by Durval de Noronha Goyos Jr.
Durval de Noronha Goyos Jr.
Dr Durval de Noronha Goyos Jr. is the founder
and senior partner of Noronha Advogados, the
second largest law firm in South America, with
offices in various cities in Brazil, as well as in
Miami, London, ZuÈrich and Lisbon. He is a
member of the Brazilian and the Portuguese
Bars, was chairman of the Brazilian Bar's
Committee on GATT and is currently a WTO
arbitrator.
He is regarded as an authority on international law and economics, and on economic
groups such as MERCOSUL, NAFTA and the
FTAA. He has also represented the Brazilian
government in international negotiations involving MERCOSUL and GATT. Dr Noronha
Goyos Jr. is the author of GATT, MERCOSUL &
NAFTA and The WTO and the Treaties of the
Uruguay Round, among many other books.
Dr Noronha is the author of the authoritative
Legal Dictionary (English/Portuguese; Portuguese/English) already in its fourth edition.
* Edited text of a presentation made in SaÄo Paulo, Brazil, at the GetuÂlio Vargas Foundation, on 25 January 2000, for the Vivendi delegation of
Duke University.
35
ABSTRACT
RESUMEN
RESUMO
The author describes the legal environment in Brazil. He outlines the evolution
of Brazilian culture from the melting pot
of native Brazilians, Africans and Europeans. This serves as a background to
the legal system's evolution from Rome,
modern Europe and America. He goes
on to describe the judiciary and the way
it operates in a federation. He refers
briefly to typical difficulties foreign
companies would encounter, especially
as a result of misperceptions about the
legal system, the litigious nature of
Brazilian society since redemocratization in 1988 and the political influences
on litigation. At the same time the
author hastens to assert that Brazilian
courts are not inefficient, even accepting pleadings by computer.
El autor describe el entorno legal de
Brasil y traza la evolucioÂn de la cultura
brasilenÄa desde la formacioÂn del paõÂ s en
un crisol de brasilenÄos, africanos y
europeos. Esto sirve como trasfondo a
la evolucioÂn del sistema legal desde
Roma, la Europa moderna y AmeÂrica.
Procede a describir el sistema judicial y
la forma en la que opera en una
federacioÂn y comenta brevemente las
dificultades maÂs comunes que las companÄõÂ as extranjeras pueden encontrar,
especialmente como resultado de las
incomprensiones del sistema legal, la
naturaleza litigiosa de la sociedad brasilenÄa desde la democratizacioÂn en 1988
y las influencias polõÂ ticas en el litigio. Al
mismo tiempo el autor declara que las
cortes en Brasil no son ineficientes, auÂn
cuando aceptan alegatos por ordenador.
O autor descreve o sistema legal no
Brasil e esbocËa a evolucËaÄo da cultura
brasileira, derivada da fusaÄo de indõÂ genas, africanos europeus. Isto serve
como fundo aÁ evolucËaÄo do sistema legal
a partir de Roma, da Europa moderna e
da AmeÂrica. Procede com a descricËaÄo do
sistema judiciaÂrio e a maneira como
opera em uma federacËaÄo. Menciona
brevemente as dificuldades tõÂ picas encontradas pelas companhias estrangeiras principalmente como consequÈeÃncia
de percepcËoÄes erroÃneas sobre o sistema
legal, a natureza litigiosa da sociedade
brasileira a partir da redemocratizacËaÄo
em 1988 e as influeÃncias polõÂ ticas sobre
o litõÂ gio. Ao mesmo tempo o autor
afirma que as cortes brasileiras naÄo saÄo
ineficientes, aceitando mesmo acËoÄes
judiciais por meio do computador.
INTRODUCTION
This article arises out of a request by Professor Peter
Brews, of Duke University, for a paper on the Brazilian
legal environment for business, focusing on the
workings of Brazil's Judiciary and the difficulties
encountered by foreign companies. He also asked for
a list of common errors/misperceptions made by
international capital whilst doing business in and
with Brazil.
In my view, most problems encountered by international companies doing business in our country
derive from the very dangerous combination of
ignorance with ethnocentrism. Accordingly, I chose
first to address Brazil's historical and cultural background, believing that, without this fundamental, it is
impossible to understand the country's legal structure
and the business environment. This will be followed
by an analysis of the Brazilian judiciary, its structure
and operation.
THE CULTURAL FORMATION OF BRAZIL
Failure to appreciate a country's cultural specificities
can be quite costly in terms of an investment decision,
in general, and in doing business, in particular. Of
course, the legal framework of a country is intimately
linked to its historical and cultural heritage. Neglect to
absorb these elements comes with a high price tag.
Recently, a major international company bought a
privatized public utility based only on representations
and warranties of the government. A utility company
of that kind had a high tax contingent liability which
materialized only after the acquisition. The buyers had
availed themselves neither of a thorough due dili36
gence report nor of the usual appropriate mechanisms
of price retention. Surprised by the liability, the buyers
made the second error in replying that they would not
bother with the tax assessment. In this case, the
buyers failed to appreciate that as a democratic
society, the government of Brazil is subject to the
law in very much the same way as any other member
of society. They believed that a representation of the
government would be above the law. They probably
would not have made this mistake in their own
country. Their ignorance and patronizing attitude
had a very high cost.
On another occasion, a major European company
merged their respective subsidiaries in Brazil with a
large American organization. Counsel for the United
States company prepared all documents in accordance with American law. European counsel agreed.
They asked their subsidiaries to file the documents in
Brazil at the Board of Trade. They were returned. The
documents had to be adapted to Brazilian law and
that affected the terms of the merger, which had to be
almost entirely renegotiated. That took a long time,
after which American and European counsel sanctimoniously agreed that Brazilian law was to blame.
Another case involves the senior Latin American
counsel of a major US company. The lawyer had
occupied the position for more than ten years. His
company had operated in Brazil for decades. The
lawyer obtained translations into Spanish of contract
documentation and was surprised that the Brazilian
party demanded Portuguese versions. He had perhaps
forgotten that Portuguese is the official language of
Brazil. I could go on with many similar examples, but I
think the point has already been made.
The following is an effort to provide some cultural
background which may be helpful in understanding
the business environment of Brazil and, consequently,
in minimizing risks. It is my firm belief that MBA
programmes today not only fail disgracefully in this
regard, but rather make matters much worse in
promoting the `cowboy' business ethics, according
to which profit at all costs is the basic cannon as well
as the ultimate truth and exclusive end of society.
Brazil was discovered by the Portuguese 500 years
ago, on 22 April 1500, when a fleet of thirteen ships
commanded by navigator Pedro AÂlvares Cabral arrived
in the shores of what is now the state of Bahia. His
expedition represented the official claim by Portugal
of the lands apportioned to it by the Treaty of
Tordesillas of 7 June 1494, mediated by Pope
Alexander VI, that allocated rights of the discoveries
between Spain and Portugal. Spain was to receive the
territories west of the Tordesillas line, as long as
Portugal would acquire the lands to its east. In 1500,
the population of Portugal was only approximately
1 100 000 people or 280 000 households. The
country's human resources were already over-extended by the impact of the discovery by Admiral
Vasco da Gama of the naval route to India in 1498 and
the need to man trading stations in Africa, in India, in
Malaga and subsequently in China and Japan. It has
been estimated that in the first half of the sixteenth
century, 80 per cent of Portugal's male population
was in colonial or trade service abroad.
Portugal had become a nation state and a separate
kingdom since 1139, with the Frenchman Henry of
Bourgogne as its first king, had already expelled the
moors from its territories in 1239, and successfully
fought off Spain's attempts of domination. Conversely, Spain only began to be a nation state at the end
of the fifteenth century and expelled the Moors only
in 1492, the year Columbus discovered America. This
situation determined the attitude of the two countries
towards their new colonies: whereas the Spaniards
continued the ruthless military campaign against the
infidels, supported by a very militant Catholic Church,
the Portuguese adopted an official policy of racial
miscegenation.
When the Portuguese arrived, in 1500, Brazil was
inhabited by approximately five million native Brazilians, of numerous different indigenous peoples, who
spoke languages now classified into four main groups.
Upon disembarkation, the Portuguese were promptly
met by waiting friendly Tupinikins. The predominant
language group, also spoken by the Tupinikins, used
in most of the coast areas and deep into the interior up
to the Amazon and what is now Paraguay, Uruguay
and parts of Argentina was the Tupi-Guarani, known
in some areas in this language as `nhenhen-gatu', or
general language. The indigenous tribes called their
land pindorama or land of the palm trees. They were
basically hunter-gatherers, but also cultivated some
basic crops, such as manioc, peanuts and cotton. They
had a profound knowledge of and respect for the land,
knew cartography, navigation by the sun and by the
stars and had numerous musical instruments. The
basic artistic manifestations were plumery art and
body painting. Their botanical knowledge was profound.
The native Brazilians were in constant warfare. It
was speculated by contemporary European travellers
that this was necessary as a means of population
control. When the Portuguese arrived in Pindorama,
the Tupi-Guarani Indians were asserting control of the
coastal regions of the country. They had their own
legal system, evidenced by extant terms in the TupiGuarani vocabulary for lawyer, court, court-house,
defence, sentence and other terms indispensable for
the functioning of a legal society. Violence within the
tribes was practically non-existent. When it occurred,
the aggrieved, or their families, would be authorized to
redress the damage in the same manner as it was
inflicted. Property was communal. The tribes were
nomads, so as not to exhaust the land, and thus there
was no accumulation of riches. The ultimate sanction
was a social penalty: exclusion from the tribe.
Prisoners of war would be normally integrated into
the tribes as labourers, but not warriors. In many
tribes, the bravest prisoners would be subject to ritual
cannibalism.
The Portuguese settled along the coastline of the
country, which they initially called the Land of True
Cross. After approximately 20 years, the country
began to be called Brazil, after its main produce, the
Brazil wood, used as a red dye. The origin of the name
comes from the Italian Verzino through the French
BreÂsil. Early on the Portuguese tried to impose their
culture, including religion and laws, on the native
population, as well as attempting to enslave it to be
put to economic use. The natives almost immediately
started a movement of civil resistance against the new
order, by moving further inland. They resisted slavery
to such extent that they did not hesitate to commit
suicide in great numbers immediately after capture.
There are many extraordinary written accounts of how
native Brazilians would die in such circumstances,
including various after pronouncing the formula Ì die'
three times. By this movement of civil resistance, the
Brazilian indigenous people not only refused the
unjust law or practice of slavery, but also declined to
accept the artificial frontiers imposed by alien powers.
On both accounts they ultimately prevailed.1
Simultaneously, the Portuguese proceeded with
understandable delight with their policy of miscegenation. There are accounts of some who had as
many as 60 wives, which gave them enormous
political power. This is so because Brazilian indigenous peoples also had a policy of social co-optation.2
37
They wanted to bring the European elements into their
families. Thus, some of those Portuguese, such as the
case of JoaÄo Ramalho in SaÄo Paulo, could come up
with Indian armies of up to 5 000 people, when the
king of Portugal could only produce 2 000. In the
native culture, the children of such parents were
considered to be the same as their fathers, but they all
spoke Tupi-Guarani. When SaÄo Paulo3 was founded
by the Jesuits 466 years ago, only a minute part of the
population spoke Portuguese, which was taught by
the priests in the college they started in 1554. Until
1640, the city of SaÄo Paulo had neither a system of the
laws in force at the time, (the Spanish Philipine
Ordinations) nor any judges. An attempt to introduce
a judge in 1611 failed miserably, as the hapless
official, Manuel Bravo, was received with arrows and
compelled to return to Europe.4 In 1640, the Jesuits
were expelled from the land by the Paulista population, as they were perceived to interfere beyond
reason with the local culture by opposing the
enslavement of native Brazilians. Within this same
period, the cleric Padre Vieira, one of greatest
intellectuals of his time, cited Aristotle in one of his
memorable sermons to remind the congregation that
`good laws are those which are obeyed',5 in view of
the generalized failure to comply with the statutes that
prohibited the enslavement of Brazilian Indians.
As the attempts to enslave the native population
failed, the Portuguese introduced African slaves in
Brazil in such great numbers that they soon overtook
the population of native Brazilians. They were brought
from the regions that today make up the territories of
Nigeria and Angola. The first group, who spoke
Yoruba, was introduced into what is today Brazil's
state of Bahia. The second group was introduced in
what is presently the states of Rio de Janeiro and
Pernambuco, the first in the centre-east part of the
country and the second in the north-east. As a result of
this geographical distribution and the resulting pocket
of Yoruba in Bahia, there was a lack of continuity of
the areas where Kimbundo was spoken. As a result,
Brazil had in the early 1800s four general languages:
one native, Tupi-Guarani; two African, Kimbundo and
Yoruba; and one European, Portuguese.
In 1807, General Junot, acting on the orders of
Napoleon, invaded Portugal. The whole Portuguese
court fled to Brazil. It was the first time a reigning
European monarch had crossed the line of the
equator. The Portuguese court settled in Rio and
brought about renewed prosperity to the country, in
spite of a badly negotiated trade agreement with Great
Britain, signed in 1810. After the French were
defeated at Waterloo, in 1815, the Portuguese court
chose to remain in Brazil, which was elevated to the
status of a kingdom. In practice there was for the first
and only time in history a reversal of the role of colony
and colonial power. In 1821, there was a liberal
38
revolution in Portugal and the king chose to return to
the country as a hostage. His heir remained in Brazil.
He refused to subordinate himself to the Portuguese
parliament, and as emperor declared the country
independent from Portugal. Brazil had then the only
monarchy of the Americas. This lasted until 1889,
when the Republic was proclaimed.
During the second half of the nineteenth century,
under Pedro II, European immigration was encouraged, particularly from Italy, the country of his wife,
and from Germany, the country of his mother.
European immigration was directed mostly to southern Brazil. Italians came in such great numbers that
the only reason why Italian did not become the main
national language is due to the fact that it did not exist
as a single tongue. The Italians came from different
areas of the peninsula and spoke diverse dialects.
When they arrived in SaÄo Paulo, for instance, only one
of three Paulistas spoke Portuguese; the others spoke
Tupi-Guarani. The Italians found it easier to learn
Portuguese and thus boosted its usage as a general
language. As there were few good reference factors
for Portuguese, the language spoken in SaÄo Paulo
became very idiosyncratic.
Slavery was only effectively abolished in Brazil in
1888. This was accomplished in a peaceful manner,
no minor achievement for the country with the largest
African population outside Africa. In 1831 slavery had
already been abolished by law, but never in practice
for lack of social acceptance, in spite of the very harsh
penalties imposed, which involved the loss of liberty.
This was yet another example of a law that `did not
catch'. In this case, the law failed to be obeyed and
enforced because it went against the prevailing
economic interest of the agricultural society that
characterized Brazil.6 In this category, there were
other laws enacted in response to external pressure,
notably by the British. These were known as laws `for
the English to see', that is, not to be enforced.
As a result of so many diverse ethnic influences, the
Portuguese language spoken in Brazil today is very
rich. It has approximately ten thousand words of TupiGuarani in current use, together with about three
thousand words of Kimbundo and two and a half
thousand terms of Yoruba. The language also has
about twice as many sounds as Spanish, for instance,
which facilitates the understanding of that language
by Brazilians, whilst Spanish speaking people cannot
understand Portuguese.7 Very often, there are in Brazil
choices of words from different origins such as for
`bald', which can be expressed as calvo, from Latin;
careca, from Kimbundo; or abayama, from TupiGuarani. The same goes for witchcraft: bruxaria and
feiticËo, from Portuguese; mandinga, from Kimbundo;
and pagelancËa from Tupi-Guarani. Other examples
abound.
After the proclamation of the Republic, Brazil had in
the twentieth century many ruptures of the rule of law.
In the 1930s Brazil had a fascist regime led by an
odious dictator who was inclined toward the Axis
powers. In 1941 and in early 1942, the Brazilian
people massively demonstrated for entry into the war
with the allied powers.8 Eventually, Brazil entered the
war in August, 1942, in response to this enormous
demand. In the process, one expeditionary force of
thirty-five thousand soldiers and aviators was sent to
Italy, and a ferocious naval war raged in the SouthAtlantic, which cost Brazil the loss of 98 per cent of its
merchant navy.9 Following the war, democracy was
reinstated in 1945 only to be suppressed by a military
coup in 1964, which started a regime that lasted until
1986, when the rule of law was again reinstated in the
wake of a great popular movement. Brazil had become
a very complex society with the largest Italian
population outside of Italy, estimated at 37 million
people (the city of SaÄo Paulo alone has more Italians
than the combined populations of Rome and Milan)
and the largest African population outside of Africa.
Millions of ethnic native Brazilians, the majority of
which integrated, live mostly but not exclusively in the
centre and north of the country. In addition, there are
numerous other nationalities, such as Arabs, Germans,
Japanese, Koreans, Poles, in great numbers. Lastly,
there is the phenomenon of widespread racial miscegenation, which has greatly contributed to the
benign nature of our people and for its renowned
tolerance.
THE JUDICIARY IN BRAZIL
Brazil's legal system has its roots in Roman law, with
strong influence from various European sources, such
as Portuguese (constitutional law), French (civil,
commercial, company law), German (civil and criminal procedure) and Italian (criminal and labour)
legislation. Some elements of US inspiration can also
be found in the areas of competition; securities;
environmental law; as well as in taxation. Unjust
and/or impractical law is fiercely resisted by the civil
society, in the best Tupi-Guarani tradition. Following
the re-democratization of Brazil in 1986, a constituent
assembly was formed with the mission of enacting a
new constitution, which task was accomplished in
1988. The Constitution of 1988 was, at very best,
highly inadequate in time and space, and accordingly
has already suffered 29 separate amendments. In the
present federal administration only, the constitution
has been amended by 19 different bills.10 However,
what is most striking about Brazil's constitution is not
the number of amendments it has suffered, but the
reforms it will still have to undergo, before it becomes
a rational platform for the rule of law, federative pact,
political balance and economic activities.
The 1988 Constitution divided the Judiciary in
ordinary and specialized courts. As Brazil is a
federation, the ordinary court system is established
at the state and federal levels. The ordinary courts
comprise civil and criminal benches and the specialized courts attend to labour, military and electoral
cases. Appeals may be filed to second and third
instances. At the top of the pyramid, there is the
constitutional court, the Federal Supreme Tribunal.
The Superior Tribunal of Justice (STJ), with 33
ministers, is the court of last resort for non-constitutional matters. All last resort tribunals are based in
Brazil's capital, BrasõÂ lia. With the re-democratization
of the country and the adoption of the new constitution, Brazil became an increasingly litigious country,
second only to the USA in terms of litigation. In 1997,
four million suits were filed in the Brazilian courts.
This number jumped to five million in 1999. The
specialized labour courts alone tried 2,3 million cases
in 1998. In the same year, the STJ decided 101 000
cases with published opinions, whereas the STF, with
11 justices, decided 52 000 cases.
The 1988 Constitution allowed the Executive
branch to legislate by means of decrees, Provisional
Measures (MPs). In theory, those MPs should be
enacted only in those cases of relevance and urgency
and to be valid for only 30 days. However, in case
Congress does not approve the law within 30 days,
the administration is allowed to re-enact the measure.
The current administration enacted 199 measures,
which were re-enacted 3 336 times. For each MP,
there are approximately 30 000 suits. Thus, the
legislative effort of the FH Cardoso administration
brought about, only in connection with MPs,
5 970 000 suits. Federal, State and Municipal governments have a policy of litigating in bad faith and
never settling cases, as the interest of the respective
administrations is put above that of the public's. What
counts is to procrastinate the obligation to pay to the
extent possible, so that another administration will
have to foot the bill. The State of SaÄo Paulo alone, in
spite of having the reputation of one of the best
managed in the Brazilian federation, has approximately of US$ 6 billion dollars of judicial indemnification in arrears, and the municipality of SaÄo Paulo,
which does not enjoy the same reputation, US$ 1
billion. As the State of SaÄo Paulo refuses to pay those
judicial awards, there were, in 1999, 1 103 requests
for judicial intervention in the State's executive
branch, whose governor has resorted to evading
summons!11
In spite of such numbers, the Brazilian judiciary has
only approximately 10 000 first-instance judges and
200 000 active lawyers for a population of 150 million
people. As in France, those judges are all civil servants
subject to a public examination for qualification.
Brazilian judges have benefited from continuing legal
education programmes for more than ten years. In the
higher courts, twenty per cent of members come from
39
the legal profession as well as from the public
prosecution service, another category of civil servants.
More sophisticated judges and courts tend to be
found in more economically developed federal states,
where follow-up of the cases can be done by
computers. At present, cases normally take from three
to five years before conclusion. Discovery is extensive.
Litigation is expensive and the discomfited party will
pay full court fees and reimburse legal costs of
between ten and 20 per cent of the value of the case.
The judiciary system does not adopt the `stare decisis'
doctrine and thus every case has to be tried
individually, even if higher courts have already
decided on the matter of law.
The states and the federal governments are the most
frequent litigants, more often than not in the passive
pole, as a result of the numerous attempts against the
legal order, commonly in the economic area. Former
President Collor, for example, attempted to eradicate
inflation in the country by means of the outright
sequestration of 80 per cent of the financial assets of
physical and juridical persons, rather than by fiscal
policy. The expected result was a tidal wave of legal
actions where his hapless government was most
thoroughly and inexorably beaten.
Recently, the prestigious The Economist, published
a feature12 stating that establishing a firm rule of law
remains a challenge throughout Latin America; accusing the Brazilian judiciary of corrupt and inefficient
practices and accusing lawyers as well as judges of
benefiting from the creeping chaos in the judicial
system. In reply to this article, I sent a letter to the
editor on 20 September last year, which was duly
published.13 I wrote that the assertion that the
Brazilian judiciary is both corrupt and inefficient not
only fails to portray reality but is flagrantly irresponsible. I also wrote that the evidence of corruption is
insufficient to allow for generalizations and that
efficiency of the courts is comparable if not greater
to what is found today in the European Union. I also
commented that the decision of the Brazilian Bar to
oppose the `stare decisis' doctrine, equally not
recognized by the ICJ or the WTO, comes out of
concern for the prevalence of the rule of law, keeping
into memory the sombre years of military dictatorship
in the country. Furthermore, the domestic statistics
speak strongly in favour of the Judiciary. Against the
four million suits filed in 1997, there were fewer than
100 arbitration cases.
As to efficiency, court proceedings in Brazil are
faster than in most of continental Europe today.
Lawyers can follow-up proceedings in all federal
courts via computer and can file pleadings by the
same means. In the most economically developed
40
states, follow-up via computer as well as filings are
also possible. Distribution of new cases is done by
computers. Jurisprudence is immediately made available via computer as well as published in hard copies.
The legal prosecution service or public ministry is both
independent and quite effective. The Bar has a superb
continuing legal education programme and conducts
a thorough examination before new lawyers are
admitted. The recent vilification of the Brazilian legal
system undoubtedly has its roots in bad politicians
who had their evil designs frustrated by the workings
of the legal machinery.
Brazilian courts have jurisdiction over defendants
domiciled in Brazil and on disputes resulting from
obligations to be performed in Brazil, as well as on
matters arising from acts occurring in the Brazilian
territory. Foreign companies having a commercial
presence in Brazil are deemed to be domiciled in the
country. Election of foreign law to govern local
obligations is possible whenever there is no violation
of Brazil's public policies. This is not a common
occurrence, however, as the proof of foreign law in a
Brazilian court tends to be quite burdensome.
Foreign sentences are ratified in Brazil by the STF
upon the fulfilment of five requirements, as follows:
(1) foreign court having personal and subject matter
jurisdiction; (2) proper summons; (3) final judgement;
(4) legalization and sworn translation; and (5)
compliance with basic principles. Ratification will be
denied if Brazilian courts have exclusive jurisdiction of
a matter, which occurs in case of property located in
Brazil and probate of assets in the country. Defendants resident in Brazil must be properly summoned
by means of rogatory letters. Affidavits have to be
presented to the effect that no appeals are possible in
the country of origin of the judgement. Foreign
judgements must not violate Brazil's national sovereignty, public order or morality.
Until very recently, for foreign arbitration awards to
be enforced in Brazil, ratification by the courts of the
country of origin of the award and ratification by the
STF were necessary. This ensured that arbitration was
eschewed in Brazil. On 27 December 1995, Brazil
ratified the Panama convention on arbitration, which
eliminated the necessity of ratification of an award by
the local courts in most cases. Furthermore, in
accordance with new domestic legislation on arbitration,14 international awards are dependent on ratification by the STF only. Summons are allowed in
accordance with applicable international treaty or
foreign law. The award may be based on submission
clauses, whose validity will survive the relevant
agreement. In spite of such positive developments,
arbitration remains only exceptionally used in Brazil.
NOTES
1 For an excellent history of the Brazilian indians, see Red Gold ± The Conquest of the Brazilian Indians by John Hemming,
Cambridge, Harvard University Press, Massachusetts: 1978.
2 Which they named tuasap or extended family. In Portuguese, this phenomenon became known as cunhadismo or the practice
of expanding a family by marriage. Darcy Ribeiro in O Povo Brasileiro, SaÄo Paulo, Cia das Letras, 2nd edition, superbly
analyses this topic.
3 Originally called SaÄo Paulo de Piratininga. Piratininga is a tupi-guarani word meaning dry-fish, which is how the local
population, approximately 90 kilometres away from the sea, ate their fish.
4 See A NacËaÄo Mercantilista by Jorge Caldeira, SaÄo Paulo, Editora 34, 1999, p. 35.
5 See Os SermoÄes, by Pe. Antonio Vieira, SaÄo Paulo Ed., Cultrix, 1995.
6 In this respect see A EscravidaÄo Africana no Brasil by the great Brazilian abolitionist, Evaristo de Moraes, BrasõÂ lia, Editora
UNB, 3rd edition.
7 For a history of the development of the Portuguese language, see Relembrando o PortugueÃs com DicionaÂrio de Anglicismos,
by Durval de Noronha, SaÄo Paulo, Observador Legal Ed., 1998.
8 For a history of the popular movement for declaration of war against the axis powers, see O Brasil e a 2a Guerra, by JoaÄo
FalcaÄo, BrasõÂ lia, Editora UNB, 1998.
9 For an excellent and concise work on the subject, see Brazil in the Second World War, by Keith Campbell, Pretoria, UNISA
Centre for Latin American Studies, 1992.
10 See `LicËoÄes Que NaÄo Morrem', by Reginaldo de Castro, in OAB Nacional, December of 1999.
11 OAB-SP Boletim, December, 1999.
12 `The Price of Justice', September 18th 1999.
13 The Economist, October 2, 1999.
14 Law 9307 of November 24, 1996.
41
Contemporary shamanism Ð
vegetalismo in the Peruvian Amazon*
by Wynand Koch**
Uclas Research Fellow
Wynand Koch was a Research Fellow of the
Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies from
August 1996 to July 1997 and is currently
completing his MA dissertation in Anthropology at Unisa. His focus is on shamanism and its
various manifestations. As Uclas Research
Fellow, he spent several months in the Peruvian jungle during which time he shared
practical experiences with Peruvian shamans,
including the imbibing of the ayahuasca. At
present he is teaching in Taiwan.
Wynand Koch
* Editor's Note: A second article `Vegetalismo Consciousness and the New Sciences' will appear in the issue of ULAR 17(1), 2001. The articles
were written while the author was Research Fellow at the Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies.
** My thanks for being enabled to undertake research in the Peruvian Amazon to the Head of UCLAS, Mrs ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell, to my
supervisor, Dr Chris van Vuuren, Department of Anthropology, Unisa, to Dr Eleanor B. Smithwick, of the Peruvian Amazon Conservation, Inc.,
my joint supervisor, and my soror mystica and to the PAC, Inc., and their assistant director Clever Hoyos Rengifo. Many thanks go to my two
main informants and maestros, Don Francisco Montes ShunÄa and Don Fernando Lachi who introduced me to the world of the Vegetalista,
Ayahuasca, Sachamama, Yacumama, Pachamama and Huayramama. I dedicate the work to Sachamama, the spirit of the rain forest.
42
ABSTRACT
RESUMEN
RESUMO
Undertaking a research project into
shamanism in the Peruvian Amazon,
the author was introduced to the vegetalista, a type of shaman with special
knowledge of a wide variety of medicinal plants and a vocation to help their
fellows Ð without payment. The article
describes the way in which vegetalistas
are co-opted into the calling, their
initiation, long training, the status allocated to them and the roles they play in
Peruvian Amazonian society. Vegetalistas undertake an important function in a
society in which clinics and even district
nurses are rarely to be found. For the
poor and the widely dispersed inhabitants they are particularly necessary.
El proyecto de investigacioÂn sobre el
chamanismo en la Amazonia peruana,
ha permitido a su autor conocer al
vegetalista, un tipo de chamaÂn conocedor de una gran variedad de plantas
medicinales y con una vocacioÂn a
ayudar a sus congeÂneres Ð a menudo
sin cobrar. El artõÂ culo describe como los
vegetalistas escuchan la llamada, como
son invitados a su iniciacioÂn, al largo
periodo de entrenamiento, el status que
se les confiere y el papel que juegan en
la sociedad de la Amazonia peruana.
Los vegetalistas juegan un papel muy
importante en una sociedad en la que
las clõÂ nicas y las enfermeras de distrito
escasean. Estos son especialmente necesarios para los pobres y aquellos
habitantes que se hayan diseminados
por la regioÂn.
O projeto de pesquisa sobre o xamanismo na AmazoÃnia peruana levou o
autor a conhecer o vegetalista, uma
categoria de xamaÄ com conhecimentos
especiais sobre uma grande variedade
de plantas medicinais e com vocacËaÄo de
ajudar ao proÂximo Ð muitas vezes de
gracË a. O artigo descreve como os
vegetalistas saÄo chamados a seguir a
vocacË aÄ o, a sua iniciacË aÄ o, o longo
perõÂ odo de treinamento, o status a eles
conferido e o papel que desempenham
na sociedade da AmazoÃnia peruana. Os
vegetalistas exercem uma funcËaÄo importante numa sociedade onde postos
de sauÂde ou ateÂ enfermeiras saÄo raridades. Eles se tornam assim essenciais
para os pobres e os habitantes de uma
regiaÄo escassamente populada.
SHAMANISM: A BRIEF INTRODUCTION
Nevill Drury (1982:1) describes shamanism as a
visionary tradition, an ancient practice of utilizing
altered states of consciousness to contact the gods
and spirits of the natural world. Browman (1979:6±7)
uses the term `shaman' to refer to those persons who
mediate relationships between humans and the supernatural, and intervene in specific cases of misfortune
and illness to determine a cause and to administer a
cure. When we think of the shaman, the image of an
enigmatic and mysterious medicine man or sorcerer
comes to mind Ð a figure who through entering a
condition of trance is able to undertake a vision-quest
of the soul, journey to the sacred places and report
back to humankind on matters of cosmic intent. It
might be that the shaman is a healer, able to conquer
the spirits of disease, a sorcerer, skilled in harnessing
spirits as allies for magical purposes, or a type of
psychic detective able to recover lost possessions. At
other times the shaman may seem to be somewhat
priestlike Ð an intermediary between the gods of
Creation and the more familiar realm of everyday
domestic affairs. But whatever the specific role, the
shaman, universally, is one who commands awe and
respect, for the shaman can journey to other worlds
and return with revelations from the gods (Drury
1982:1).
Compared with others in their society, shamans
frequently have more extensive knowledge of the
natural world (ranging from plants to stars), a keener
grasp of the subtleties of interpersonal and psychic
phenomena, and a clearer understanding of, and more
intimate involvement with the world of the spirits.
Depending on the specific cultural context, shamans
are involved in consulting, propitiating, and manipulating supernatural beings; divining the causes of
thefts, fevers, and deaths; curing illnesses ranging
from fractures to psychotic episodes; and guiding
members of society in economic pursuits, political
activities, and religious ceremonies. When viewed
collectively, shamans combine, in varying degrees in
different cultures, the roles of physician, pharmacologist, psychotherapist, sociologist, philosopher, lawyer, astrologer, and priest Ð and aspects of other
statuses which in our society have become highly
specialized (Browman 1979:6±7).
In the Peruvian Amazon we have a phenomenon
called the vegetalista, who precisely fits this description. The vegetalista is a person of exceptional
knowledge, ranging from entheogens and medicinal
plants, from which his name is derived, to knowledge
of the spiritual domain Ð vegetalistas may be male or
female, but for fluidity in reading I will make use of the
male pronoun Ð perceived under the influence of the
entheogen, ayahuasca. The vegetalista is the contemporary healer for poor urban and rural mestizos.
Not only is he the healer par excellence, but also the
only psychologist available to these people. He is the
person who, in an altered state of consciousness, can
divine, travel to distant places and find lost objects.
The vegetalista is still a man of considerable power
and can be found all over jungle cities in Peru and in
rural settlements. To many of these mestizos, the
vegetalista is often the only help in critical situations.
He is the person with whom these people can relate,
and they feel comfortable with him. Although the
mestizo is acculturated into modern society, they very
43
often still find the Western doctor and ways of
diagnosis and healing as alien as many modern
people would find the shaman.
In the wake of a new group of sciences, of which
transpersonal anthropology and psychology, ethnobotany and ethnopharmacology, are but a few, have
led to a general evaluation of consciousness, accompanied by a more positive attitude towards altered
states of consciousness. For many of these new
scientists, the shaman is becoming their most valuable
informant since he is a world expert on medicinal
plants, entheogens and access to altered states of
consciousness. Thus, it is not only the local Peruvian
mestizos that are in need of the vegetalista, but also
the modern scientist, who has come to recognize the
shaman for whom he is a man of knowledge. In the
words of Holger Kalweit (1988:13) `the shaman
should therefore not be branded as some sort of
archaic hero or as a relic of the past, who, although
historically redundant, somehow continues to vegetate on the fringe of our technological civilization. In
the light of the revolutionary findings of recent
researchers into the nature of dying and death, the
shaman should be considered as a most up-to-date
and knowledgeable psychologist'. According to the
same author, academics from many different disciplines have now begun to exhume the shaman from
the tangle of rationalist theories and romantic ideas,
so that our modern research into shamanism could, in
fact, be seen as a sort of archaeology of the Western
mind and spirit.
Although the vegetalista is still very much in
practice today, this archaic cult is slowly disappearing
in the face of modern development. To find a
vegetalista is still relatively easy, but to find a disciple
is practically impossible. Not only will the local
mestizos, who in many cases cannot afford modern
medical treatment and medicine, suffer immeasurably
if vegetalismo disappears in the Peruvian Amazon, but
we as modern humans will miss the opportunity to
learn more about medicinal plants, disappearing at an
incredible rate due to deforestation, and learning
about the unconscious, from a person for whom
altered states of consciousness is not something
phenomenologically extraordinary, mysterious, or arcane, but a way of life, and something totally real. At
the dawning of a new millennium, the world will have
to turn back and acknowledge the most knowledgeable person of all, the shaman. This person, found in
the Peruvian Amazon, is willing to share his medicine
with people in need and is willing to guide people in
an altered state of consciousness, to perceive another
reality. This person is the vegetalista.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY
During my travels in South America I arrived in
Iquitos, the capital of the Department of Loreto, in
44
the Peruvian Amazon, where I met Dr Eleanor B.
Smithwick, founder and director of Peruvian Amazon
Conservation, Inc. She introduced me to the life of the
Peruvian shaman or vegetalista and their use of the
ayahuasca. In 1996 armed with a fellowship from the
Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies I returned to
Peru and Dr Smithwick to conduct research on
Peruvian shamanism among the vegetalistas.
The theoretical framework for this investigation
comes, in the main, from a new scientific orientation,
one that has lost its specifically Western character,
because it gives full recognition to the psychologies
and philosophies of other cultures and strives to bring
these into harmony with our modern knowledge. This
new scientific orientation is known as Transpersonal
Science (Kalweit 1988:xv).
When it comes to studying shamans, our findings
are no more than what we have fed into the research
itself, namely our own concepts and philosophies, our
contemporary projections. Hundreds of these studies
on shamanism have been written, but their methodology has only explored the cultural outer layer of the
shaman Ð his external appearance. The essence of
altered states of consciousness and the inner world of
the shaman are not touched upon (Kalweit 1988:242±
243).
Shamans are said to be reluctant to talk about their
experiences of altered states of consciousness. It is
not that the shaman considers it sacrilegious to speak
of such matters to strangers or the uninitiated, nor that
he cannot remember what he experienced in his
trance; the reason is much more likely that he cannot
find the words to describe what he has seen. At best
he will make use of descriptions handed down within
his culture, but these in themselves are once again no
more than categorizations of that which cannot be
categorized. Because of our ingrained Western faith in
the communicativeness of language, we take his
words literally, assuming that they correspond exactly
to processes of our external environment (Kalweit
1988:244).
The more directly researchers experience the various
states of consciousness themselves, the better they
ought to be able to describe them in rational terms.
The yogin/scientist, the shaman/scientist Ð the man
who embodies two worlds Ð is surely better qualified
than anyone else to explore the whole spectrum of
consciousness, because he is capable of basing his
descriptions on his own inner experience and so will
know what he is talking about (Kalweit 1988:245).
The introduction of a scientific researcher to the
universe of the shaman could conceivably pass
through the following stages (Kalweit 1988:245±
246):
1.
2.
Pure external observation and objective description of behaviour.
Empathic resonance with and sympathy for the
3.
4.
shaman's way of life, coupled with an attempt to
give a description based on personal participation.
The ethnologist must seriously acknowledge the
mental techniques and experiences of the shaman
and should himself experiment with some of
them. (Some researchers, such as V. Brown,
Boyd, Cushing, David-Neel, Eaton, Katz, Kunze,
J. R. Walker, and others, either have taken
psychoactive drugs, fasted, and prayed or have
gone in search of visions. In this way they have,
to a certain extent, acquired an inner understanding of the shaman's way of life.)
The ethnologist becomes an apprentice of the
shaman, thereby transcending his traditional role
as a scientist, raising his scientific curiosity to a
new and higher level, and attempting to combine
learning with active reflection. (By now, a
number of Westerners have entered into or
partially completed such an apprenticeship, as
for instance Boshier, CoÂrdova-Rios, Derlon,
Harner, and Prem Das.)
The most complete description of and the deepest
insight into the life of the shaman will, of course,
come from researchers who themselves enter into
altered states of consciousness. The more we manage
to close the gap between the scientist and the
shaman, the closer we come to a truly transpersonal
and transcultural science (Kalweit 1988:246).
Ethnology resists a strictly psychological analysis of
shamanism Ð and rightly so, because it is undeniable
that our Western psychology has been ethnocentric
from it's very beginnings and has always refused to
accord any kind of recognition to tribal psychologies
and philosophies. Transpersonal science, on the other
hand, has come into being from a fusion of Asian
philosophy and Western consciousness research, just
as transpersonal anthropology also takes account of
the wisdom and systems of knowledge of other
cultures. It is this kind of transcultural science that
can bridge the gap between traditional and modern
societies; it may be symbiotic, combining the energies
of several ways of life, but it is stimulating a new
universal science of man. Soon transcultural science
will overtake the kind of narrow-minded research into
shamanism, which considers the shaman as no more
than an object and product of social circumstances
(Kalweit 1988:247).
In an age characterized by an unshakeable faith in
science it has become the task of anthropology to
provide a rational explanation for such wayward and
illogical notions and concepts (Kalweit 1988:xii). The
shaman should therefore not be branded as some sort
of archaic hero or as a relic of the past, who, although
historically redundant, somehow continues to vegetate on the fringe of our technological civilization. In
the light of the revolutionary findings of recent
researchers into the nature of dying and death, the
shaman should be considered as a most up-to-date
and knowledgeable psychologist (Kalweit 1988:13).
In order to gain more knowledge of the world view
and of the origin of the knowledge which the
vegetalista possesses and which he believes he
obtains, in altered states of consciousness, while
under the influence of ayahuasca, transpersonal
research will form an important aspect of my fieldwork.
THE PERUVIAN AMAZON
Peru, a country of 1 285 215 Km, has 54 per cent of its
territory in the Amazon area. This area is located
within a larger geographical unity, the Upper Amazon
Basin, which comprises the network of rivers that
drain the tropical rainforest east of the Andes
mountains and flow into the Amazon River until the
mouth of the Rio Madeira (Lathrap 1970:22±23).
There is a geographical and ecological differentiation between the forest on the steep eastern slopes of
the Andes, between 400 and 1000 metres above sea
level, with heavy rainfall, and a great contrast in the
temperatures between day and night (between 148
and 328 Centigrade), and the tropical forest on the
floor of the Amazon Basin, situated between 80 and
400 metres above sea level, with hot temperatures
(between 248 and 408 Centigrade), high humidity and
often violent rains (Rumrill 1984:33).
Four departments of Peru (Loreto, San MartõÂ n,
Ucayali, and Madre de Dios) lie completely within the
Amazon area, while eleven other departments have
part of their territories covered by tropical rain forest
(Luna 1986:25).
Numerous Indian communities belonging to various
linguistic families, lived Ð and several still live Ð in
this area (Luna 1986:25). Lowie (1948:1) points out
that their cultural complex contrasts markedly from
that of the Andean civilizations by lacking architectural and metallurgical refinements. Their diagnostic
features are the cultivation of tropical root crops, the
construction of effective wooden river craft, the use of
hammocks as beds, and the manufacture of simple
pottery.
According to the same author, a second feature,
namely the effective use of canoeing, allowed certain
tribes to spread their art and customs over enormous
distances, and this, combined with natural conditions,
produced the remarkable levelling of culture in this
area. Other factors, such as the generalized custom of
taking a bride from another settlement, irrespective of
linguistic affinity (Lowie 1948:29), and the necessity
of trading among distant tribes or villages for the
purpose of obtaining essential raw materials (Latharp
1970:32) contributed to this levelling of culture. We
may even say that syncretism was thus built into the
system (Luna 1986:26).
45
The arrival of the Europeans considerably accelerated the process of interchange, by breaking down the
integrity of particular tribal or ethnic groups. The
missionaries forced Indian groups of different traditions to settle in large villages (reducciones), where
they could be evangelized and controlled `more
easily'. During the rubber epoch (1880±1914), Indian
communities, simply considered as a labour force,
were enslaved, forced to migrate and compelled to
work together, irrespective of their cultural differences. Later, with the advent of urbanization, the
process of interchange continued in the urban slums
of Iquitos, Pucallpa and other Amazonian towns
(Luna 1986:26).
The economic frontier created by the exploitation of
rubber had disastrous results for the indigenous
population, as entire ethnic groups disappeared as a
result of disease, malnutrition, slave-raids, forced
labour and the unwarranted cruelty of the rubber
collectors (Chirif 1980:187). Today ethnic groups
represent only about 20 per cent of the jungle
population, and about 2,5 per cent of the total
population of the country, which amounts to approximately 24 million people (Luna 1986:26). However,
according to Wise (1983), there are still 63 surviving
ethnic groups.
Only a little more than ten per cent of the country's
population, known as mestizos, live in Amazonian
territories. Many of these people live along the flood
plains of the Amazon and its major tributaries, where
recent alluvial layers of soil are rich in nutrients. They
practise subsistence farming, and exploit the rich
fishing resources, or have their chacras (gardens)
along the roads recently opened in various parts of the
Amazon (Luna 1986:26).
The Webster Dictionary (1981) gives two definitions of the word `mestizo': 1) a person of mixed
European and non-Caucasian stock, and specifically,
one of European (as Spanish and Portuguese) and
American Indian ancestry; 2) a completely acculturated Central or South American Indian. Among
vegetalistas there are people who could, probably,
pass as Europeans (Spanish, Portuguese or Italian),
and also those who would be racially indistinguishable from people belonging to some ethnic groups.
But what they all have in common is that Spanish is
their mother tongue, while they operate, naturally, in
various degrees, within the large and diffuse Upper
Amazon cultural complex (Luna 1986:15; Vitebsky
1995:49).
During the last few decades, the Amazon area has
witnessed a great demographic expansion due to
colonization programmes launched by Lima to integrate these territories with `the nation' (Luna
1986:26).
46
RESEARCH AREA: IQUITOS AND THE RIO
NAPO
The city of Iquitos (3845'S 79811'W) is located on the
west bank of the Amazon, between the mouths of the
Nanay and Itaya rivers. It has its origin in the first half
of the 18th century, in Jesuit missionary activities in
the territories between the Tigre and Napo rivers,
particularly those that were carried out on the river
Itaya by the Jesuit Maroni in 1729. The original
population belonged to the Yameos. After the
independence of Peru in 1821, the settlement was
consolidated with native Christian people of several
other tribes, among them Mayoruna, Pebas and
Omaguas (Luna 1986:27).
The introduction of steamboats in the Amazon was
to change the destiny of many Amazonian settlements. Iquitos became the principal river harbour in
the Peruvian Amazon area. In 1864 a commercial line
went upstream to Yurimaguas, in the Huallaga, and
downstream to Tabatinga, in Brazilian territory (Barcia
GarcõÂ a 1983:9±23). One of the consequences of the
great demand for rubber in Europe and the United
States after the discovery of vulcanization by Goodyear in 1839 was that the Amazonian territories were
soon the object of foreign capitalist interests (Luna
1986:27).
Iquitos became a cosmopolitan centre of trade,
where English gold sovereigns circulated along with
the Peruvian national currency. However, communication with Lima, the capital, was very difficult, due
to the distance, lack of roads, and topography. During
the so-called `rubber boom period' from 1880 to 1914
thousands of tons of rubber left Iquitos, and at the
same time the area was inundated with Western
products, especially from England and the United
States. In 1910 the export of rubber exceeded four
thousand tons. However, the development of large
rubber plantations in Malaysia, Burma, India, Indochina and Africa, first by Great Britain, and then by
Holland, Belgium, France, Germany and the United
States (Barcia GarcõÂ a 1983:63), and the First World
War (1914±1918), caused the collapse of the Amazonian rubber industry. Thousands of workers returned from the jungle, increasing the population of
Iquitos, Yurimagus, Requena, Nauta, Contamana and
other urban nuclei (Barcia GarcõÂ a 1983:65).
In the 1920's other Amazonian products, such as
balata (Manilkara bidentata), leche caspi (Couma
macrocarpa Barb. Rodr.), precious wood and resins,
and live animals (especially ornamental fish) became
the objects of intense exploitation. Many people were
engaged in these kinds of jobs, usually through a
debt-peonage labour system or habilitacioÂn. The
export of skins of wild animals, such as cayman,
boas, peccari, sajino (Tayassu tajacu), jaguars and
otters was taken almost to the point of extinction of
some animals, such as the white cayman (Caiman
sclerops) and the otter (Ptenorura brasiliensis) (Villarejo 1979:173±176; Chirif 1980:188). In the thirties
gold and oil were found in the area of Pachitea (Luna
1986:27±28).
In September 1932 a group of Peruvian civilians
took the Colombian town of Leticia by force. A war
with Colombia was the result of this action, which
was supported by the government in Lima. A
consequence of this was the militarization of the
zone, and the forced recruitment of soldiers among
the Amazonian population. In the military camps
people from distant areas of all the Amazonian
territories and other parts of Peru met. Local healers
forced to join the army met each other, and were able
to exchange ideas (Luna 1986:28).
The Second World War was again to bring changes
to the Amazon. In 1941 Japan rapidly advanced
through South East Asia, from where most of the
rubber used in the Western world came. Old Amazonian jungle tracks were reopened in search of rubber
and jebe fino, attracting immigrants from the rest of
the Peruvian territory. In November 1971 oil was
discovered in the RõÂ o Tigre, and a new period of
expansion occurred, bringing about a demographic
explosion (Luna 1986:28).
Iquitos plays a central role in the administrative,
economic and cultural life of north-eastern Peru. It
continues to attract immigrants, not only from jungle
settlements in Amazonian territories, but also from
other areas of the country. With them have come their
traditional beliefs and practices, and this city and its
vicinity are a rich field for gathering ethnological and
folkloristic information (Luna 1986:28).
Despite the modern facËade of the city of Iquitos,
traditional jungle life with roots in a not so distant
past, has by no means disappeared or even given
ground before the impact of the hitherto coast-basal
industrial society. Although the casual visitor cannot
help but notice just how much twentieth-century
machinery and ways have entered into jungle life (at
least as far as the presence of motor-powered
launches, automobiles, aeroplanes, telephones, movies and pumps, nonetheless he would find many
traditional beliefs flourishing in this relatively modern
urban setting. Magical beliefs flourish in this situation
of culture change, as Man attempts to achieve mastery
and control over the unknown by special rituals and
ceremonies. Real problems are presented to the
anthropologist who tries to separate the myriad
strands of imported industrial society found among a
small sector of the population from the admixtures of
beliefs held by the destitute poor or middle-income
men and women who attribute illness and misfortune
to witchcraft (Dobkin de Rios 1984:49).
In Iquitos, much of the population, many of them
landless peasants who have migrated from other areas
of the country, live in barriadas or squatter settleISSN 0256±6060±Unisa Lat. Am. Rep. 16(2) 2000
ments. Many of these peasants have very little
knowledge of the Amazonian environment (Chirif
1980:189). The price of food and other goods is very
high, compared with those of other cities of Peru. The
price of the transport of agricultural products from the
chacras to the city, either by river or by road, is also
high (Luna 1986:29).
Down river from Iquitos, the RõÂ o Napo, a major
tributary of the Amazon river, is populated by mestizos
or riberenÄos, struggling in transition between the tribal
situation and modern civilization. They live in casarõÂos
or riverine communities on the banks of the river and
make use of river transport for contact with the
modern world, travelling between Iquitos and other
casarõÂos. The distinction between mestizo and riberenÄo is very complicated. Luna (1991:9) defined
riberenÄos as the descendants of detribalized Amazonian Indians, the offspring of Indian-European and
Indian-African unions, and the descendants of early
immigrants from different areas of Brazil, Peru, and
other Andean countries, thus comparing well with the
previously discussed definition of mestizo. RiberenÄo
can however also refer to those who dwell along the
riverbanks in riverine communities.
These mestizos or riberenÄos live in huts, mostly with
only a raised floor and roof made out of thatched
palm. Most of these huts lack any walls and furniture,
except for mosquito netting in which to sleep, and an
occasional hammock. The women mainly farm on
their chacras (swidden gardens), with yuca (a starchy
root) and plantain (cooking bananas) as the main
produce. Some will sometimes run a little bodega
(shop) from their house. The men are mostly fishermen and spend most of their time fishing on the river,
making dugout canoes, or helping in the chacra with
the more strenuous work. Most of the casarõÂos have
an elementary school and soccer field. Soccer is in
most cases the main recreation of riberenÄos.
Most of the work is of a subsistence nature only.
Some riberenÄos do send their produce and fish to
Iquitos by river transport, to sell or trade for necessities
like sugar, soap, tobacco, medicine, and aguardiente Ð a raw sugarcane rum, distilled by the local
mestizos. Some people will also catch and sell
ornamental fish for aquariums to the many tourists in
Iquitos. Another alarming source of income is the
making of carboÂn (charcoal) for use as fuel by the
many inhabitants of Iquitos. This process entails the
cutting down of hardwood trees, normally done by
the father with a chainsaw, followed by his wife and
children, stacking the logs up and burning it to
produce the carboÂn. This has become a valuable
source of income for many riberenÄos, and is one of the
causes of deforestation on the riverbanks and
throughout the rainforest, which is easily accessed
by water ways.
Because of the struggle between the tribal situation,
47
which no longer exists, and modern civilization, which
in some cases is too remote and alien, many social
problems have developed, like poverty, poor sanitation, poor nutrition, alcoholism, and unwanted pregnancies. The life of many men revolves around the
consumption of aguardiente, and they fish only when
no aguardiente is available and they are sober, leaving
most of the women and children without fish to eat,
and therefore, with insufficient dietary protein, most of
the time.
These casarõÂos lack any basic medical facilities, and
the local vegetalista is the healer and medicine man. I
found a vegetalista in basically every second village I
visited on the RõÂ o Napo, but their number is decreasing rapidly, because of the social problems. Most of
the communities have a promotor en salud (health
officer), but I found most of them undeserving of their
title, without medicine, and in some cases the worst
alcoholics in the community.
The riberenÄos have little understanding of the
importance of their rain forest and natural resources
to their own lives, either now or in the future. The
demographic pressure on the Amazon is causing great
changes. To date 5,7 per cent of the forest of the
Peruvian Amazon has been destroyed, and the
prognosis is that by the year 2000 15,2 per cent of
the jungle (c. 12 million ha) will have been cleared
out, with unimaginable climatic, ecological and social
consequences (Luna 1986:29).
RELIGION: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE
RESEARCH AREA
The population of the Peruvian Amazon has been
subject to active missionary activity since the arrival of
the Spaniards. During the 17th and 18th centuries
several religious orders, most notably the Jesuits and
Franciscans, were very active. The reducciones (settlements) established by religious orders, had dire
consequences for the Indian population in terms of
epidemics, forced labour, and the disruption of their
traditional way of life. Even so evangelization was very
effective, and Christian elements penetrated deeply
into the Amazonian population. Various admixtures of
folk Catholicism, which came primarily from the
missionaries themselves, were transmitted to people
who lived in missions, and who assimilated Catholic
ideas and interpreted them according to their own
traditions (Luna 1986:29).
Regan (1983:II:165±166), in his study of the
Religion of Amazonian people, recognizes the uniformity in the religious beliefs of the whole population
of the Amazon area, and the juxtaposition and
reinterpretation of elements due to the mutual
influence of popular Catholicism and autochthonous
Amazonian religious ideas. Most of the mestizo
population are still nominally Catholic. However,
there is an increasing influence of various Protestant
48
sects, such as Adventists, Pentecostals, Evangelists,
as well as groups such as the Jehovah's Witnesses,
and the Catholic Church is progressively losing
power. Dozens of syncretic cults are appearing,
including messianic-millenarian movements which
incorporate Tupi-Guarani, Catholic and Protestant
religious elements (Regan 1983:129).
Popular Catholicism still remains an important
religious element among many of the practitioners of
these new sects, as also among vegetalistas. Catholic
elements are not always syncretically amalgamated,
but coexist hand in hand with Amerindian ideas (Luna
1986:30). As GalvaÄo (1976:5) observes, Catholic
beliefs and institutions and those of Amerindian origin
serve different objectives and complement each other
as parts of a religious system.
Ignorance of the cultural achievements of the native
population of the Amazon extends to their religious
insights as well. Convenient labels have reduced the
spiritual dimensions of Amerindians to a simplicity
that does not do justice to the sophistication and
richness of their conceptualization and imagery.
Intense missionary activity still in effect today aims
depriving the Indians of their spiritual heritage.
Incapable of understanding or accepting an alternate
world view, Western missionaries prefer to obliterate it
and instead make the Indians dependent on their own
ideas of the sacred Ð if indeed there remains anything
truly sacred in the Western civilization (Luna
1991:10).
Many of my informants were either Catholic or
belonged to some kind of Protestant sect, combining
various Christian elements in their rituals, ceremonies
and mesas sagradas (altars). During a ritual with Don
Herman, a mestizo vegetalista, I noticed the use of the
name of Jesus very often. In answering me after
questioning him about this, he replied that he calls on
all good spirits, including Amazonian spirits (Pachamama, Sacahamama, and such), as well as God and
Jesus.
SHAMANISM IN THE PERUVIAN AMAZON
The shaman appears to play a role of considerable
importance among the tribes of South America. Not
only is he the healer par excellence, and, in some
regions, the guide who leads the souls of the recently
dead to their new home, he is also the intermediary
between men and the gods or the spirits (for example,
among the Mojo and the Manasi of eastern Bolivia,
and the Taino of the Greater Antilles), he sees to it that
ritual prohibitions are observed, defends the tribe from
the evil spirits, indicates the sites for profitable
hunting and fishing, increases game, controls atmospheric phenomena, facilitates birth, reveals future
events, and so forth. Thus he enjoys considerable
prestige and authority in South American societies.
Furthermore, they are believed to perform miracles
(which are strictly shamanic in character: magical
flight, swallowing hot coals, and such) (Eliade
1989:323±324).
However, it is rather to his ecstatic capacities than
to his exploits as a magician that the South American
shaman owes his magico-religious position and his
social authority. For his ecstatic capacities enable him,
in addition to his usual prerogative of healing, to make
mystical journeys to the sky to meet the gods directly
and convey men's prayers to them (Eliade 1989:324).
As in Mexico, shamanism in South America tends to
be psychedelic, making frequent use of tropical plants
which contain hallucinogenic alkaloids. Banisteriopsis
spp. vine is widely utilized by South American
shamans in the forests of the Upper Amazon, for the
visions it produces are believed to represent encounters with supernatural forces (Drury 1982:16±17).
As everywhere else, the essential and strictly
personal function of the South American shaman
remains healing. It is not always wholly magical in
character. The South American shaman knows the
medicinal virtues of plants and animals, employs
massage, and so on. But since, in his view, the vast
majority of illnesses have a spiritual cause Ð that is,
involve either the flight of the soul or a magical object
introduced into the body by spirits or sorcerers Ð he
is obliged to have recourse to shamanic healing
(Eliade 1989:326±327).
The conception of disease as a loss of the soul,
either strayed away or abducted by a spirit or a ghost,
is extremely widespread in the Amazonian and
Andean regions, but appears to be rather rare in
tropical South America. When a soul carried off by
spirits or the dead is sought, the shaman is believed to
leave his body and enter the underworld or the regions
inhabited by the abductor (Eliade 1989:327).
The shaman's ecstatic journey is generally indispensable, even if the illness is not due to the theft of
the soul by demons or ghosts. The shamanic trance
forms part of the cure; whatever interpretation the
shaman puts on it, it is always by his ecstasy that he
finds the exact cause of the illness and learns the best
treatment (Eliade 1989:328).
The morphology of shamanic cures is almost the
same throughout South America. It includes fumigations with tobacco, songs, massage of the affected
area of the body, identification of the cause of the
illness by the aid of the helping spirits (at this point
comes the shaman's `trance', during which the
audience sometimes ask him questions not directly
connected with illness), and, finally, extractions of the
pathogenic object by suction (Eliade 1989:329).
South American shamanism still displays a number
of extremely archaic characteristics: initiation through
which ritual death and resurrection of the candidate is
enacted, insertion of magical substances into his
body, celestial ascent to lay the wishes of the whole
society before the supreme god, shamanic healing by
suction or search for the patient's soul, the shaman's
ecstatic journey as psychopomp, the `secret songs'
revealed by God or by animals, more especially birds
(Eliade 1989:331±332).
According to Joralemon (1993:4), the curanderos
of Peru are now referred to as shamans, because their
vocation fits well with classical definitions of shamanic healers as religious specialists who undergo
controlled trances in a community context. Mestizo
shamanism is a direct continuation of shamanism as it
is found among ethnic groups. It is still an integral part
of peasant religion (Luna 1986:31).
Mestizo shamans are called vegetalistas. The term
would mean, to any person not familiar with the belief
system of these practitioners, an èxpert in the use of
plants' (vegetales). This term indicates, however, not
so much the fact that they frequently use plants in
their practice, but refers to the origin of their knowledge: it comes from the spirit of certain plants
(vegetales), which are the shaman's real teachers
(Luna 1986:14±15). As already mentioned, shamanism in South America tends to be psychedelic.
Vitebsky (1995:49), mentions in this regard that
mestizo shamans are called vegetalistas because of
their skill with hallucinogenic plants.
The term vegetalista should not be confused with
that of herbalist, which denotes a person knowledge
in the use of medicinal plants. All vegetalistas are
usually also herbalists, in that they know a great deal
about medicinal plants and frequently use them. But
not all herbalists may be called vegetalistas (Luna
1986:15). Wolf (1991:103) points out that vegetalistas are also versed in the use of medicinal herbs and
plants, but herbalists do not use the psychotropic
plants, nor do they learn from the plant by consuming
the plant during rigorous dietary deprivation.
Vegetalismo and Vegetalistas
A vegetalista is a person who has acquired his
knowledge from a plant, usually referred to as his
doctores, and who uses this plant in his diagnosis and
sometimes also in his healing of patients. Many of
these plants are hallucinogenic. Most vegetalistas
have in common the use of tobacco (also a
hallucinogenic) and ayahuasca, with the purpose of
diagnosing and/or curing illnesses, or of performing
other shamanic tasks such as communicating with the
spirits of plants, animals and human beings (dead or
alive), travelling to distant places, finding lost objects,
divining, and so forth (Luna 1986:16).
When asked why they consume plant-teachers,
vegetalistas say that they do it to `cure' themselves
(curarse). This implies that they consume plantteachers not only to heal themselves of illness or to
recover the energies of their youth, but also to
àwaken' their minds (McKenna 1995:354).
49
The idea that certain plants are teachers is even
found in highly syncretic, modern rural-urban cults. In
Brazil, in the state of Acre, there are groups that use
the beverage prepared from Banisteriopsis caapi and
Psychotria viridis under the name Santo Daime,
because it is believed that these plants heal both the
body and the soul and teach the doctrine of Jesus
Christ (McKenna 1995:354).
Among vegetalistas there are several specializations,
according to the main plant used. Luna (1986:32±33)
classifies them as follows:
Ð Ayahuasquero: the person who uses ayahuasca
in his visions and healing. Normally a potion made
from the vine of Banisteriopsis caapi, and the
leaves of Psychotria viridis. The admixture may
differ, but the main ingredient will always be the
Banisteriopsis vine (Luna 1986:32).
Ð Camalonquero: the person who uses camalonga.
According to Luna (1986; 1991) this plant was
still unidentified, but Duke & Vasquez (1994)
identified it as Thevitia peruviana. I disagree with
this identification, since the Thevitia peruviana are
found all over the jungle. The seeds are also used
as beads by many women in the selva (jungle). I
have learned from my informant camalonqueros,
that the camalonga plant does not grow in the
selva itself, but comes from the sierra (mountainous area) of Peru. See also Luna (1986:32;
1991:13).
Ð Tabaquero: the person who uses tobacco. This
tobacco is not the commercial grades of Nicotiana tabacum, available today, but Nicotiana
The author, Wynand Koch, holding a painting received from
Shaman Don Francisco
50
rustica, a species much more potent, chemically
complex, and potentially hallucinogenic (McKenna 1992:196).
Ð ToeÂro: the person who uses toeÂ. Luna (1986;
1991) identified this plant as Brugmansia sauveolens, Duke & Vasquez (1994:64) as the Datura
arborea and Dobkin de Rios (1984:130) as the
Datura sauvoleons. Talking to my toeÂro informants, I found the toeÂ to be of the Datura sp.
Ð Palero: the practitioner who has learned from
palos (sticks). Paleros use the bark of various large
trees such as ayahuÂman (Couroupita guianensis),
huacapuÂ (Minguartia guianensis), clavohuasca
(Tynanthas panurensis), chuchuhuasa (Heisteria
pallida), chullachaki-caspi (Brysonima christianeae), remocaspi (Aspidosperma excelsum) and
many others (Luna 1991:13).
Ð Catahuero: he person who uses catahua Ð Hura
crepitans (Luna 1986:33).
Besides vegetalistas, Luna (1986:33) also classifies
other types of practitioners:
Ð Oracionistas: who use mainly prayers and
encantations in their practice.
Ð Perfumeros: who practise a sophisticated sort of
àromatherapy'.
Ð Espiritualistas: who deal with spirits.
This is just a basic classification, since I have found
that the same vegetalista often may master several of
these plants, and use them regularly. All my informants used more than one plant. Don Fernando, a
camalonquero, made use of the camalonga and
ayahuasca, in the same ceremony, drinking it consecutively. It is also a problem to distinguish oracionistas, perfumeros and espiritualistas from
vegetalistas, since most of them use one or another
plant. Don Francisco, a perfumero, also made use of
the ayahuasca in his ceremonies, so did DonÄa Otilia,
an oracionista.
I have found the terms maestro, banco and brujo
often used. A vegetalista in training will always refer
to his teacher as maestro, even after he has completed
his training. I have found the term banco to refer to
vegetalistas of great knowledge. According to one of
my informants, Don Francisco, a banco is a practitioner who lies face down on the floor, then enters
into trance with the spirits descending upon him, as
though he was a bench (banco). Further, Don
Francisco also sees the banco as a vegetalista, able
to travel between the three realms of mestizo
cosmology. Bancos are hard to find, since they are
considered to be men of exceptional knowledge. The
term brujo negro is used for a vegetalista who
practises black magic, in other words, who uses
medicinal herbs and casts spells to cause harm to
others (Wolf 1991:58; Sharon 1978:3; Luna 1986:33;
Dobkin de Rios 1984:93).
Luna (1991:32) also distinguishes between murayas and sumirunas, as well as bancos, according to
their mastering of the three basic realms: water, jungle
and sky. A banco according to the same author, is
master of the jungle realm, has contact with the spirits
of the sky, and understands secrets related to the
earth, but he is unable to enter the underwater realm.
Wynand Koch with another painting by Don Francisco
A muraya is, first of all, a master of the water and the
jungle realms. He is knowledgeable about plants and
animals, and is able to live for periods of time in the
subaquatic realm, finding food there. But he is unable
to ascend to the sky. To become a muraya a
practitioner needs to contact the spirits of the water,
such as mermaids, yakurunas, and dolphins.
A sumiruna is the highest degree a vegetalista may
reach, because he or she is able to master all three
realms: jungle, water, and sky. This division is not
generalized in the Peruvian Amazon (Luna 1991:32),
and many people use these three terms as more or less
synonymous. This might be the reason why, in my
conversations with informants, I only encountered the
term banco.
According to Luna (1986:36), vegetalistas are the
only reliable repositories of the Amazonian world
view. He believes that they represent a case of
transitional shamanism, who incorporate more `modern' elements, and are between two different economic systems: a subsistence economy (they all have
their chacras) and market economy. Many of my own
informants also made use of Western medicine, and
often prescribed pharmaceutical medicines, which in
most South American countries require no prescription and are available to anyone who can pay the
price. The process of referring patients to medical
personnel in cases of simple organic disease has its
counterpart in the frequent referrals of patients to the
drug healers by medical doctors attached to the city
hospital and in private practice (Dobkin de Rios
1984:68).
Vegetalistas, due to their possession of an intimate
understanding of the social community in which they
are immersed, and their proficiency in the use of
medicinal plants and healing metaphors, contribute
significantly to the physical and mental health of the
people of rural areas and the urban poor, and they are
often the only help available to them in critical
situations. Illness is generally conceived as the
product of an animated source, either human or
spiritual Ð including the spirits of plants, animals,
and natural phenomena Ð and is produced by
intrusion of pathogenic objects, soul loss, contamination, or breaching of a taboo (Luna 1991:13).
Vegetalismo is still in Peru today, a very active
practice and vegetalistas are found throughout the
cities and jungle communities. As previously mentioned, I found a practising vegetalista in virtually
every second casarõÂo which I visited along the stretch
of the RõÂ o Napo, between Llachapa and AtuÂn Cocha. I
visited a total of thirteen villages, over a stretch of
about 80 km. These vegetalistas accommodated an
average of ten patients per week. Only one of these
vegetalistas had someone under training, his wife.
In Iquitos the picture was more favourable with
practising vegetalistas all over the city, especially in
the poorer areas. These vegetalistas had many
patients, with curing sessions sometimes as many as
three times a week. One of my informants, Don
Umberto, even had his own little hospital in town with
twelve beds, with an average of ten patients per day.
Only two of my informants in the city had pupils, the
other five had none, and as DonÄa Otilia put it: No hay
futuro, (There is no future).
Vocation
Shamans are called to their vocation in different ways.
For some it is a matter of ancestral lineage or
hereditary bonds establishing the person in that
position or a situation where a would-be shaman
seeks initiation from one already established in this
role. In other cases it seems almost as if the spirits
have chosen the shaman, rather than the other way
around. These are the `greater shamans' Ð those who
have been called spontaneously through dreams or
mystical visions to embody supernatural power. Those
who have simply inherited their role are regarded as
`lesser shamans' and hold a lower status in society
(Drury 1982:6).
51
Eliade (1989:13) differentiates between two methods of recruiting shamans: (1) hereditary transmission
of the shamanic profession; and (2) spontaneous
vocation (`call' or èlection'). The same author also
cites individuals who become shamans of their own
free will or by the will of the clan. He also comes to the
same conclusion as Drury (1982) that `self-made'
shamans are considered less powerful than those who
inherited the profession or who obeyed the `call' of
the gods and spirits'.
In parts of the upper Amazon the shaman's power
may also be bought. However, most traditions
emphasize that it is the spirits themselves who choose
who is to become a shaman. In many regions the
future shaman may be approached in dreams and
visions by spirits who suggest that he or she should
take on this role (Vitebsky 1995:56).
All these examples reveal, in one way or another,
the exceptional character of the medicine man within
society. Whether he is chosen by gods or spirits to be
their mouthpiece, or is predisposed to this function by
physical defects, or has a heredity that is equivalent to
a magico-religious vocation, the medicine man stands
apart from the world of the profane precisely because
he has more direct relations with the sacred and
manipulates its manifestations more effectively. Infirmity, nervous disorders, spontaneous vocation, or
heredity are external signs of a `choice', an èlection'.
Sometimes these signs are physical (an innate or
acquired infirmity); sometimes an incident, even of the
commonest type, is involved (e.g., falling from a tree
or being bitten by a snake); ordinarily, election is
announced by an unusual incident or event Ð lightning, apparitions, dreams (Eliade 1989:31±32). He
may find out that his selection has been underscored
by some physical or mental anomaly, like an extra digit
on his hand or foot or an extra tooth; he may be prone
to spells of possession or fainting (Ripinsky-Naxon
1993:72).
Commonly, the person falls seriously ill and comes
to understand the spirits' intentions during the course
of the illness. It may be an illness such as smallpox,
which without modern medicine is normally fatal. For
prospective shamans the disease leads to an acceptance of their new role which allows them to be
healed and so to heal others (Vitebsky 1995:56±57).
Thus, the future shaman is cured in the end, with the
help of the same spirits that will later become his
tutelaries and helpers. Sometimes these are ancestors
who wish to pass on to him their own unemployed
helping spirits. In these cases there is a sort of
hereditary transmission; the illness is only a sign of
election, and proves to be temporary (Eliade
1989:28).
Usually sicknesses, dreams, and ecstasies in themselves constitute an initiation, that is, they transform
the profane, pre- `choice' individual into a technician
52
of the sacred. Naturally, this ecstatic type of experience is always and everywhere followed by theoretical
and practical instruction at the hands of the old
masters; but that does not make it any less determinative, for it is the ecstatic experience that radically
changes the religious status of the `chosen' person
(Eliade 1989:33).
Amongst the mestizo shamans in my research area, I
have found that the vocation is normally initiated by
either one of the following: (1) an incurable sickness,
followed by a visit to a local vegetalista and the
ingestion of ayahuasca. Òne gets a terrible sickness.
The Western doctors are not able to cure it. The
person either goes to an experienced vegetalista, or
takes ayahuasca by himself and is cured. In the
process of being cured the person acquires certain
powers and becomes a healer' (Luna 1986:43); (2) by
inheritance, with a close family member becoming his
maestro, giving him his first ayahuasca to drink; or, (3)
in a vision or dream, in most cases the result of the
ingestion of ayahuasca.
The following is an abbreviated account to illustrate
how Don Francisco, one of my informants, received
his vocation:
At the age of fifteen, I got an incurable pain in my
heart. I drank ayahuasca for the first time. In my
vision I saw that I was accidently hit by a virote (a
spirit arrow) of a brujo (witch). The brujo then cut
me open, took out my heart, healed it and put it
back with the ability to cure. After that I went to the
Campa tribe where I met Don Pasqual Yumpiri,
who became my maestro.
Initiation
As in most shamanic traditions, the apprentice
ayahuasquero must undergo an initiatory period of
training. During this time, which lasts for a minimum
of six months but may extend for several years
(depending on the degree of power he wishes to
acquire), the ayahuasquero consumes ayahuasca
frequently while adhering to a strict diet in which no
salt, sugar, fat, pork, alcoholic or cold beverages may
be consumed; sexual abstinence is also a strict
requirement. During this initiatory period the ayahuasquero acquires the magical songs, objects and
helping spirits which he will later use in curing
ceremonies; he also learns the properties and uses of
numerous medicinal plants, often by consuming them
in the form of admixtures to ayahuasca. The assertion
is nearly universal among ayahuasqueros that this
shamanic knowledge is transmitted directly by ayahuasca and other `plant-teachers'; it is not acquired
through instruction by an elder ayahuasquero or other
human teacher (McKennna 1995:351). According to
Luna (1986:51) the function of the senior shaman,
when present, is to protect the novice during his
apprenticeship from evil spirits and sorcerers, and to
instruct him about the diet and prescription to be
observed. However, it is the spirits of the plants that
actually teach him the magic melodies and the use of
medicinal plants to diagnose and to cure.
I have found that even if the vegetalista were to
become a camalonquero, or any other specialist, the
diet during initiation will always involve ayahuasca.
The other plants may be used on their own, in
between days of drinking ayahuasca, or as admixtures
to the ayahuasca, during the diet. After his initiation
the vegetalista will decide on a specific plant teacher,
but the initial plant teacher will, in most cases, always
be the ayahuasca. This is why one of my informants,
Don AgostõÂ n, says that ayahuasca is the `father of all
medicines'.
The necessity of the diet Ð which includes also
sexual segregation Ð to learn from the plants, was
stressed by every vegetalista I met (Luna 1986; 1991;
Dobkin de Rios 1984; McKenna 1995). Sexual
activity may be discouraged prior to the ritual
ingestion of hallucinogenic plants because of a desire
to channel libidinal energy toward interior states of
contemplation. Any discharge of such energy might
be viewed as detracting from the experience itself. The
reason various drug-using societies are so particular
about the food eaten before an individual ingests a
hallucinogen may be due to a desire to heighten the
effects of the drug when it is finally taken. An example
may be the common taboo against salt ingestion.
Although the biochemical effects of a lack of salt in
the diet in tandem with the hallucinogenic experience
are badly understood, this is the kind of voluntary
control of internal states that healers often attempt. At
another level, however, the main effect of both sexual
restraint and particular diets seems to be the shrouding of the actual experience in an aura of the unusual
and the special. Thus when the initiate or the shaman
comes to the experience, his expectation of entry into
non-ordinary realms of consciousness is heightened Ð and he is, in effect, psychologically as well
as physically prepared for access to realms of the
unconscious (Dobkin de Rios 1984 b:207).
Dietary prescription, according to McKenna
(1995:353), can also reflect accurate observations of
the incompatibility of ingesting specific foods together with certain plants. It is well known, for
instance, that when ingesting chuchuhuasa, a beverage made of the bark of Maytenus ebenifolia and
alcohol, one should avoid eating peccary (a wild pig).
The combination produces an intermittent high fever,
similar to malaria. Compatibility and incompatibility is
often explained in terms of friendship or enmity
between the spirits of the plants.
Access to the sacred dimension of reality happens
through consumption of psychotropic plants and the
dietary prescriptions mentioned above. By ingesting
these plants and keeping the prescribed diet, the
initiate is supposed to be in the appropriate state of
consciousness for learning the body of knowledge
necessary for his future shamanistic practices. These
plants òpen the mind' of the initiate, so that he can
effectively explore the flora, fauna, and geographical
setting which surrounds him and will be able to
remember it all in the future. Much of this learning
process takes place in dreams, which are said to be
especially vivid during the period of initiation. The
personal disposition of the individual and his ability to
withstand the hard training and the dangers involved
in the shamanic initiation will determine the degree of
his development. The sexual abstinence and the diet
should not be broken, as the person may be
`punished' by the spirits of the plants with sickness
or even death (McKenna 1995:353).
Plant-teachers
Sacred plants are plants which cause visions and
hallucinations and are a central feature of shamanism
in many regions of the world. To modern urban
Westerners the idea of visions induced by psychotropic means may seem like an aberration, perhaps
even a type of decadence. Indeed, during the late
1960s, when the youthful exploration of psychedelics
was rampant, one would often read in the press about
mystical episodes being àrtificially' produced by
drugs like LSD and psilocybin. The perception was
that such drugs invariably produced a distortion, a
wavering from `reality'(Drury 1982:43).
In the pre-literate world of the shaman, the exact
opposite is true. Here the sacred plants are believed to
open the doors to the heavens, to allow contact with
the gods and the spirits, and to permit access to a
greater reality beyond (Drury 1982:43). For the
American Indian, the presence in a plant of any
psychotropic effect whatever was plain evidence of its
containing supernatural `medicine' or spirit-shaking
power (Schultes 1992:18).
Our attitude to such matters in modern Western
society is mirrored by our language. The word `drug'
itself is a highly coloured term and is frequently
associated with acts that are disapproved of in the
mainstream. As a consequence, the `drug experience',
if one could call it that, is not something valued by
modern Western culture as a whole. Little distinction
exists in the popular mind between sacred and
psychedelic drugs, like those which feature in shamanism, and the recreational, addictive or analgesic
drugs which are part of contemporary urban life
(Drury 1982:4).
Eliade's belief that the use of psychotropic plants in
shamanistic techniques represents a more recent,
degenerated innovation, is not supported by evidence
from either the Old or the New World Ð just the
opposite. Current studies point favourably to strong
53
Upper Palaeolithic beginnings for the use of psychotropic flora. La Barre, while repeatedly stressing the
shamanistic character of native religions in the
Americas, notes that the ecstatic nature of shamanism
is `culturally programmed for an interest in hallucinogens and other psychotropic drugs' (Ripinsky-Naxon
1993:44).
Hallucinogenic plants of the type used in shamanism thus require some sort of clarification. While by
definition such plants are toxic Ð if we mean by that
something which has a distinct biodynamic effect on
the body Ð this does not mean that such plants are
invariably poisonous, though some are in certain
dosages (e.g. Datura or Sophora secundiflora). As
far as known, none of the hallucinogenic plants
utilized in shamanism is addictive. It is also important
that we make the distinction that these plants do not
simply modify moods but are capable of producing a
dramatic and often profound change in perception.
Colours are enhanced, spirits may appear, the sacramental plant appears godlike to the shaman who has
invoked it ceremonially, and perhaps a cosmic bridge
or smoke tunnel appears in the shaman's vision,
allowing him to ascend to the heavens. In every way
the sacred plant is a doorway to a realm that is
awesome and wondrous, and the undertaking is not
one which is taken lightly. To this extent, then, the
ritual use of hallucinogenic plants is not recreational
but transformative Ð one undertakes the vision-quest
to `learn' or to `see', not to èscape' into a world of
`fantasy' (Drury 1982:45).
Psychologists have produced various terms to
describe the substances which produce such radical
shifts in consciousness. Dr Humphry Osmond, an
English psychiatrist, coined the term psychedelic
meaning `mind-revealing' or `mind-manifesting' but
a term preferred by many is psychotomimetic: substances within this category are capable of inducing
temporary psychotic states of such intensity that the
`visionary' or `dream' world appears profoundly real. In
shamanic societies experiences like this are highly
valued. Sacred plants remove the barriers between
humankind and the realm of gods and spirits, and
from them one receives wisdom and learning. The
gods know; the sacred plants speak (Drury 1982:45).
Michael Harner (1973:24) has pointed out that for
example, common themes emerge in a cross-cultural
examination of South American yageÂ experiences. The
drug is capable of causing the sensation of aerial flight
and dizziness, and visions of exquisite cities, parks,
forests, and fantastic animals. It is common for the
drug to suggest the flight of the soul of the
participant. According to Harner the Jivaro tribe
actually refer to the soul flight as a `trip' while among
the Conibo-Shipibo Indians of eastern Peru the
ayahuasca experience allows the shaman to leave
54
his body in the form of a bird, capable of killing a
distant person at night.
Among those drugs which have a shamanic use are
Banisteriopsis caapi, known variously in the western
Amazon as ayahuasca, caapi or yageÂ; datura, which is
identified with the American south-west and Mexico,
as well as among tribes in Colombia, Ecuador and
Peru; Mescal Beans, used in the Red Bean Dance of
the Plains Indians, the Morning Glory or Ololiuqui
used by curanderos (healers) in Oaxaca, the Peyote
cactus used by Mexicans and North American
Indians, and the Psilocybe mexicana, an important
narcotic mushroom used, once again, in Oaxaca
(Harner 1973:23).
Generally, the psychotropic components of sacred
plants are contained in the alkaloids, resins, glucosides and essential oils found in the leaves, bark, stem,
flowers, sap, roots or seeds of the plants. The regions
richest in naturally occurring hallucinogenic plants are
Mexico and South America (Drury 1982:45).
As we have seen, most literature will always refer to
these sacred plants utilized by shamans as hallucinogenic, psychedelic, even as psychotomimetic, and are
often talked about as drugs. These terms have become
so invested with distorted connotations, as to make it
incongruous to speak of a shaman ingesting these
plants. I would rather like to make use of the term
entheogen as defined by Jonathan Ott (1994:91) as a
cultural term to include all the shamanic inebriants Ð
sacraments, plant-teachers, the stock-in-trade of shamans the world over. The term means literally
`realizing the divine within,' and can be seen as the
user realizing that the divine infuses all of creation, or
specifically that the entheogenic plant is itself infused
with the divine. This again puts the sacred, which has
been raped by modern society, back into the use of
these shamanic inebriants.
Ayahuasca
The use of ayahuasca has already been mentioned as
common among the vegetalistas of Peru. The major
active constituents of ayahuasca are the beta-carboline alkaloids harmine, harmaline, and tetrahydroharmine, and N,N-dimethyltryptamine (DMT) (McKenna
1995:351). Harner (1973:172±3) summarizes as the
main cultural themes associated with the drug: (a) the
sensation of separation of the `soul' and the physical
body; (b) visions of predatory animals; (c) contact
with the supernatural and heaven and hell states; (d)
visions of distant locations and persons; and (e)
explanatory visions of events such as thefts and
mysterious homicides. However, several of these
may be linked. The so-called out-of-the-body experience is associated with the sensation of flight, but can
also produce visionary and symbolic experiences
(Drury 1982:109±110).
Ayahuasca, like other plant teachers, is used to
explore both this world and other parallel worlds that
are usually beyond our normal perception. By ingesting it, the ayahuasquero is freed from the normal
space-time boundaries of this world and, with training, freely moves from world to world (Wolf
1991:105).
The main function of ayahuasca is thus to induce an
altered state of consciousness, because as Fred Alan
Wolf (1991:10) remarks, `Shamans perceive reality in
a state of altered consciousness.'
Ayahuasca, and probably other entheogens, was
not discovered accidentally. These plants were necessary for our evolution as a species. They enabled us
to reconnect with our planet. They provided us with
spiritual and mythic insights into our own natures. In
every culture shamans were and still are those people
most sensitive to the vibrations of the planet, and they
were connectors taking their tribes outside the realms
of physical existence, enabling the tribes to remember
and rekindle their sacred functions (Wolf 1991:106).
Ayahuasca had been discovered in archaeological
findings in Ecuador. Other psychotropic plants were
also used as far back as 3000 BC. Ecuador has been
inhabited by humankind for the past 11 000 years and
there a plethora of drawings exists on pottery, from
the Santa Elena peninsula, 4000±2000 BC, showing
people chewing leaves and inhaling ground plants is
to be found. Drawings also show the existence of
shamans. Some of the drawings appear to reveal the
mental effects produced by these sacred plants (Wolf
1991:103).
Ayahuasca ritual
Ritual is the outer enactment of an internal event. In
all religions, and also in shamanism and ceremonial
magic, those that perform a ritual believe that what
they are doing is not simply theatrical but accords
with some sort of sacred, inner reality Ð that for a
time they are caught up in a mystical drama, perhaps
involving union with a god, identification with a
source of spiritual healing or the act of embodying
some sort of transcendental power. In such a way the
shaman, priest or magician believes he is tapping into
a dimension which is much larger and more awesome
than the world of familiar reality. It is very much a case
of participating in a mystery Ð of leaving the everyday
realm and, for a sacred and special period of time,
entering the Cosmos (Drury 1982:32).
Clearly in such rituals there are physical observances Ð that one can actually see externally Ð and
symbolic, mythic processes that are represented by the
ceremonial sequence of events (Drury 1982:35). The
shaman's activities depend closely on the ability to
sweep the audience along with the power of his or her
performance, which must have its effect both on the
audience and on the shaman. Shamans use many
props and symbols to represent their psychic experiISSN 0256±6060±Unisa Lat. Am. Rep. 16(2) 2000
ence and to affect the experience of their clients
(Vitebsky 1995:52).
Skeptics have long maintained that shamans rely on
conjuring tricks. Certainly, some shamans use spectacular effects some of the time, but they claim that their
tricks, like their equipment, are not the main point. The
point of such tricks is to make others aware, through
an outward expression, of the shaman's inner power
(Vitebsky 1995:88). Among the Mehinaku, where the
theatrical side to the shaman's role is unusually
developed, and where the successful shaman is above
all a good performer, the dramaturgical approach to
the art seems particularly appropriate (RipinskyNaxon 1993:73).
But being a shaman is ultimately a public role and
the shaman's inner experience reaches its culmination
and its full significance only as part of public
performance. To say that shamanic action is sometimes highly theatrical is not to imply that the shaman
is ònly acting', as though this were something false.
Rather, the performance transforms the inner reality or
consciousness of a whole range of people who are
involved in a number of different ways. It is this which
makes the question of trickery irrelevant (Vitebsky
1995:120).
Shamanic performance is a highly skilled activity in
which the delicate collective mood is vulnerable to
collapse, resulting in the failure of the purpose of the
ritual. In this light, healing power is a form of artistry.
Many anthropological approaches imply that ritual
performance acts out some hidden cultural script, but
it is perhaps more appropriate to suggest that the
culture itself is constantly being formed and reformed
through these performances (Vitebsky 1995:121±
123).
One can only conclude that the world of the
shaman, bizarre as it must sometimes seem to outsiders, is nevertheless totally real to the person
experiencing it (Drury 1982:36±37).
For a description of an ayahuasca ceremony, I will
refer to one given by Luna (1991:33), which I have
found to be very typical:
The vegetalista sings an icaro [magic incantation]
over the preparation and gives [a portion of the
preparation in] a small gourd to the participants. At
the end he will also take the brew. For some time
they will be waiting for the effects to come. Then
the vegetalista gives the order to blow out all
candles, and in the dark, [he] begins to `call the
visions,' by singing the appropriate icaro and
agitating his schacapa, a rattle usually made of
the leaves of Pariana sp. [palm].
It is normally agreed that in the beginning people
see lights and geometrical designs. After some time
appear visions of animals, plants, and such. They
come ìn waves'. When there are several vegetalistas present, they each sing their icaros simulta55
neously, usually letting the owner of the house take
the lead by allowing his voice to be heard over the
others. It is not unusual that rivalries will occur at
this point, when somebody tries to show more
power than others through the icaros. When a
vegetalista has disciples, it may happen that they
will follow the icaro of the teacher. It is believed
that an icaro sung by several people will have a
stronger effect.
Many people report hearing marvellous music.
The spirits come singing, and in fact the singing of
the vegetalista is orchestrated by the music and
chorus of the spirits. From time to time there are
breaks in the singing, and the vegetalista and other
people are in deep concentration contemplating
their visions. People often have periods of heavy
vomiting and diarrhoea. When the vegetalista is
`bien mareado' [very dizzy] he will call the patients
one by one and cure them, usually by blowing
smoke on their bodies to restore their lost spirits, by
rubbing them with special stones called encantos
[enchanted objects], or by sucking the inflicted
part. If the matter in question is love magic, a
photograph of the person is brought so that the
vegetalista will act on it. Sometimes only the name
and address will suffice for the vegetalista to
perform some action over the distant person.
Shamanic fights are not infrequent. The vegetalista may realize that he is under attack by the witch
or the forces that caused illness. He will then sing
special songs which will bring his arcanas (defences) and tingunas to his defence. It may happen
that a person is frightened by the visions, and the
vegetalista has to `take out his visions' with an
icaro, or by blowing smoke on the top of the
person's head, rubbing his body, and such. When
everything seems to be at peace, and there are
beautiful visions, it may happen that the persons
taking part in the session will dance. Musical
instruments are sometimes used in sessions.
After several hours the vegetalista finally keeps
silent, and people may sleep on the spot or tell
stories in the dark. Patients may stay there until the
morning, or leave the place after they have been
healed.
Vegetalismo and Healing
We have already seen that vegetalismo is still a very
active practice in the Peruvian Amazon. Wils
(1967:131) found that over 25 per cent of the people
he questioned in BeleÂn, Iquitos, preferred empõÂricos
(folk healers) to Western doctors. Dobkin de Rios
(1984:67) sees this as a conservative figure. I went to
several healing sessions with my informants in various
parts of Iquitos and the RõÂ o Napo area, and found
many people attending these ceremonies. In one
ceremony with Don Herman, on the outskirts of
56
Iquitos, there were twenty-two people in attendance.
Most of my informants in the RõÂ o Napo area, as
previously stated, had an average of ten patients per
week, and in Iquitos, up to ten patients per day.
Dobkin de Rios (1984:82) found that the destitute
who live in BeleÂn, find the ayahuasca healer far more
effective than the indifferent medical services available
to them. Vegetalistas, due to their possession of an
intimate understanding of the social community in
which they are immersed, and their proficiency in the
use of medicinal plants and healing metaphors,
contribute significantly to the physical and mental
health of the people of rural areas and the urban poor
(Luna 1991:13). While the ayahuasquero gears his
prices to the ability of his patient to pay, the large city
hospital's public wards provide no medical service
inexpensive enough for the empty pockets of the
poor. Formal medical consultations are generally far
too costly for poor people, and the city hospital has
the reputation of being a place that the poor go to in
order to die (Dobkin de Rios 1984:78±82).
The medical clinics and offices are totally foreign
and even sometimes terrifyingly alien, especially to the
rural mestizos. The Western doctors usually have very
little time and charge too much. The vegetalista often
opens his home to the patients, even for long periods
of time, provides counselling, shows interest in the
financial and emotional problems of his patients,
amuses them with his stories, even offers them what
we would call forms of family therapy (Luna
1986:161).
Don Fernando, one of my informants, went for a
week to a village close to Iquitos, where he treated
two of his patients. He stayed there all the time giving
plant remedies, emotional and spiritual support, only
in exchange for the cost of his transport by colectivo
(river boat) and free accommodation and food. In
other healing ceremonies, I have noticed that some
patients will give the vegetalista fish, yucca, mapachos (native cigarettes) or other kind of produce, in
exchange for their consultation. In most cases the
patients were too poor to offer any payment, which
the vegetalista accepted without any complaints. I
have found that vegetalistas very seldom expect any
kind of payment, but will always welcome any gifts.
The vegetalistas prepare special tonics, herb baths,
and diets for their patients. As well as employing an
immense number of plants and vegetable substances
in their treatments, they will also make use of
proprietary medicines (Dobkin de Rios 1984:82).
The system of ethno medicine practised by the
mestizo healer can in some sense be regarded as an
alternative health care system. The urban mestizo who
is poor, barred by economic factors from all but the
barest access to health care based on Western
medicine, looks to the ayahuasquero and his magical
and botanical remedies for medical, psychiatric, and
spiritual support. Although the health-care system of
the ayahuasquero incorporates magical, religious, and
psychotherapeutic elements, it is also largely based on
pharmacology because of its reliance on numerous
biodynamic plants. In that respect it is more akin to
Western medicine than to other shamanic, quasimedical systems of traditional healing (McKenna
1995:351).
A vegetalista often offers to the poor patients Ð
which represent the majority of the people of this
area Ð more psychological support (Luna 1986:161).
Formal psychiatric facilities in jungle cities are
relatively rare. In fact, in Peru, as SeguõÂ n (1970:175)
points out, there are about 100 psychiatrists in
practice, 90 of them in Lima, the capital. Of the total
of 2 010 psychiatric beds in the nation, 95 per cent are
in Lima. The rest of the country, which has 83,4 per
cent of the population, has only 93 psychiatric beds.
University training in underdeveloped countries, as
well in the United States, generally prepares the
doctor for a focus on organic rather than psychological illness. For these latter illnesses, the folk healer is
probably better prepared, as his general expectations
are that a patient will suffer from socially precipitated
illnesses which have resulted from stress, conflicts,
tensions and the like. To the healer, interpersonal
referents are as important, if not more so, than organic
symptoms. To the ayahuasquero, in fact, his patient is
not merely a `bearer of organs' in Frans Alexander's
(1950:17) term, but an invisible whole. Peruvian folk
healers recognize the important role of emotional
factors in disease, and give this great prominence in
their diagnoses (Dobkin de Rios 1984:68±88).
In rural areas, the vegetalista is often the only help
available to the mestizos or riberenÄos in critical
situations. Every riverine community has a government appointed promotor en salud or sanitario, who
diagnoses, uncomplicated ailments and prescribes
medicines he thinks may be effective. Sometimes
these technicians are of help, but it is doubtful if they
maintain any standard of hygiene or have any real
understanding of what they are doing (Dobkin de
Rios 1984:78). I have found these technicians mostly
incapable of their title, and always without medicine,
leaving the vegetalista as the only help in many
situations.
I am of the opinion that the Peruvian government is
overlooking a potential solution to the medical
problems in rural areas. I have found my informants
to be the most healthy and sober people in the villages
I visited. Rather than spend money on the training of
just any local person as sanitario, leaving them
without medicines, the government would be better
served training the local vegetalista as a promotor en
salud, who can make use of both traditional remedies
and Western medicines when available. Many private
organizations like the Peruvian Amazon Conservation,
Inc., a charitable medical and educational organization, are taking this into consideration, but they
receive no financial support from the local or national
governments.
REFERENCES
Alexander, Franz. 1950. Psychosomatic Medicine: Its Principles and Applications. New York: Norton.
Barcia GarcõÂ a, Fernando. 1983. Iquitos, Capital de la AmazonõÂa Peruana. Iquitos: Roger Rumrill.
Browman, V & Rovinsky, Y. 1979. Spirits, Shamans, and Stars: Perspectives from South America. New York:
Mouton Publishers.
Chirif, Alberto. 1980. Internal Colonization in a Colonized Country: The Case of the Peruvian Amazon. In Land,
People and Planning in Contemporary Amazonian, by FrancËoise Barbira-Scazzochio (ed.). Cambridge:
Cambridge University.
Dobkin de Rios, Marlene. 1984. Hallucinogens: Cross-Cultural Perspectives. Albuquerque: University of New
Mexico Press.
Dobkin de Rios, Marlene. 1984. Visionary Vine: Hallucinogenic Healing in the Peruvian Amazon. Illinois: Waveland
Press, Inc.
Drury, N. 1982. The Shaman and the Magician. London: Boston and Henley.
Drury, N. 1982. Shamanism. United States of America: Element, Inc.
Duke, James Allen & VaÂsquez, Rodolfo. 1994. Amazonian Ethno botanical Dictionary. Boca RatoÂn: CRC. Press,
Inc.
Eliade, Mircea. 1989. Shamanism: Archaic techniques of ecstasy. Arkana: Penguin.
GalvaÄo, Eduardo. 1976. Santos e Visagens. Um Estudo da Vida Religiosa de Ita, Baixo Amazonas. SaÄo Paulo:
Companhia EditoÃra Nacional.
Harner, M.J. 1973. Hallucinogens and Shamanism. New York: Oxford University Press.
Joralemon, D. 1993. Sorcery and Shamanism: Curanderos and Clients in Northern Peru. Salt Lake City: University
of Utah Press.
Kalweit, Holger. 1988. Dreamtime and Inner Space: The World of the Shaman. London: Shambhala.
Lathrap, Donald W. 1970. The Upper Amazon. Southampton: The Camelot Press Ltd.
57
Lowie, Robert H. 1948. The Tropical Forests: An Introduction. In Handbook of South American Indians. Vol 3. 1±
56. Washington: United States Government Printing Office.
Luna, Luis Eduardo. 1986. Vegetalismo: Shamanism among the Mestizo Population of the Peruvian Amazon.
Stockholm, Sweden: Almqvist & Wiksell International.
Luna, Luis Eduardo. 1991. Ayahuasca Visions: The Religious Iconography of a Peruvian Shaman. Berkeley,
California: North Atlantic Books.
McKenna, T. 1993. True Hallucinations. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco.
McKenna, Terence. 1992. Food of the Gods: The Search for the Original Tree of Knowledge. London: Rider.
McKenna, Dennis J., Luna, L.E. and Towers, G.N. 1995. Biodynamic Constituents in Ayahuasca Admixture Plants:
An Uninvestigated Folk Pharmacopeia. In Ethnobotany: Evolution of a Discipline, by Schultes, R.E. and Von
Reis, S. (eds.) Portland, Oregon: Dioscorides Press.
Montes ShunÄa, Francisco. 1985. Jardin EtnobotaÂnico `Sacha Mama': Curaciones de enfermedades incurables, con
base en plantas medicinales. In Tres Naciones, Iquitos: Oficina de InformacioÂn.
Ott, Jonathan. 1994. Ayahuasca Analogues: Pangaean Entheogens. Kennewick, WA: Natural Products Co.
Regan, Jaime. 1983. Hacia la tierra sin mal. Estudio de la religioÂn del pueblo en la Amazonian. Iquitos: Ceta.
Ripinsky-Naxon, M. 1993. The Nature of Shamanism. New York: State University of New York Press.
Rumrill, Roger. 1984. (Ed.) AmazonõÂa Peruana. Loreto, Madre de Dios, San MartõÂn, Ucayali. EconomõÂa, Historia,
Cultura, Turismo. Lima: Roger Rumrill.
Schultes, R.E. and Raffauf, R.F. 1992. Vine of the Soul: Medicine Men, their Plants and Rituals in the Colombian
Amazonian. Arizona: Synergetic Press.
Schultes, R.E. and Von Reis, S. 1995. Ethnobotany: Evolution of a Discipline. Portland, Oregon: Dioscorides Press.
SeguõÂ n, Carlos Alberto. 1970. Folklore Psychiatry. In The World Biennial of Psychiatry and Psychotherapy. Vol. I.
by S. Arieti (ed.). New York: Basic Books.
Sharon, D. 1978. Wizard of the four Winds: A Shaman's Story. New York: The Free Press.
Smithwick, Eleanor B. 1997. Peruvian Amazon Conservation, Inc., unpublished mission statement, non-profit
corporation (# 9121457) chartered in Georgia, 1759 Dyson Drive NE, Atlanta, Georgia, USA (Tel: 404±378
9800).
Vitebsky, Piers. 1995. The Shaman. London: Duncan Baird Publishers.
Wils, Frits. 1967. Estudio social sobre BeleÂn Ð Iquitos. Centro de Investigaciones Sociales, EconoÂmicas, PolõÂ ticas y
AntropoloÂgicas. Lima.
Wise, Mary Ruth. 1983. Lenguas IndõÂ genas de la Amazonia Peruana: Historia y Estado Presente. AmeÂrica IndõÂgena.
Vol. XLIII: 4: 823±848. MeÂxico: Instituto Indigenista Interamericano.
Wolf, Fred Allan. 1991. The Eagle's Quest: A Physicist's Search for Truth in the Heart of the Shamanic World.
London: Mandala.
58
Academic freedom in Brazil
by Pedro Paulo A. Funari
Pedro Paulo A. Funari has a B.A. in history, a
Master's degree in Anthropology, and a PhD in
Archaeology. He is professor of historical
archaeology at the Campinas State University,
Brazil, and research associate of the Illinois
State University (US) and Barcelona (Spain).
Funari is author of several books published in
the UK, Spain and Brazil, has published more
than 50 papers in international journals and 150
in Brazilian scholarly journals, is a member of
the editorial boards of the International Journal of Historical Archaeology (New York,
Plenum), Journal of Material Culture (London)
and Public Archaeology (London). He is also a
Senior South American representative at the
World Archaeological Congress Executive.
Pedro Paulo Funari
ABSTRACT
RESUMEN
RESUMO
The paper deals with academic freedom
in Brazil. Brazil is characterized as a
hierarchical society and traditionally
intellectuals spring from the ruling eÂlites.
Dictatorship (1964±1985) strengthened
this characteristic but the end of military
rule did not radically change the picture.
Academic freedom is thus still limited by
patronage inside and outside academia.
Academic freedom is now limited by the
internalization of submission.
El escrito trata de la libertad acadeÂmica
en Brasil. Brasil se caracteriza por ser
una sociedad jeraÂrquica y tradicionalmente los intelectuales surgen de las
clases dirigentes. La dictadura (1964±
1985) reforzoÂ esta situacioÂn pero el final
del gobierno militar no cambioÂ el escenario de forma radical. De este modo la
libertad acadeÂmica es limitada por un
patrocinio dentro y fuera de la academia. Ahora la libertad acadeÂmica se ve
limitada por la internalizacioÂn de la
sumisioÂn.
O artigo trata da liberdade acadeÃmica no
Brasil. O Brasil eÂ caracterizado como
uma sociedade hierarquizada e, tradicionalmente, os intelectuais proveÂm das
elites dominantes. A ditadura (1964±
1985) reforcËou isso, mas o fim do
regime militar naÄo alterou, de forma
radical, a situacËaÄo. A liberdade acadeÃmica eÂ, assim, limitada pelo compadrio,
tanto dentro como fora da academia. A
liberdade acadeÃmica, agora, encontra-se
limitada pela internalizacËaÄo da submissaÄo.
59
Academic freedom in Brazil, as in other countries
which experienced dictatorship, is a matter of particular concern and intellectuals are aware of the
political implications of what they say and do. Brazil
was ruled by the armed forces for twenty one years
(1964±1985) and the scars caused by authoritarian
rule are very much still with us. Academic freedom
cannot be dissociated from society and Brazilian
society has from the inception been authoritarian
and patriarchal, dominated by patronage, a hierarchizable society, in the words of anthropologist Roberto
DaMatta (1991a:399). Brazil has been described as a
country with no citizens, but with dependents
(Schwartz 1997:2) and vassals (Velho 1996), privileges (DaMatta 1991b:4) being granted to people in
power. The result is a most uneven society, with the
ten per cent richest people getting 47 per cent of the
GDP, while the poorest ten per cent gets only 0,8 per
cent (Natali 1998). Nowadays, Brazil boasts the 10th
largest economy, just behind Spain and Canada, but it
has an appalling maldistribution of income and
millions of poor people, indigenous peoples, landless
peasants and street children are looked upon as
expendable (Pinheiro 1996).
In this context, intellectuals have traditionally been
people from the ruling eÂlites and the main hindrance
to their freedom came not from the state but from their
peers. As patronage is pervasive, critical approaches
are not welcome and the best way to survive within
the intelligentsia has always been to eulogize intellectual authorities. Since the 1930s, with the first
universities in the country, there has been an increasing widening of opportunities, enabling people from
outside the eÂlite to become academics, even though
the constraints of the clientele system have never been
lifted off. Particularly after the Second World War,
although professors still held significant power over
ordinary scholars, academic freedom improved considerably and when the armed forces took over in
1964 there was a strong reaction by some scholars.
Censorship and funding restrictions were the first
moves by the dictatorship, followed by the expulsion
of scholars. Finally torture and the killing of free
thinkers were used to muzzle protest. As put recently
by a leading scholar who survived this nightmare, ìt
was forbidden to think' (Ab'Saber 1999:2). À lot of
people suffered, were exiled, tortured, killed', in the
words of another academic (IgleÂsias 1985:221).
The end of military rule left the same people in
power and within the academic world the collaborators also usually continued in power. On the one
hand, the restoration of civilian rule meant freedom of
speech and there has been, in the last fifteen years, a
sprouting of free expression. However, the enticements of power were not negligible, and several
intellectuals, in the capacity of power-holders, have
the ability to lend credence to their interpretive
60
frameworks (Velasco e Cruz 1997:21±22). Through
the systematic denial of other opinions, they established a discoursive field constraining other academics
to comply or to be excluded from funding and power.
Academics are led to carry out studies confirming the
constructions of common sense and ordinary discourse by transcribing conventional assumptions into
scientific definitions, what Bourdieu (1988:777) calls
`scholarly common sense'. In a society grounded on
patronage, `common sense' is more important than
elsewhere, and the temptation to repeat the established ideas and canonic authors is palpable. There are
scholars who are explicit about the way favour should
be considered: `the political culture of favour does not
necessarily entail submission and inequality ... it can
also bring rights, equality, justice and, why not?,
fraternity'. Fraternity is a symptomatic word, as it
refers to brothers in a brotherhood, as though
patronage would bring freedom, not constraints.
Nowadays, academic freedom is thus hindered not
by the state, as was the case during the dictatorship,
but by two different but concurring sources. Globalization is clearly the leading maõÃtre mot used by the
dominant scholars and by research agencies to force
their concepts as the only valid and acceptable ones.
A superficial use of foreign authorities and even
fashionable terminology or jargon disenfranchizes
people and discourages critical thought, as aping
foreign trends is seen as the more up-to-date attitude.
Furthermore, globalization affected academic freedom
in Brazil by accentuating the imbalances between
those tiny minority with access to the internet and
ordinary academics with difficult or no access. This
varies by discipline, the humanities, in particular,
lagging behind. A second move though is even more
important, as it is the internal academic system which
enforces compliance. As a leading scholar, exiled
during the dictatorship and one of the few black
intellectuals in the country, Milton Santos (1998),
said recently, `to look for new ideas is dangerous'.
Why is it dangerous? What is the threat to academic
freedom, if there is no discretionary rule? Once again,
patronage (compadrio) is the answer. Patronage is
pervasive, from small towns to states, from university
departments to ministerial offices in BrasõÂ lia. Several
examples are indicative of the limits to academic
freedom. Young scholars, in particular, are prone to be
affected by persecution. Walter Alves Neves and
Solange Caldarelli were expelled from the University
of SaÄo Paulo, some years ago, for a Dean decided that
she did not agree with their standpoints. Eduardo
GoÂes Neves was also submitted to threats from a
senior scholar who tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade
the University Chancellor to discharge him.
Nowadays, another way of limiting the freedom of
scholars is simply to stop or to reduce funding for
scientific research. This strategy was widely used
during military rule against scholars and institutions
alike who did not conform. The Institute for Prehistoric Studies, in SaÄo Paulo, was so affected in the
1960s and 1970s, as was the case of several
departments of the Federal University of Rio de
Janeiro, to mention some of the most notorious cases.
Recently, however, the lack of funds is often disguised
as search for globalization and modernity. Economic
problems have been affecting universities, the public
ones sometimes without funds for paying for toilet
paper! Engineering research centres in Rio de Janeiro
have been subjected to lack of funds, whilst being
accused by the authorities as `too nationalist'. Lecturers are usually underpaid and have to submit
themselves to both public and private pressures. The
argument of lack of funds has been used to close
down departments and research units, affecting
scholars studying such subjects as eastern and dead
languages, archaeology and even non-applied, socalled pure sciences, like physics. There are also
scholars affected by sheer prejudices, as was the case
recently of Luiz Mott, a historian in Bahia State and a
gay activist, who has been attacked physically, as well
as damage being inflicted on his car and his house.
Academic freedom thus faces new challenges in the
late nineteen nineties and early 2000s, as earlier
external censorship, prevailing in the military period,
has been substituted by much more deleterious inner
censorship. To deviate from dominant discourse is to
risk retaliatory moves from people and institutions in
power. It is perhaps a mixed feature of postmodern
times in Brazil that academic freedom is threatened
not by the sheer use of force, as it has been the case
for several years, but by a most insidious internalization of docility.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe thanks to SebastiaÄo Velasco e Cruz and Eduardo GoÂes
Neves. The ideas expressed here are my own and I am
therefore solely responsible.
REFERENCES
Ab'Saber, A.N. 1999. TrajetoÂria, Jornal de Resenhas, Folha de SaÄo Paulo, 1/9/99, 1±2.
Bourdieu, P. 1988. Vive la crise! For heterodoxy in social sciences, Theory and Society, 17, 773±787.
DaMatta, R. 1991a. Religions and modernity: three studies of Brazilian religiosity, Journal of Social History, 25,2,
389±406.
DaMatta, R. 1991b. Nepotismo e jeitinho brasileiro, Jornal da Tarde, Caderno de SaÂbado, 9/7/91, 4±5.
Editorial, 1997. Universidade de SaÄo Paulo, Teses e Compadrio, Folha de SaÄo Paulo, 10/13/97, 1, p. 2.
IgleÂsias, F. 1985. Momentos democraÂticos na trajetoÂria brasileira. In H. Jaguaribe et alii (orgs), Brasil, Sociedade
DemocraÂtica, Rio de Janeiro: JoseÂ Olympio, 125±221.
Natali, J.B. 1998. Brasil eÂ o paõÂ s mais desigual da AmeÂrica Latina, diz BID, Folha de SaÄo Paulo, 11/14/98, 1, p. 14.
OESP 1998. Paternalismo ainda domina relacËoÄes polõÂ ticas na cidade, O Estado de SaÄo Paulo, 10/11/98, E. p. 4.
Pinheiro, P.S. 1996. Brazil's bold effort to curb police violence, Time, June 10th, p. 76.
Santos, M. 1998. Buscar o novo eÂ perigoso, Jornal do Brasil, IdeÂias, 12/26/98, p. 6.
Schwartz, S. 1997. A terra das coisas trocadas. Folha de SaÄo Paulo, Jornal de Resenhas, 10/11/97, p. 2.
Velasco e Cruz, S.C. 1997. Restructuring World Economy. Arguments about `market-oriented reforms' in
developing countries. Campinas: IFCH-UNICAMP.
Velho, G. 1996. Felicidade aÁ brasileira, Folha de SaÄo Paulo, Mais!, 11/3/96, p. 10.
61
News and Information
The South American Summit:
A new era for Brazilian foreign policy
by ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell
Head, Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies
For the first time in history, all the presidents of South
America met at a summit, called by Brazil's President
Fernando Henrique Cardoso. The summit took place
on 31st August and 1st September in BrasõÂ lia.
The 12 countries1 represent a population of 337
million people and total GDP of US$ 1,5 trillion and are
currently grouped into two main free trade blocs, namely
Mercosul and the Andean Community of Nations
(CAN). Mercosul comprises Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay
and Uruguay, with Bolivia and Chile as associate
members. The countries of the Andean Community of
Nations are: Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and
Venezuela. English-speaking Guyana and Dutch-speaking Suriname were also included at the summit, as they
form an integral part of South America2.
The summit was universally regarded as marking a
new phase in Brazilian foreign policy. For example,
The New York Times headlined an article on the
summit `Brazil Begins to Take Role on the World
Stage' (Rohter 2000), while Correio Braziliense
described it as àn historic landmark' (um marco
histoÂrico) (GarcõÂ a 2000).
Writing before the summit, President Cardoso described it as a `reaffirmation of South America's
identity as a region where democracy and peace
advance the prospects for an increasingly energetic
process of integration among countries that live
together in the same neighbourhood' (Cardoso 2000).
The timing of the summit was explained by the
Brazilian Ambassador to the United States in an
address at the National Press Club in Washington DC:
We think that after NAFTA was signed in 1994, a
new economic geography began to take shape in
the hemisphere with very clear cut differentiations:
NAFTA, North America, with three countries; then
Central America with the Central American Common Market; CARICOM, with the countries of the
62
Caribbean forming this political and economic
entity; and South America, the fourth area. In
South America we have two regional groupings,
the Mercosur, from 1990, and the Andean Pact
from 1969. This is, in economic terms, financial
terms, from companies' point of view, what is really
happening in the hemisphere ... South America as a
unit, as a group of countries, is sort of left over, and
now we decided to do something about that ... Our
shared geography, history, values point out to a
unit, an integrated part of the world ... This is
beginning, as Brazil sees it, to create a new identity
of the region with a common agenda, and with
geo-economic concerns ± not geopolitical concerns ± ... because the motivation of all this is
mainly the economy, trade, finance, but not
exclusively, because there are political considerations as well ... (Barbosa 2000). (See table 1.)
The main topics of the agenda were: strengthening
of democracy; expansion of trade; development of
integration infrastructure; combating illicit drugs and
related crimes; information, science and technology.
The particular objectives of Brazil were to strengthen the links among the countries of South America,
improve the utilization of regional energy, communications, transport and trade resources, and strengthen regional integration by ensuring support for this at
Decisions reached at the summit3
Various decisions were reached by the Presidents at
the summit. With regard to peace and security, it was
agreed to establish a South American Zone of Peace
and that the dialogue on security in the sub-continent
be deepened. Furthermore, the countries of Mercosul
and CAN, together with Chile, Guyana and Suriname
agreed to establish a mechanism for political dialogue,
the first meeting of which will take place in Bolivia in
the near future.
It was unanimously agreed that the maintenance of
the rule of law and a strict respect for the democratic
system was a precondition for attendance at future
South American summits. This point is referred to as
the `democracy clause'. In addition it was agreed that
political consultations will be held in the event of a
threat of the disruption of democracy in the region.
Concerning human rights and social issues, consensus was reached that programmes of co-operation
aimed at strengthening national institutions responsible for protecting human rights be identified. At the
same time, a public action programme aimed at
addressing income distribution disparities was proposed. Another agreement was to establish information exchange and co-operation mechanisms,
enhancing the safety of individuals, and allowing
them to fully exercise their citizenship.
With regard to trade and investment, agreement was
reached that Mercosul and the Andean Community of
Nations would begin negotiations to create a free
trade area as soon as possible, but at any event before
January 2002, and to create a broader economic and
President Fernando Henrique Cardoso, who hosted the
South American Summit
Photo: Fritz van Rensburg
the highest levels. Brazil borders all but two of the
countries of South America (the exceptions are Chile
and Ecuador), and has by far the largest economy and
population in the region. The Brazilian GDP in
purchasing power parity terms is just over US$ 1
trillion (1999 estimate ± CIA World Fact Book 2000)
with a population of 168 million.
TABLE 1
TRADING BLOCS OF THE AMERICAS
This table illustrates the strength of the trade blocs already in existence in the Americas, and what a union of all
South American countries into one group would mean.
Blocs
GDP in
US$ million
% of
Continent's
Total
Population
in million
% of
Continent's
Total
NAFTA
9 202
85
403
50
MERCOSUL
1 141
10
212
26
ANDEAN
COUNTRIES
289
3
107
13
CENTRAL
AMERICA
127
1
69
8
1 516
14
337
42
SOUTH
AMERICA
Source: L'Expansion ± L'Atlas de la Croissance Jan/2000 in Veja 6 September 2000, p. 49
63
trade area in South America, in accordance with the
principle of òpen regionalism'. In addition it was
agreed to intensify the co-ordination of the South
American countries' negotiating positions on the
proposed Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA).
Also, ministers are to co-ordinate proposals for
establishing a South American consultative forum
which would identify joint actions in the areas of trade
and investment, to deepen integration in the region. In
parallel with the summit there was a meeting of
entrepreneurs from the various countries.
An Àction Plan for Integrating Regional Infrastructure in South America' was attached to the final
communiqueÂ and it was agreed that the IDB and other
financial institutions would seek to implement these
proposals. Bilateral and sub-regional infrastructure
projects are to be identified and are to involve the
private sector and multilateral financial institutions. A
ministerial meeting was to be held in Uruguay late in
2000 on the expansion and modernization of infrastructure in South America.
The Brazilian government agreed to establish a
South American fund to encourage scientific and
technical co-operation in the sub-continent.
Not least of the issues under discussion was that of
drugs and organized crime. Here, closer co-operation
in intelligence, policing, control of illegal arms,
precursor chemicals and money laundering was
pledged.
drug production and trafficking. Three special antidrugs battalions are being formed in the Colombian
Army, with US training, equipment and finance,
which will be deployed in the main coca producing
areas of the country to assist in the destruction of coca
plantations and cocaine producing laboratories. These
regions are also those most dominated by the
guerrillas. This has given rise to fears throughout the
region that `Plan Colombia' will escalate the conflict
in that country and have serious spill-over effects for
its neighbours, namely Ecuador, Peru, Venezuela,
Brazil and, in next door Central America, Panama.
Many in these countries ± and some in their governments, notably Venezuela, view this American aid as
amounting to a `vietnamization' of the region. Clearly
the situation in Colombia became the most explosive
item under discussion. The situation has forced Brazil,
which shares a 1 000 km border with Colombia, to
dramatically increase its border defence and security
measures in the Amazon region (Veja 2000:43).
Although, at the end of the summit, the Presidents
signed a `Declaration of Support for the Peace Process
in Colombia', affirming that the summit had enhanced
the spirit of co-operation, and that a more effective
integration of the region would render a positive
contribution to the advancement of the peace process
in Colombia, they did not endorse the military aspects
of Plan Colombia.
Plan Colombia
Brazil's role
However there was one important topic of discussion
which was not explicitly on the agenda ± Plan
Colombia.
Nearly half of Colombia's territory is dominated by
leftist guerrillas, narcotraffickers and right-wing paramilitaries. The Colombian government requested
financial and military assistance from the US, which
agreed to aid of US$ 1,3 billion, to be used against
There is no doubt that Brazil (as represented by its
President and senior officials of the Foreign Ministry)
actively seeks to curb any designs of the US to extend
its influence throughout the Americas by means of the
FTAA, which is planned to be operational by 2005. At
the same time, Brazil indefatigably argues against
protectionist measures by developed countries which
discriminate against developing nations:
South American Presidents in BrasõÂlia: first time in history
Photo: courtesy Veja, 6 September 2000, pp. 42±43
64
Guyana
Guyana
dedicated a cover story to the event describing the
summit as `the first step in the construction of a South
American bloc which could confront American hegemony in the Continent' (Veja 2000:42). The latter
stated that `today an increasingly confident and
assertive Brazil is emerging as both an American
partner and rival in Latin America, steering its own
course on political and economic matters' (Rohter
2000).
Nor was the significance of the summit lost on
Washington. The US ambassador to Brazil, Anthony
Harrington, said that:
Brazil has reached a level of
regional interest unprecedented
country is today the spokesman
world, while also having a seat
World forums (Veja 2000:43).
We share a common interest in struggling against
the protectionist barriers that limit the access our
products have to the markets of the developed
countries (Cardoso 2000).
The Brazilians do not regard an integrated South
America as an alternative to the FTAA, but rather as a
political effort to consolidate the South American
Continent as a unified partner in the FTAA negotiations. This would only increase their bargaining
power. Furthermore, the commitment to democratic
values and the rule of law should be seen as the
seminal aspect of the summit (O Estado de SaÄo Paulo,
29 August 2000).
The Brazilian authorities played down any leadership aspirations on the part of Brazil. When asked,
they would refer to the summit merely as a `meeting'.
The light agenda of the summit was designed to give
ample opportunity to the South American Presidents
to meet informally with each other and to attend
official social functions. It was as if the Heads of State
had been invited to àn academic tea party' (Veja
2000:42)
To expect this first South American summit to make
dramatic progress towards solving the problems of the
sub-continent is clearly unrealistic. Necessarily there
was a large symbolic element in the meeting.
Unfortunately, misperceptions occurred, such as the
article published in the prestigious Latin American
Weekly Report (5 September 2000), in which it is
implied that the summit achieved little.
However, Veja and The New York Times both
understood the importance of the event. The former
international and
in its history. The
of the developing
in important First
And Riordan Roett, director of the Western Hemisphere Programme at Johns Hopkins University,
wrote that:
It is clearly the judgement that the continent is now
ready for Brazil to assume a broader, more dynamic
leadership role in regional affairs. And it is now
understood in South America that the regional card
to play is one that is led from BrasõÂ lia (Rohter
2000).
Conclusions
It is clear that the summit brought three new
phenomena to the fore in the international political
arena. Firstly, a new assertiveness in Brazilian Foreign
policy, for the first time showing the world that Brazil
is willing and able to take on a leadership role not only
in the hemisphere, but also in the developing world.
Secondly, the countries of South America, especially Spanish-speaking South America, where balkanization has hitherto been the rule, are now coming
together in an initiative which could strengthen the
whole continent.
Thirdly, Portuguese-speaking Brazil and the Spanish-speaking countries, which before had limited
interaction with each other, are now establishing a
new community. The inclusion of the two small
northern tier countries is another positive new step.
In the words of President Cardoso:
Thus my vision for the South America of this
coming century is one of a vibrant region, guided
by the common ideals of liberty and justice,
increasingly prosperous and integrated, as well as
fully capable of confronting the challenges of the
knowledge society (Cardoso 2000).
65
NOTES
1
2
3
The Heads of State present at the summit were: the host, President Fernando Henrique Cardoso of Brazil and the Heads of
State of Argentina, Fernando de la RuÂa; Bolivia, Hugo BaÂnzer SuaÂrez; Chile, Ricardo Lagos Escobar; Colombia, AndreÂs
Pastrana Arango; Ecuador, Gustavo Noboa; Guyana, Bharrat Jagdeo; Paraguay, Luis Angel GonzaÂlez Macchi; Peru, Alberto
Fujimori; Suriname, Runaldo Ronald Venetiaan; Uruguay, Jorge Batlle IbanÄez; and Venezuela, Hugo ChaÂvez. In addition
Mexico, a North American country, had observer status at the summit. Various international institutions and organizations
such as the IDB (Inter-American Development Bank), ALADI (Latin American Integration Association), SELA (Latin
American Economic System), CEPAL (Economic Commission for Latin America) and Parlatino (Latin American Parliament)
also attended as observers.
French Guyana, albeit geographically in South America, did not take part, as it is a province of France and not an independent
country.
Based on the document `The First South American Heads of State Summit ended today, September 1st, in BrasõÂ lia' published
on the web by the Brazilian Embassy in Washington DC. See: http://www.brasilemb.org/policy/summit2000/final_1.htm.
REFERENCES
Barbosa, Rubens. 2000. Address on `South American Heads of State Summit' Washington: National Press Club,
1st September.
Cardoso, Fernando Henrique. 2000. `Brazil and a New South America' (published in Portuguese) Valor 30 August.
CIA World Fact Book 2000.
GarcõÂ a, Enrique. 2000. Ùm Marco HistoÂrico' Correio Braziliense 30 August.
Latin American Weekly Report 2000 `BrasõÂ lia summit under-performs' WR-00-35, 5 September, p. 414.
O Estado de SaÄo Paulo 2000, Editorial, 29 August.
Rohter, Larry. 2000. `Brazil Begins to Take on the World Stage' The New York Times 30 August.
Veja 2000. Ò Brasil diz naÄo' ano 33, n8 36 pp 42±49.
66
The current YanomamoÈ scandal:
Neel, Chagnon et al
by Chris van Vuuren
Senior Lecturer
Department of Anthropology and Archaeology, Unisa
Chris van Vuuren
American anthropologist Napoleon Chagnon (YanomamoÈ: The fierce people 1968, `77, `83, `92, `97) has
been the target of academic criticism (starting in
1979) which culminated in a number of discourses
and debates (see Van Vuuren in Unisa Latin American
Report 10(2) 1994). To summarize these: he was
accused by anthropologists such as Da Cunha and
Ramos of portraying the YanomamoÈ of Venezuela and
Brazil as `fierce' and `war-like' which, it was argued,
provided governments and garimpeiros with an
excuse to wilfully attack and terminate these tribal
communities. Secondly, he was accused of advocating neo-Darwinist `survival of the fittest' theories with
reference to the so-called sexual rewards for revengeand-kill warriors (so-called unokais)
Now, even worse, he is implicated in a major
scandal which might cause anthropology and the
American Anthropological Association (AAA), in
particular, long term damage. An investigative journalist named Patrick Tierney is publishing a book
(sometime in October 2000) `Darkness in El Dorado'
in which he claims that Chagnon, Tim Asch (the
visual anthropologist who made Chagnon's YanomamoÈ films (`The Axe Fight' and others) and geneticist
Dr James Neel have conducted medical experiments
under the YanamamoÈ for close to 35 years.
Among other gross human rights violations Neel is
said to have injected YanamamoÈ with radioactive
iodine isotopes and might also have been the cause of
the measles epidemic in 1968 which saw hundreds or
even thousands of YanomamoÈ perishing. He alleges
that Neel injected the YanomamoÈ with a virulent
vaccine called Edmonson B which caused or worsened the epidemic. Neel's experiments carried the
support of the US Atomic Energy Commission. Neel
worked at the Center for Human Genetics at Ann
Arbor (Michigan University) at the time. Intrigued by
the notion of ìnnate leadership' and reproductive
success as Chagnon coined it, Neel believed that the
isolated Amazonian YanamamoÈ population would
serve as the ideal springboard for his experiments
and theory.
Tierney alleges that Chagnon and Neel worked
closely together. He also alleges that Chagnon's
obsession with Hobbesian human savagery spurred
him on to invite Asch to film a YanamamoÈ axe fight
which the former enacted, thus adding to the `fierce'
image portrayal. In fact, it is alleged that Chagnon's
staging of aggression aggravated warfare indirectly in
the region. Tierney also refers to Chagnon's sexual
abuse of YanomamoÈ women as well as French
anthropologist Jacques Lizot's `harem of Yanomami
boys that he keeps, and showers with presents in
exchange for sexual favours'.
Since the initial response to Tierney's manuscript by
Terry Turner and Leslie Sonsel of the AAA, and on
which the above summary is based, many other
responses emerged from around the globe, some in
defence of Neel, Asch and Chagnon. Chagnon himself
67
refuted all claims, once more saying it borders on
media sensation (in a letter to the weekly Time
magazine).
A visual anthropologist named Peter Biella studied
the Àxe fight' and could find nothing wrong which
would harm the integrity of the late Tim Asch. He in
fact claims that Asch always remained critical of
Chagnon's obsession with YanomamoÈ violence.
Gregory Finnegan (Harvard University) a close
colleague and former student of Tim Asch at Brandeis
University, and who knew most of Asch's films on the
YanomamoÈ, concludes as follows: Èveryone in the
YanomamoÈ-studies communities is working with
notions of human nature and global systems that
affect how they view each other's portrayals of the
YanomamoÈ. Since there is no answer without a
question, and theories, even implicit ones, determine
68
questions, Chagnon and all of us necessarily ``cook''
our ``raw'' data in the act of acquiring it. But that's not
the same as ``cooking the data'' in the ways that
Tierney is said to allege'.
From his home base university at Ann Arbor,
Michigan University officially defended the late Dr
Neels's academic scientific integrity and could find
nothing to support the Tierney accusations.
In the same vein historian Susan Lindee, anthropologist Alan Fix and Jeffrey Long (a student of Neel)
have sought to refute most of the allegations against
Neel.
Thus, the last word has not been spoken. One can
only assume that once the book is on the market more
responses will magnify and more `cans of worms' will
be opened. The problem is that neither Neel nor Asch
is alive to tell their stories.
UCLAS Reports
Cultural studies highlighted at
Comparative Literature Conference in Brazil
by ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell
Head, Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies
Salvador, the capital city of the State of Bahia in Brazil,
hosted the VII Congress of ABRALIC* (Associac,aÄo
Brasileira de Literatura Comparada ± Brazilian Association of Comparative Literature) from 25 to 28 July
2000.
I participated and delivered a paper at the conference, thanks to a grant from Unisa's Research and
Bursaries Committee and the Division for Social
Sciences of the National Research Foundation.
The scale of the conference was shown by the fact
that more than 1 300 papers were presented. The
majority of participants came from the host country,
Brazil. As Brazil has 27 States (provinces), there were
representatives from different regions and backgrounds. The other countries represented were:
Argentina, Belgium, Canada, Chile, France, Germany,
India, Italy, Netherlands, Peru, Portugal, South Africa
(represented by myself), Spain, United Kingdom,
United States, Uruguay and Venezuela (18 countries
in all). This is unsurprising, given that the biennial
Congress of Abralic is the most important and allembracing event in the area of comparative literature
and criticism organized in Brazil. It serves as a forum
for dialogue between Brazilian, Latin American, North
American, European and other researchers in the field
coming to grips with topical issues and problems. The
aim of this particular congress was to debate
important contemporary issues, such as identity; as
a consequence of globalization, identities can be said
to be less monolithic, leading to fragmentation.
The main theme of the congress ± Terras e Gentes
(Lands and Peoples) ± was set against a background
of the end of the millennium, namely a time of stocktaking, evaluations and prospects. This was further
emphasized by the commemorations surrounding the
500th anniversary of Brazil's `discovery', and discourses on the nation-state in a context of economic
* ABRALIC is affiliated to ICLA (International Comparative Literature Association). The 13th ICLA Congress took place in South Africa, at Unisa
from 13 to 19 August 2000.
69
Prof Stuart Hall
Photo by Welton ArauÂjo, courtesy of Correio da Bahia
and cultural globalization. The setting, in Salvador,
the most Àfrican' city outside Africa, also led to the
themes of colonial memory and African descent.
The sub-themes of the congress were divided as
follows:
(i)
(ii)
(iii)
(iv)
(v)
Power, colony, national identity, transnationality;
Travels, diasporas, migrations;
Ethnicity, gender, class;
Memory and rituals
Literature, media and identities
These themes were discussed in a total of 224
sessions.
Cultural studies played a central role in the congress.
It became clear that a fusion is taking place between
literature and cultural studies. A sharp dialogue is
taking place between literature and culture. The aim,
according to Abralic's vice-president, Prof. Eneida Leal
Cunha is `to perceive and debate literature in its
political, ethical and aesthetical dimension'.
Academics of the calibre of Stuart Hall (Open
University), Paul Gilroy (Yale University) and Gayatri
Spivak (Columbia University) were prominent speakers at the conference.
Jamaican-born Stuart Hall gave one of two keynote addresses at the opening and set the tone. As
doyen of cultural studies in the world, he focused on
the question of cultural hybridism and its consequences, positive and negative. In his lecture ±
`Diasporas and the logic of cultural translation' , he
argued against closed models in studying such
themes as cultural identity, because those who feel
victimized by the diasporas of their ancestors cannot
`return home'. Globalization becomes a strong factor,
70
side by side with the intervention of history in the lives
of people.
Themes related to diasporas, race and ethnicity
were further discussed. In this regard, the location of
the congress was excellent. Bahia epitomizes all these
aspects in a visual and audible manner. Cultural life is
extremely rich in Salvador and one can have crosscultural experiences by the minute, simply by walking
along the streets of the historical centre of the city.
The focus of the entire congress was interdisciplinary. In fact, the blurring of boundaries which were
previously strict led to lively and fruitful crosspolination. Spivak even suggested that Comparative
Literature might ally itself with Area Studies and
Ethnic Studies. Literature was juxtaposed with
Anthropology, Philosophy, History, Politics, Religion,
Education, and so on, creating a panorama of ideas
which complemented each other.
The study of African literature, Afro-Brazilian
cultural expressions and obviously Brazilian diaspora
was often expressed in studies of `memory construction'.
Travel literature was also tackled, as it highlights the
meeting of two worlds, people in transit and migration.
My own lecture formed part of the session entitled
SertoÄes, Canudos: releituras atuais (Backlands, Canudos, contemporary re-readings), under the subtheme `Power, colony, national identity, transnationality'.
The general consensus among the participants was
that this congress opened new avenues and new paths
for interdisciplinary and transdisciplinary co-operation.
There was no sense of rigidness or antagonism as
themes were thrashed out from different perspectives.
A definite sense of enrichment emerged, which will no
doubt form a foundation for future co-operation.
The conference proceedings were of direct relevance to academic debate in South Africa.
A typical Bahian Woman dressed
in traditional African attire
The similarities between South Africa and Brazil,
especially Bahia, are striking.** The issues pertaining
to diasporas, ethnicity and especially transnationality
are very important for South Africa as are discussions
on racism, gender and class. Globalization, a much
debated theme in South Africa, was in the background of a great number of discussions at the Abralic
conference, raising the issue of nationality as a
counterpart to this phenomenon.
It was worthwhile to witness the debate on
disciplinary boundaries, as this is currently a burning
issue in South Africa, arising out of restructuring
processes in tertiary education.
The abolishing of boundaries in cultural and
national expressions is a reality which permeates all
spheres of endeavour, creating an identity vacuum. A
search for a new identity, merging the old and new are
of the utmost importance, especially in the new South
Africa in its quest towards a national identity which
has a right to be singular in spite of fragmentation.
All in all, the congress was a stimulating and
rewarding experience.
I should like to express my gratitude to Unisa's
Research and Bursaries Committee and the National
Research Foundation for affording me this invaluable
opportunity.
** The Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies has been consistently working towards creating an awareness of these similarities, as well as those
with other Latin American countries, for the past 17 years.
71
South African Navy participates in fleet
review commemorating 500th anniversary
of the discovery of Brazil
by Keith Cambell
Political analyst and journalist
The South African Navy's hydrographic ship, SAS
Protea, was one of 29 ships from eleven nations
which participated in a fleet review in Guanabara Bay,
Rio de Janeiro, on 30 April 2000, as part of festivities
to mark the 500th anniversary of the discovery of
Brazil. The Protea left the South African Navy's main
base at Simonstown, south of Cape Town, on 14
April, arriving in Rio on 26 April. The captains of all
the ships participating in the review were briefed on
the morning of 28 April, on such matters as the route
to be followed, the order of ships in the review, and so
on.
The review fleet included modern warships, naval
auxiliaries, sail training ships, and replicas of 15th/
SAS Protea participating in the fleet review
72
16th century Portuguese vessels. Apart from South
Africa, the foreign countries participating were the
US, which sent a frigate, the UK, with a destroyer and
tanker, Venezuela, with a frigate and a tank landing
ship, Argentina, Spain and the Netherlands, each of
which was represented by a frigate, Poland, whose
representative was a training ship, Uruguay, with a sail
training ship, and of course Portugal, which sent a
couple of replica sailing vessels and its Navy's sail
training ship, the Sagres. Apart from four sailing
vessels ± three civilian and the Navy's new sail training
ship Cisne Branco ± the Brazilian Navy contingent
comprised one destroyer, five frigates, a corvette, a
submarine, a tank landing ship, a survey ship, and a
museum ship. In addition, nine helicopters participated in a fly-past.
The review took the form of a sail past, with the
ships in line-ahead formation and divided into two
divisions. The first division comprised a Brazilian
frigate (which was in the lead) followed by the eight
sailing ships (or tall ships as they are nowadays
called). Then there was the helicopter flypast, and
finally the sail past of the modern naval vessels.The
salute was taken by Brazilian President Fernando
Henrique Cardoso, from a review stand at the Escola
Naval in Rio de Janeiro.
Captain L D Reeder, commander of the Protea,
reported that his crew had been proud to represent
South Africa at the review and enjoyed themselves
thoroughly. The reception received by the ship in
Brazilian fragata Bosisio participating in the fleet review
Brazilian submarine Tonelero passing the Escola Naval
(Naval Academy)
Brazil had been very good, and the fleet review had
been a well-planned and auspicious occasion. The
Protea's crew were also complemented on the
appearance of their ship.
While in Rio, the opportunity was taken by the
ship's survey officers and ratings (enlisted men) to
visit the Brazilian Navy's Directorate of Hydrography
and Navigation. The Brazilians showed great interest
in the SAN hydrographic service and, in return, freely
answered the questions posed by the South Africans.
The result was a better mutual understanding. The
Protea's crew also interacted with crews from other
participating nations, especially the Argentines, British and Dutch.
The Protea left Rio on 3 May, arriving in Simonstown on 15 May. Advantage was taken of both transoceanic voyages to undertake training of junior
officers and survey ratings.
73
IDB News
On the right path*
Hondurans make steady progress in reconstruction
after Hurricane Mitch
by Peter Bate
HUNDREDS OF MILES OF ROADS REPAIRED
Bridges, schools, hospitals and water systems rebuilt.
A gradual recovery in farming and manufacturing
output. Inflation under control. Reforms underway in
key areas of the state. A revitalized democracy in
which civil society groups are playing an increasingly
active role. All in all, it is quite a showing for a poor
country that had been brought to its knees late in
1998 by Hurricane Mitch.
These are some of the achievements the Honduran
government and its people exhibited at a February
meeting with delegates from donor countries and
multilateral institutions chaired by the Inter-American
Development Bank. The gathering, known as the
Consultative Group for the Reconstruction and
Transformation of Honduras, assembled in Tegucigalpa to gauge how Hondurans were recovering from
the worst natural disaster in their history.
The international community's assessment was
largely positive, considering the destruction wrought
by the massive flooding and mudslides triggered by
Mitch and the adverse weather conditions Central
America suffered during 1999.
`Honduras has legitimate reasons to feel proud of
the promising beginning its national reconstruction
and transformation plan has had,' said the meeting's
chairman, Miguel E. MartõÂ nez, the IDB's manager for
regional operations for a group of countries that
include Central America. `We have also seen that the
international community's solidarity is turning into
concrete accomplishments. Certainly, much remains
to be done, but I am sure that I am not mistaken when
I say that Hondurans and their friends from around the
world are building solid foundations for a better
Honduras,' he added.
Nearly 6 000 Hondurans died and 8 000 were
listed as missing due to the hurricane, which caused
more than $3,6 billion in economic losses and
infrastructure damage. In less than one week, hundreds of thousands of Hondurans lost their homes,
their land or their means of making a living, as the
floods ruined crops and washed away the topsoil.
In May 1999, the international community, at a
meeting held in Stockholm, pledged to provide some
$2,8 billion in humanitarian aid, long-term financing
for reconstruction, and debt relief to support Hondurans' efforts to rebuild and modernize their nation. In
return, Honduras pledged to observe the principles of
the Stockholm Declaration, which binds donors and
beneficiaries to work together to fight poverty and
promote growth within a framework of democracy
and respect for human rights, transparency and good
governance, decentralization and the reduction of
social and environmental vulnerabilities.
Progress updates
In Tegucigalpa, the Honduran government offered
detailed reports on the national reconstruction and
transformation plans. The presentations included
abundant information on the steps taken to secure
financing for the projects and the progress achieved
so far in implementing them in such areas as
education, health, housing, agriculture, forestry, manufacturing, mining, tourism, financial services, roads,
ports, airports, water and sanitation, energy and
telecommunications.
Honduran officials also briefed the visitors about
the country's efforts to reduce poverty and environmental vulnerability and modernize its government
institutions. They stressed the urgency of negotiating
further relief of Honduras' $3,9 billion external debt,
which President Carlos Roberto Flores called òne of
*First published in IDB America, March±April 2000 and reprinted with the permission of the Inter-American Development Bank.
74
International donors meet in Tegucigalpa
the biggest obstacles to redeeming our people
socially.'
Delegates also received a report from a follow-up
group formed by donor nations and multilateral
agencies to monitor the implementation of the
Honduran plan. The report praised the fact that social
spending was being targeted to benefit the most
vulnerable sectors, especially in rural areas; nevertheless, it urged the government to adopt specific
policies to protect indigent women and children and
indigenous groups. In the case of environmental
vulnerability, it commended the draft legislation for
land use and forestry management and the improvement of emergency preparedness, but found that
Honduras still lacked the policies needed to prevent
people from settling in high-risk areas.
Another notable aspect of the February meeting
was the enthusiastic participation of Honduras' civil
society. While representatives of the private sector,
organized labor, peasants, indigenous and Afro-Latin
groups that took part in the discussions often took
issue with the government ± and with each other ±
their interventions were viewed by many as an
indication of an invigorated democracy at work. In
fact Honduran authorities acknowledged that civil
society groups have called for sweeping reforms in the
One block at a time:
Honduras is still in the process of rebuilding housing and infrastructure in the aftermath of Hurricane Mitch
75
legislative, judiciary and executive branches of government, as well as the use of plebiscites and
referendums.
However, the limited disbursement of aid so far,
compared with the sizeable pledges made in Stockholm, pointed to some bottlenecks. The IDB's
MartõÂ nez urged donors to work with Honduras to
strengthen its ability to manage projects to speed up
implementation.
Need for transparency
The Bank is working with the Honduran government
to promote transparency and good governance. A
central concern for Hondurans as well as for donors,
the issue may weigh heavily in the Central American
country's prospects of attracting more capital to
modernize its economy. Last year, Honduras ranked
low in the annual survey on perception of corruption
conducted by Transparency International, a Berlinbased nongovernmental organization.
The IDB and several donor nations plan to support
Honduras' efforts to make its state procurement and
contracts system more efficient and transparent. As
initially drafted, the program would have two phases:
a temporary one to monitor projects during the postMitch reconstruction period and a permanent one to
promote the modernization of the Honduran system of
checks and balances.
76
During the temporary plan, an international consulting firm would be hired to perfom random audits
of reconstruction projects and check their technical,
financial and administration performance. These inspections would be carried out in parallel to the
existing controls that individual donors have for the
projects they finance. The results of the audits would
be released to the Honduran government, donors and
the public. Given that some $2 billion could be spent
on reconstruction efforts, such as auditing exercise
could cost up to $30 million, the chief of the IDB's
Procurement Policy and Coordination Office, Jorge
Claro de la Maza, told delegates.
The other phase ± to which the IDB could
eventually commit some $14 million in soft loans ±
is aimed at allowing Honduras to acquire as much
know-how and technology as possible from the
international auditors. Under that part of the program,
local officials involved in procurement and contracts
would receive training, and new purchasing procedures would be developed and enforced across the
Honduran public sector.
While the potential cost of the project gave some
delegates `sticker shock,' Claro de la Maza explained
that the estimate was based on a survey of auditing
firm fees. He also conceded that such controls are
expensive ± except when compared with the alternative of not doing them.
Soccer meets economics*
PeleÂ and Kissinger highlight seminar on
sports and development
by Peter Bate
Soccer and development banking found some common ground at the Inter-American Development
Bank's first-ever seminar on sports and development,
held in Washington, D.C., in May.
The event featured an impressive lineup, starting
with Edson Arantes do Nascimento, or PeleÂ, as the
world's greatest soccer player is universally known.
Backing up the former captain of the Brazilian
national team was one of the world's most famous
soccer fans, former U.S. secretary of state Henry
Kissinger.
Other speakers included the presidents of the
football confederations of South America. North
America, and the Carribean; U.S. Major League
Soccer Commissioner Don Garber; and top executives
from international sports marketing firms that have
helped turn soccer into a huge business in the
industrialized world.
Brazil's most famous sports ambassador meets enthusiastic soccer fans outside the IDB's Washington, D.C., headquarters
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
* First published in IDB America, May±June 2000 and reprinted with the permission of the Inter-American Development Bank.
77
`Soccer is a sport with multiple dimensions,' IDB
President Enrique V. Iglesias told the participants. Ìt
offers opportunities because of its economic return,
but it also is a sport whose popularity transcends
class, race, religion, gender and educational background boundaries.
Head table: ardent soccer fan Henry Kissinger with
IDB President Iglesias and PeleÂ
`This is why soccer is an important instrument for
regional development and integration', Iglesias said.
According to participants, soccer in Latin America
has been a victim of the region's political instability,
financial crises and social tensions. While South
Ameri-can countries have won the World Cup as
many times as Europeans have, they have derived only
minimal economic advantage from their excellence in
this field.
According to participants at the IDB seminar, Latin
America can do much to make soccer a more profitable
business. PeleÂ, for example, sees potential for turning
soccer into a major industry, largely by following the
playbooks written over the past decade by the
professional leagues in Europe and the United States.
But PeleÂ, who rose from grinding poverty to become
one of the world's best-paid athletes and later Brazil's
sports minister, also highlighted the potential of sports
to promote social as well as economic development.
Ìn the United States, the sports industry generates
about four percent of GDP. In Latin America, it barely
represents one percent of output. If we could get to
two percent, we could create a lot of jobs and
opportunities,' he said.
However, PeleÂ added, while Latin America is quick
to embrace changes in areas such as technology, it
continues to regard soccer as a pastime ruled by raw
passion rather than reasioned planning. Latin American soccer clubs are usually run as nonprofit
organizations. Major teams may give great performances on the field, but the clubs are constantly
courting bankruptcy. Traditionally, the sport's officials
tended to stave off financial ruin by selling off their
best players to richer teams in other countries. In the
worst cases, the teams become involved in shady or
even illegal financial dealings.
78
One of PeleÂ's main goals while he was sports
minister was to professionalize soccer club management in Brazil. Ìf you have professionals running the
sport as a business, it is much easier to stamp out
corruption. Professional managers are held accountable and they must account for every penny,' he said.
According to PeleÂ, Latin America's soccer federations are not much better run than the individual
teams. Even seemingly straightforward duties such as
setting a reasonable schedule of matches can turn out
to be a daunting task in some countries.
Nevertheless, there are some encouraging signs of
change. A few Brazilian clubs have started to choose
the business model followed by major European
teams. Flamengo of Rio de Janeiro has signed a
management contract with ISL, a Swiss sports
marketing company, and Corinthians of SaÄo Paulo
has brought in two U.S. firms as partners, The Muller
Sports Group and the private investment company
Hicks, Muse, Tate & Furst.
By signing up partners with deep pockets to run the
financial side, clubs can concentrate on what they do
best: training teams to win. Meanwhile, businesssavvy entrepreneurs can negotiate lucrative contracts
with broadcasters, advertisers, sponsors and companies interested in merchandising licenses.
However, the sports business model may not
generate phenomenal results in every single country.
Heinz Schurtenberger, CEO of Switzerland's ISL,
noted that in his own country top professional soccer
players earn but a fraction of the princely sums their
colleagues command in the British, Italian, or Spanish
leagues.
How does the IDB fit into this picture? At the close
of the conference, Iglesias said the Bank would have
to draft its own game plan before it can start playing a
larger role. However, he noted that soccer seemed like
a natural fit in the myriad of social programs the IDB is
promoting throughout the region, especially in the
programs for at-risk children and youth it helps to
finance in more than 30 cities.
In partnership with clubs and other civil society
organizations, these programs could be expanded to
include sports, which, as PeleÂ underscored, can be
one of the best strategies to keep kids out of trouble.
On the business side, Iglesias noted that the IDB
supports for-profit ventures through its own private
sector department and the Inter-American Investment
Corporation, as well as in its lending through national
development banks in the region. These could be
potential sources of financing for professionally
managed clubs.
Soccer authorities were quick to pick up on the
Bank's interest. The first request came from Costa
Rica's Football Federation, which would like the IDB
to support the creation of a regional soccer training
center in San JoseÂ.
UCLAS news in brief
LATIN AMERICA AT SAITEX 2000
The annual South African International Trade Exhibition, Saitex, took place from 3 to 7 October 2000. The
Latin American participation was dominated by Brazil,
which had a 600 square metre pavilion at the show,
with some 23 companies and institutions present ± the
biggest ever Brazilian representation at Saitex. As
usual, the main focus of the Brazilians was on small
and even micro-businesses, with companies displaying machines specially developed in Brazil for microindustrialists, and production lines for small and
medium-sized factories.
The range of machines for micro-industries produced by Kilindas were first introduced into South
Africa some three years ago. Initially, marketing
focused on their disposable nappy and sanitary towel
making machine, which has proven highly successful
in the South African market. Through their enthusiastic local agents, the Thomas Group of Companies,
more and more Kilindas machines are being introduced to South Africa, Africa and even Asia and the
Middle East. These include the foil plate-making
machine, the candle-making machine, and the shoe
and sandal-making machine.
Further up the scale, a small company named
ExpansaÄo generated enormous interest. ExpansaÄo
assembles and erects small to medium size production
lines to two basic agricultural produce into processed
products, allowing farmers to produce and sell their
own brands of everything from animal feed to roasted,
milled and packaged coffee. The company has already
enjoyed success in South and Central America and
West Africa.
Half of the Brazilian pavilion was paid for by
Sebrae, the SaÄo Paulo agency which promotes small
business in that state. Sebrae was also represented at
Saitex 2000.
Other Brazilian companies also displayed machinery
for small businesses and vendors, or food products.
Chile had a small pavilion with four companies
represented ± mostly foodstuffs, but including an
engineering company ± one of the specialities of
which is manufacturing wheelchairs ± and a minor
technology, engineering and consulting company,
CIMM Tecnologia y Servicios.
Argentina was represented by a single company,
specializing in sanitary products.
Keith Campbell
ARGENTINA AT AFRICA AEROSPACE AND
DEFENCE 2000 AND SAAF 80
From 5 to 9 September, Waterkloof Air Force Base in
Pretoria was the scene both of Àfrica Aerospace and
Defence 2000', a defence and aerospace industry
exposition, and the `SAAF 80', the South African Air
Force's eightieth anniversary celebrations.
They were attended by companies, air forces and air
force representatives from all over the world, and both
were ajudged highly successful.
The most prominent Latin American participation
was unquestionably that of Argentina ± the only Latin
American country to send aircraft to AAD 2000 /
SAAF 80. Two aircraft were sent: a US-built C-130
Hercules transport, which carried the second, and
more important aircraft: an Argentine-designed and
built IA-63 Pampa (PAMPA) jet trainer.
The Pampa was designed by the former FaÂbrica
Militar de Aviones, which is now Lockhead Martin
Argentina SA.
The Pampa programme began in 1981. Flight tests
were undertaken from 1984 and 1989, with series
production of the first batch starting in 1987. By May
1992 the Pampa was fully operational in an Argentine
Air Force squadron. In all, including prototypes, the
first batch numbered 18 aircraft. Recently, a second
batch of 12 was ordered. In addition, the Argentine
Navy is known to be interested in a dozen or so, fitted
to fly from an aircraft carrier. Although Argentina does
not possess its own carrier, it is able to train with
Brazil's.
The IA63 Pampa is a tandem two-seat, singleengined, high-wing basic and advanced training
aircraft, which combines advanced design technology
with structural simplicity. The aircraft's manoeuvreability was demonstrated daily in an impressive flying
display by test pilot Major Ruben Lianza. The Pampa
can also serve in the light attack role.
Keith Campbell
79
1A-63 Pampa at Waterkloof Air Force Base, Pretoria
1A-63 Pampa crossing the Andes
80
PIANO PERFORMANCE AT UNIVERSITY OF
PRETORIA, MUSAION
Pianists Celia Roca and Susana Gutman were the
performers at a concert at the Pretoria University
Musaion in August. The concert was held under the
auspices of the Uruguayan embassy to commemorate
the 175th anniversary of the declaration of the
independence of Uruguay. The duo-pianists played
with the fluency and communicative warmth this
particular genre needs. They had a wide range of
dynamics, yet rarely did one feel that any detail was
exaggerated.
In the J. S. Bach adagio they performed with clarity.
Teamwork was impeccable. They successfully revealed the inner beauties of the music. Lyricism
predominated in Brahms' Variations on a theme of
Haydn. Their intriguing understatement of romantic
rhetoric came as a pleasant surprise. It was a case of
inimitable charm produced with some lovely tone.
The eloquence and subtlety of their playing were at
once present in the set of variations. They avoided the
rattling vacuity so often suggested and elicited a vital,
yet sensitive execution. Their marvellous lucidity of
performance entailed, among other things, the application of a subtle range of quiet columns particularly
in the recital statement of the theme.
In the South American material the pianists played
with predictable idiomatic panache, the Argentinian
piece (Llanura) with uncanny ensemble and crispness, the two Uruguayan items for four hands, the first
(Triste no 1) with ineffable grace and the second
(Joropo) with rhythmic tautness.
In Milhaud's Scaramouche the composer's sunny
ebullience was projected with striking colour. Here
was due efficiency coupled with the ingredient so
pivotal to make this number work ± charm.
The outer movements were fast, on the verge of
hectic, but with ensemble reasonably clean. The
central ModereÂ was suitably pensive.
In Lutoslawsky's Variations on a theme of Paganini the two pianists thrilled with an exceptionally
varied palette of sounds. Shading was bold, but not
unduly harsh and contrasts grand in the extrovert
passages.
Riek van Rensburg
Pretoria News
Uruguayan pianists (from left to right: The Uruguayan Ambassador, HE Mr JoseÂ Luis Aldabalde, pianist Mrs Susana Gutman, the
South African Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Mr Aziz Pahad, pianist Mrs Celia Rocca, and Mrs Anabella de Aldabalde
81
At the Uruguayan piano recital (from left to right): the Director of the Latin American Section, Department of Foreign Affairs, Mr
Lenin Shope, the Uruguayan Ambassador and Mrs de Aldabalde, and Mrs Shope
BRAZILIAN HISTORIAN AT UNISA
Pio Penna Filho, a professor of History at the Federal
University of Mato Grosso in Brazil, spent three
months at Unisa this year while engaged in research
towards a PhD on Foreign Relations between South
Africa and Brazil (1947-1996) at the University of
BrasõÂ lia (Unb).
At Unisa Pio Penna was a guest of the Centre and
of the Department of History. He was able to collect
important material at Unisa, the National Archives and
the Department of Foreign Affairs.
His supervisor Prof JoseÂ FlaÂvio Sombra Saraiva, a
specialist in African History, is an associate of long
standing of the Unisa Centre for Latin American
Studies.
The completed thesis will be of great importance for
scholars interested in bilateral relations between Brazil
and South Africa.
UCLAS FELLOW REPORTS BACK
At a UCLAS seminar on 13 September Ana Agostino,
the UCLAS Research Fellow for 2000, presented a
paper on the subject of her fellowship research
`Global Barter Network ± new social and economic
relationships within a post development era?' This
was one of the series intended by UCLAS to draw
82
Pio Penna Filho
decision makers' attention to experiences in Latin
America relevant to the RDP.
In her presentation she described the way in
which people in several South American countries,
initiative had thus come to offer alternative ways of
improving the barterers' quality of life. A semiformal
system had developed so that the people engaged in
barter had organized themselves to co-ordinate their
efforts, to train themselves and to provide forms of
marketing services. At the same time barter questioned essential paradigms of traditional development practices, such as economic growth. The
process had developed extensively in Argentina,
and had proved to be so successful that it was being
adopted, albeit on a smaller scale, in other countries
in the region.
Ms Agostino's paper elicited an interesting discussion from a large audience, particularly with
regard to her views on the adaptability of the system
in South Africa. Stefan Treurnicht of the Department
of Development Administration, thanked her on the
behalf of UCLAS.
Two UCLAS Research Fellows Ana Agostino (left)
and Elna de Beer
not necessarily unemployed, had found that when
they had goods or services which others needed and
who themselves had something to exchange, they
were able to make passable livings from the process
in a central barter marketing process. The barter
HEAD OF THE CENTRE VISITS NAMIBIA
The head of the Centre, ZeÂlia Campbell, visited
Namibia from 3 to 7 April this year, as the guest of
the Brazilian Ambassador in Windhoek, His Excellency Mr Orlando GalveÃas Oliveira, and the Rector of
the University of Namibia, Professor Peter Katjavivi.
While in Namibia Mrs Campbell and Prof Katjavivi
discussed inter-university co-operation between Brazilian universities and the University of Namibia. She
Presentation on Global Barter Network: From left to right Ð Mr Treurnicht, Prof Fourie, Ana Agostino (speaker), HE the
Ambassador of Uruguay, He Mr Aldabalde and Prof Peter Stewart
83
Guests at the seminar on global barter: (left to right), Ms Jansen (Sociology Dept, Unisa), Ms Mnguni (Citi Bank), Mr Kolonji
(Jesuit Refugee Service), the speaker Ana Agostino, Mr Sithole (National Victim Empowerment Development), and Father
Reynolds (Sunnyside Catholic Church)
At the office of the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Namibia (from left to right): ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell,
the Vice-Chancellor Prof Peter Katjavivi, Mr Keith Campbell, Dr I Kandjii-Murangi, and the
Brazilian Ambassador HE Mr Orlando GalveÃas Oliveira
84
also visited the Dean of the Faculty of Economic and
Management Sciences, Prof AndreÂ du Pisani, and the
Department of Political Administration.
On 3 April Mrs Campbell addressed a seminar on
Brazil, the South Atlantic and Southern Africa:
Challenges and Opportunities at the University. She
held various discussions with the Brazilian Ambassador, and members of the Brazilian Embassy and with
the Cuban Ambassador to Namibia, H. E. Mr Sergio
Gonzales GonzaÂlez and the Mexican ChargeÂ d'Affaires
Mr Nicolas Escalante Barett.
COLOMBIAN GOLD EXHIBIT AT THE
UNIVERSITY OF PRETORIA
A travelling exhibit from the world-renowned Museo
del Oro (Gold Museum in BogotaÂ, Colombia), was on
public display at the University of Pretoria from 22 to
31 August. Most of the pieces displayed were
produced by lost wax casting, and ranged over the
period from 100 BC to AD 1600. They included flasks,
a trumpet, pectorals, pendants and votive figures. The
exhibit was formally opened by Colombian Ambassador Fred Erik Jacobsen, with an explanatory address
by Colombian anthropologist Juan Ricardo Aparicio.
Keith Campbell
Tolimo Antrhopomorphic Pectoral. Lost wax molding/
Hollow cast. 23.4 x 25.7 cm 0 ±550 AD.
Quimbaya Lime Flask (Poporo). Lost wax molding/with
nucleus. 200 AD±1000 AD. 11.4 x 8.3 cm
85
BOOK NEWS
Review essay
The Innkeeper's Underwear, or How Fantastic Latin American
Fiction Can Be
A review of Prospero's Mirror: A Translator's Portfolio of Latin American Short
Fiction by Ilan Stavans, ed. Willimantic, Conn: Curbstone Press, 1998. xxvi + 323
pp. Bibliographical references. $17.95 (paper), ISBN 1-880684-49-7
by Jeroen Oskam
Hogeschool Maastricht, The Netherlands
The idea behind this bilingual anthology of Latin
American Short Fiction is to manifest the role
translators play in the contact between cultures. Of
course, there is no question about the usefulness of
their craftsmanship nor about the creativity or interpretative implications of their work. However, literary
translators have a far-reaching cultural influence that
goes beyond the interpretation of the originals, since
their initiatives are usually essential in the process of
discovering, selecting, and getting recognition for
texts that are eventually published in the target
language. Therefore it is not only an excellent idea,
but also a logical one, to support and encourage these
efforts by collecting in one volume the personal
choices of a group of eminent translators.
Translation has had an even greater importance for
Latin American identity, as Ilan Stavans argues in his
essay `Translation and Identity,' which introduces this
anthology: it was àt the birth of the Americas' (p. vii).
During the early stages of the Conquista, it became a
powerful weapon in the hands of the Spaniards that
led to the replacement or the annihilation of aboriginal
languages. As a result, `the continent has been forced
to appropriate a foreign, non-native vehicle of communication' (p. xvii). The implications of this statement are more controversial than they may seem.
Authors like FernaÂndez de Lizardi, Neruda, Asturias,
Machado de Assis or Allende are mentioned as
examples of this àppropriation of a non-native
language,' which we can even see as a `form of
linguistic cannibalism': ìn order to be members of
Western civilization, Latin Americans need to be
initiated, and then are forced to perfect the language
of the invader' (p. xv). And even though recognizing
that GarcJ1a MaÂrquez was born into Spanish, and
raised in Spanish, Stavans still points out that his
birthplace, Aracataca, `was a landscape where pre86
Columbian languages and dialects were used'
(p. xvi). Should the conclusion be that the continent
has a linguistic reality that resides outside those who
live, speak, and write there?
Returning to the initial purpose of this anthology,
Stavans concludes his introduction with a brief history
of literary translations from Spanish into English. This
history leads to the names of Gregory Rabassa and
Helen Lane, who are among the `veterans' contributing to this collection. Besides these established
names, several up-and-coming translators were invited to submit a short story. In order to give an
impression of the style and method of these translators, they were asked to answer a number of questions
about the way they work. Together with a short
curriculum of the translator and a few introductory
lines about the translated author, the answers to these
questions are included in the comments that precede
the different contributions.
As an inevitable consequence of the chosen
approach, the anthology is quite heterogeneous. It
includes stories by Alfonso Reyes, Luisa Valenzuela,
Marco Denevi, Ana Maria Shua, Jorge Lanata, Silvina
Ocampo, Ruben Loza Aguerreberre, Antonio BenJ1tezRojo, and Augusto Monterroso; the Brazilian Dalton
Trevisan, Alfredo Bryce Echenique and Felisberto
HernaÂndez; and several less well-known authors like
the Honduran Jorge Medina GarcJ1a, the Panamanian
Jorge Turner, and the Spaniard JoseÂ Carmona Blanco,
as well as a short story by Ilan Stavans himself.1 The
list of names illustrates the enormous differences in
generation, style and recognition that this collection
covers. This diversity is, of course, natural, and can
only be positive for the purpose of introducing
undiscovered Latin American writers and texts to
readers of English. However, the particular characteristics of this anthology ± an anthology inside an
anthology, composed with as many different criteria
as there were translators invited to collaborate ±
would have required a more clarifying motivation for
its composition, a more relevant explanation of the
choices made by the translators. While only a minority
allude to the literary qualities of the selected story,
others simply limit themselves to the fact that the
writer in question is important and deserves more
attention from the public. Helen Lane submits her
translation (of Luisa Valenzuela's Èl lugar de su
quietud') as an early example of her own translation
style (p. 19). Asa Zatz, translator of Jorge Lanata's
Òculten la luna,' confides that the selection of this
author èmerges in part from the pleasure of reading
him' (p. 109). James Maraniss motivates his selection
of Ìncidente en la cordillera,' by Antonio BenJ1tezRojo, as follows: Ì selected this story because I like it,
had it at hand, was short enough for didactic use, and
is the first piece that BenJ1tez-Rojo has written after
thirteen years of non-fictional theorizing' (p. 163).
The irrelevance of these comments becomes somewhat irritating when we examine the second important aspect of this book: the presentation of a series of
translations by eminent or promising experts. When,
for example, an author who is known to be `difficult to
translate,' like Dalton Trevisan, is selected by a
translator as prominent as Gregory Rabassa, it would
indeed be fascinating to learn about his style and
method, about the problems and solutions he encountered. Instead, what strikes us is the triviality of
the observations some translators share with us: how
late they work, whether they read the book once or
twice, or which brand of ice cream helps them
through moments of reduced inspiration. Responding
to Stavans' questionnaire, some of them indicate that
they prefer not to consult with the authors, and others
say that they do; this does shed some light on the
matter of a translator's style and method, but would it
not have been more interesting to know what they
consult them about?
In spite of the hardly satisfactory result of the
questionnaire, this book gives an interesting insight
into the styles of different translators; after all, it is a
bilingual edition. To give an example of a well
motivated choice a translator can make: the character
of Marco Denevi's story `Carta a Gianfranco' (translated by Alberto Manguel) makes a comment about
the colour malva (mauve), and tells that she does not
know what it looks like (p. 42). Obviously, this
requires the English word for malva to be an
uncommon one; therefore, I believe that `cerulean' is
adequate. Further on in this same story, we read:
Ùltramarinos. Que hermosa palabra, Gianfranco.
AlmaceÂn de ultramarinos' (p. 52), which also for
stylistic reasons leads to Ùltramarine shops' in
English ± even though it might be less clear what
these are.
There is a similar stylistic problem in Jorge Turner's
`Mangos de enero,' translated by Leland Chambers.
One of the characters hears a `strange word: ``yearning'' ' (p. 253). Here the result of the translation is
rather odd. Yearning is not such a strange word; but
`desalmarse' is. Usually, difficulties of this kind also
emerge from obligatory changes between Spanish
and English, which often demand a creative solution.
This could be the case, for instance, when there is an
explicit reference to a change from the polite to the
informal pronoun, or, as in the following example
taken from `La muÂsica de la lluvia' by Silvina Ocampo
(translated by Suzanne Jill Levine): `± Para Octavito ±
... ± No ± susurroÂ la senÄora de Griber, detenieÂndolo ±.
Puede ofenderlo. No le gustan los diminutivos'
(p. 144), which becomes: ` ``For little Octavio'' ...
``No,'' whispered Griber's mother, holding him back.
`Ìt may offend him. He doesn't like diminutives.'' ' The
solution sounds a little artificial, since the `diminutive'
has disappeared from the translation.
I agree that cena (`La cena' by Alfonso Reyes,
translated by Rick Francis) could be translated into
either `dinner' or `supper'; but why choose one for the
title and the other for the quote that follows it (`The
Dinner ± 'The supper, that delights and enchants. `±
St. John of the Cross,' p. 5)? Why does the character
of `La muÂsica de la lluvia' put on `his shoes and his
socks' (p. 145), and not, more conventionally, his
socks first like his Spanish counterpart? I am not
suggesting that these translations are wrong or
inadequate; it is simply that the reader who feels
encouraged by this bilingual version to compare both
versions, is likely to be interested as well in the
motivation for these choices. And again, he or she
would have felt less frustrated if the introductions
would have made a more serious reference to those
questions.
This review is not the place for an in-depth analysis
of the translations presented in this book. But even a
superficial glance at its pages leads to a disconcerting
conclusion: the ones on the right are shorter than the
ones on the left. The reason is that sometimes part of a
sentence that appears in the original is missing from
the translation. It also occurs that complete sentences
or paragraphs have disappeared. I found fragments
that I could not trace in the English versions on pages
26, 28, 30, 32, 34 (Èl lugar de su quietud'), 144 (`La
muÂsica de la lluvia'), 284, 292 (Felisberto HernaÂndez,
Èl cocodrilo,' translated by Alfred MacAdam) and
322 (JoseÂ Carmona Blanco, `Los camalotes,' translated by Toby Talbot). This is probably an editing
problem, since I also came across translations of
fragments that were missing from the Spanish texts,
on pages 65 (`Carta a Gianfranco') and 311 (`Los
camalotes').2
A remarkable translating style attracts the attention
to Donald Yates' version of `Cotode caza,' by Ruben
87
Loza Aguerreberre. Yates has an inclination to specify
or embellish the original and turns `disecadores de
libros ajenos' (p. 152) into àrid dissectors of other
people's books.' In some cases this is acceptable, but
it becomes puzzling when a restaurant is decorated
with ùnas redes colgadas a las paredes como
enormes telaranas' (p. 150), which are rendered into
`huge fishing nets that hung from the walls like
enormous spiderwebs.' Fishing nets are larger than
spiderwebs, and `huge' fishing nets can be up to
several miles in length. Also, it occurred to me that
Yates likes Ernest Hemingway more than Loza
Aguerreberre does. The original character says that
`solo me gusta su estilo para contar' (p. 154), and
Yates' character replies, Ì have always been impressed
by his original style.' When he takes the female
character to Hemingway's residence in Paris, we read:
Èlla no la conocJ1a' (p. 154). But in the English
version she seems more enthusiastic: Ànnie was
pleased since she said she had not known about that
residence.'
Harry Morales has translated Ilan Stavans' `Tres
Pesadillas.' Besides his translator, he is also his former
neighbour and they have collaborated in various
projects. In short, he is not likely to misinterpret the
story. So I am getting more and more confused when I
read ± or misread ± the following passage, where the
main character comes home and his maid tells him
that his wife has left:
`Ms. Betzi called,' she said. `She's had to leave for
Rochester. It's a ternational conference.' I deduced
that ternational meant international. Ternational:
the word sounded nice ... .
`She'll be in Rochester for two days,' said the
lady who owned an inn ... She mechanically
repeated the same phrase. (pp. 223-225)
Now, where does this mysterious lady-innkeeper
come from? In Spanish, the mispronounced word is
ìnnacional.' My impression was that the sentence
`Dijo la senÄora que tenJ1a un inn ...' was a repetition of
her earlier announcement. The last sentence of the
quoted fragment actually says so, and the position of
the quotation marks in the original confirms my
impression.
`Mangos de enero' is a story about anti-imperialist
manifestations around the Panama Canal-zone in
January 1964. U.S. military actions cause a large
number of casualties and a character of the story
who has been shot will be attended in the gynaecological ward. The sudden entrance of wounded
young men upsets a pregnant woman, who is
already in labour:
Ì'm having the baby!' No one pays any attention to
her. The woman insists that the fetus is settling,
they're all just fooling around with her while her
husband thinks he's so great, he's not there, he's
88
out getting drunk, leaves her here alone, as if there
isn't much to it, thinks he's hot enough to make a
good dog laugh, going around with his friends like
that, just a little boy celebrating in advance ... She'd
like to see him like these kids, see him with a bullet
inside him, see him going up against the gringos,
see him in this mess, see him having a baby like
her. Then she shit in her underwear.
While the reader feels sympathy for the lady in this
embarrassing moment, she does not seem uncomfortable at all with the situation, and not even her sticky
underpants can distract her for a moment from raging
against her husband:
What kind of husband ... Her mouth is full of her
husband, bah! husband!: resist, resisting, resister,
resistance, fingers worn out, lips bitten down.
Calm, why calm? ± To hell with being calm! Smell
of ether bustling activity nervous sweating.
(p. 247-49)
Just ether and sweat, no other smell; that should
give us a clue. We look up the original passage and
find:
Lo viera como los muchachos, lo viera con una
bala adentro, lo viera contra los gringos, lo viera en
este escaÂndalo, lo viera pariendo como yo. Entonces se cagarJ1a los pantalones. (p. 248)
The cowardly husband would be shitting himself ...
I do not know if I am splitting hairs here. `Los
camalotes' is about the sinister find of human remains
washed ashore in Uruguay. Before eventually being
able to reconstruct two complete amputated hands,
the character of the story finds a man's ring finger, a
female middle finger and then a second ring finger,
also part of the woman's hand. Therefore, èl segundo
anular' is not equivalent to `the second finger'
(p. 317): I imagine that a reader who has no access
to the Spanish version will feel completely lost here. In
general, I would like to remind that these are
translations which the translators themselves have
selected and submitted to be published along with the
originals in order to show us the secrets of their
profession. One should expect the details to be taken
care of.
I am running out of euphemisms. What to say of Èn
medio del bullicio,' Àlong the boulevard' (p. 151)?
`¿Cuando lees?' and `When did you read?' (p. 153)?
Ùn muchacho muy erudito' who turns into à
sensitive young fellow' (p. 159)? Mystic `sabios' of
inland South America who are called `researchers'
(p. 27)? Literal calques of idiomatic expressions as
`Me tocoÂ hablar' ± Ì was scheduled to speak' (p. 149)
± or play the piano with your hands, `como Dios
manda' ± às God intended' (p. 135)? Ùn color claro'
that turns out to be à dark color' (p. 283)? A man
who puts his `plata' in his pocket and only has got
`silver coins' (p. 317)?
The overall impression caused by this book is that it
is a far too hasty a product based upon a maybe good
and `novel' idea. But in order to be of academic value,
the introductions need to be rewritten, to be made
more informative and less frivolous. And whereas
normally bilingual editions of literary texts might be a
useful instrument in undergraduate reading classes, I
am afraid that this one is not ± unless you want to
make people laugh. The really sad thing is that it
contains translations that are acceptable or even
worthwhile. With the contributions of Rick Francis,
Alberto Manguel, Dick Gerdes (`Como una buena
madre,' Ana Maria Shua), Asa Zatz, James Maraniss,
Edith Grossman (`Movimiento perpetuo,' Augusto
Monterroso), JoAnne Engelbert (`La noche clara de
los coroneles,' Jorge Medina GarcJ1a), Gregory Rabassa, Hardie St. Martin (`Con Jimmy en Paracas,'
Alfredo Bryce Echenique) and Alfred MacAdam, these
are, in fact, the majority. But they are overshadowed
by other translations that, simply, are not ready yet for
publication.
Review: Courtesy of [email protected].
[[email protected]]
NOTES
1
2
The complete list of the stories included in this volume is as follows: Alfonso Reyes, `La cena,' originally published in El plano
oblicuo, vol. III of Obras Completas. Mexico: Fondo de Cultura EconoÂmica, 1956. Luisa Valenzuela, Èl lugar de su quietud'
The Censors. Willimantic, Conn.: Curbstone Press, 1992. Marco Denevi, `Carta a Gianfranco,' Hierba del cielo. Buenos Aires:
Corregidor, 1973. Ana Maria Shua, `Como una buena madre,' Viajando se conoce gente. Buenos Aires: Editorial
Sudamericana, 1988. Jorge Lanata, Òculten la luna,' Polaroids, unpublished in Spanish. Silvina Ocampo, `La muÂsica de la
lluvia,' Las reglas del secreto: antologK1a, Matilde SaÂnchez, ed. MeÂxico: Fondo de Cultura EconoÂmica, 1991. Ruben Loza
Aguerreberre, `Coto de caza,' Coto de caza y otros cuentos. Montevideo: Ediciones de la Banda Oriental, 1993. Antonio
BenJ1tez-Rojo, Ìncidente en la cordillera,' A View from the Mangrove. London: Faber and Faber, 1998. Augusto Monterroso,
`Movimiento perpetuo,' Complete Works and Other Stories. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995. Jorge Medina Garcia, `La
noche clara de los coroneles,' Pudimos haber llegado maÂs lejos. Tegucigalpa, Honduras: Editorial Guaymuras, 1989. Ilan
Stavans, `Three Nightmares,' The One-Handed Pianist and Other Stories, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press,
1996. Dalton Trevisan, `TreÃs tiros na tarde,' The Vampire of Curitiba and Other Stories. New York: Albert A. Knopf, 1972.
Jorge Turner, `Mangos de enero,' Viento de agua. MeÂxico, 1977. Alfredo Bryce Echenique, `Con Jimmy en Paracas,' Cuentos
completos. Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1985. Felisberto HernaÂndez, Èl cocodrilo,' Las hortensias y otros relatos. Montevideo:
Editorial Arca, 1966. JoseÂ Carmona Blanco, `Los camalotes,' El reencuentro: cuentos. Montevideo: Ediciones de la Banda
Oriental, 1978.
This review is based upon an uncorrected copy of the book.
Copyright (c) 1998 by H-Net, all rights reserved.
89
UCLAS publications Ð monographic series
90
In order to receive Unisa Latin American Report regularly, please complete this form and return to the address below, together with your fees.
APPLICATION FOR MEMBERSHIP
The Secretary
Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies
PO Box 392
UNISA
0003 Republic of South Africa
FULL NAME OF PERSON (INCLUDING TITLE) OR COMPANY
...............................................................................................................................................................................
POSTAL ADDRESS
...............................................................................................................................................................................
........................................................................................................................... POSTAL CODE .....................
TELEPHONE NOS
(W) ........................................................... (H) ...........................................................
FAX .............................................. E-mail address
.......................................................................................
Ordinary member
...........
Donor member
...........
Country member
...........
Corporate member
...........
Institutional member
...........
Overseas member
...........
I am/We are interested in the aims of the Unisa Centre for Latin American Studies and
accept the obligations membership involves. I/We enclose a cheque/postal order for
R................... for the year ..................
..........................................................
Signature
............................................................
Date
MEMBERSHIP FEES
South Africa
Ordinary member:
R50,00 per annum (An ordinary member is mainly based in the Gauteng
(PWV) region; he/she will receive Unisa Latin American Report, advance notice of activities, free entrance to
most lectures, and will have access to the Centre's database)
Country member: R30,00 per annum (A country member will receive Unisa Latin American Report)
Institutional member: R100,00 per annum (This category is for libraries, schools, etc)
Donor member: R200,00 per annum (This category is for individuals who wish to make an extra
contribution)
y
Corporate member: R500,00 per annum (This category is for companies)
Donor corporate member: An amount of R2 000,00 or more per annum
for companies with a real and committed interest in Latin American Affairs)
Overseas
Overseas member:
US$ 25,00
(This category is
(Such members will receive Unisa Latin American Report via airmail)
91
AIMS OF THE CENTRE
. To promote a better informed interest in and a greater awareness of Latin America within the private and public
sectors in South Africa.
. To foster understanding and strengthen ties between South Africa and these nations.
. To provide interested persons with specific information on Latin American politics, economics, life and culture.
ORGANIZATION AND STAFF OF THE CENTRE
The Centre is multidisciplinary and is supervised by an Advisory Committee and a Working Committee.
The Head of the Centre is Mrs ZeÂlia Roelofse-Campbell who is also Chief Executive Officer and chairperson of
the Working Committee. The chairperson of the Advisory Committee is Prof Cathy Maree (professor of Spanish).
The Chief Administrative Officer is Mrs Moetsie du Plessis.
The committees comprise members of the University's Management Committee, representatives of the faculties
of Arts, of Law and of the Economic and Management Sciences, as well as representatives of the donors.
Membership is open to all who have a serious interest in Latin American affairs. Subscriptions are available for
donor members (corporate, institutional or individual), corporate, institutional and individual members.
ACTIVITIES
Conferences, seminars and workshops on specific topics or countries on a regular basis or on demand.
Lectures by authoritative figures from Latin America, South Africa and elsewhere on a regular basis.
An information centre and reading room for the use of members.
Research, both long- and short-term projects, on relevant subjects.
Contract work undertaken on demand (eg surveys, briefings, market research or collection of information on
specific areas) at agreed fees.
Services such as translations and interpreting by professionals at agreed fees.
Promotion of trade relations and goodwill between companies in South Africa and Latin America.
Cultural activities, such as art exhibitions of films, musical and other material.
A publication (Unisa Latin American Report) issued biannually; also other publications eg monographs and
conference proceedings.
Maintaining external contacts and exchange activities including meetings with foreign visitors from Latin
America.
Maintaining relations with other independent institutes, centres and universities in Latin America and
elsewhere to facilitate the exchange of publications, information and visits.
Maintaining correspondence with designated representatives (correspondents) in situ in various countries and
important cities in Latin America and elsewhere.
Undertaking general educational activities to cultivate an awareness of Latin American life and culture.
92
Embassies and consulates of Latin
American countries in the Republic of
South Africa
ARGENTINA
Ð Embassy of Argentina: 200 Standard Plaza, 440 Hilda Street,
Hatfield, Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 430-3524/6/7/13 ±
Fax (012) 4303521 ± E-mail: [email protected]
Ð Commercial Office: 200 Standard Plaza, 440 Hilda Street,
Hatfield, Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 3421056/3429601 ± Fax
(012) 3428969
Ð Consulate: 1st Floor, West Core, Jan Smuts Building, 158 Jan
Smuts Ave, Rosebank, Johannesburg ± 2196 ± Tel. (011) 4424428/9 ± Fax (011) 442-2936 ± E-mail: [email protected]
BRAZIL
Ð Embassy of Brazil: 201 Leyds Street, Arcadia, Pretoria ± 0083 ±
Tel (012) 341-1712/20/32/41 ± Fax (012) 341-7547 ± E-mail:
[email protected]
Ð Consulate: 7th Floor, Safmarine House, Riebeeck Street, Cape
Town ± 8001 ± Tel (021) 214040/41 ± Fax (012) 211216 ±
E-mail: [email protected]
CHILE
Ð Embassy of Chile: C/o Middel & Veale Streets, New Muckleneuk,
Pretoria ± 0181 ± Tel (012) 4608090/89 ± Fax (012) 4608093 ±
Ð Commercial Office: Export House, 2nd Floor, Maude/West
Streets, Sandton, Johannesburg ± 2196 ± Tel (011) 7848422/
23 ± Fax (011) 7848424
Ð Consulate-General: 1918 Main Tower, Standard Bank Centre,
Heerengracht, Cape Town ± 8001 ± Tel (021) 212344/6 ± Fax
(021) 253034
Ð Consulate: 67 Venice Road, Morningside, Durban ± 4001 ±
Tel. (031) 238608 ± Fax (031) 238608
COLOMBIA
Ð Embassy: 1105 Park Street, 3rd Floor, First National Bank,
Hatfield, Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 3420211-4 ± Fax (012)
342-0216 ± E-mail: [email protected]
Ð Consulate: 77 Nondela Road, Waterkloof Heights, Pretoria ±
0181 ± Tel. (012) 3470126 ± Fax (012) 453291
COSTA RICA
Ð Consulate: 56 Dennis Road, Blandford Ridge ± Sandton ±
Tel. (011) 7053434 Cell 0824491292
CUBA
Ð Embassy of Cuba: 45 Mackenzie Street, Brooklyn, Pretoria ±
0181 ± Tel. (012) 3462215 ± Fax (012) 3462216 ± E-mail:
[email protected]
GUATEMALA
Ð Consulate: 16th Floor, 2 Long Street, Cape Town ± 8001 ±
Tel (021) 4182020 ± Fax (021) 4181280
Ð Consulate: 745 Saddle Drive, Woodmead Office Park, Woodmead,
Sandton ± 2199 ± Tel (011) 8045080 ± Fax (011) 8044844 ±
E-mail: [email protected]/[email protected]
GUYANA
Ð Consulate: The Decision Centre, Hurlingham Manor ± Sandton ±
2199 ± Tel (011) 7899760 ± Fax (011) 7899763 ± E-mail:
[email protected]
Ð Consulate General: Suite 2308, Trust Bank Centre, Heerengracht,
Cape Town ± 8001 ± Tel (021) 251847 ± Fax (021) 253305
Ð Consulate: (Same as Embassy in Pretoria)
Ð Hon Consulate: 7A Sunny Brae Drive, Westville North, Durban ±
3630 ± Tel (031) 2627331
VENEZUELA
Ð Embassy of Venezuela: 474 Hatfield Gables South, 1st Floor,
Room 4, Hilda Street, Hatfield, Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012)
3626592 ± Fax (012) 362-6591 ± E-mail: [email protected]
Embassies and consulates of South
Africa in Latin America
ARGENTINA
Ð Embassy: Avenida Marcelo T de Alvear, 590, 88 Piso, 1058
Buenos Aires ± Tel 0954 (1) 311-8991/8 ± Fax 0954 (1) 3123736 ± E-mail: [email protected]
Ð Vice-Consulate: Carrero Patagonico 2915, 9000 Comodoro
Rivadavia, Chubut ± Tel 0954 967-26195/28671
BRAZIL
Ð Embassy: Avenida das NacËoÄes Lote 6, 70406-900 BrasõÂ lia D. F. ±
Tel. 0955 (61) 223-4873 ± Fax 0955 (61) 3228491 ± E-mail:
[email protected]
Ð Consulate General: Avenida Paulista, 1754, 128 andar, CEP
01310-920 SaÄo Paulo ± Tel 0955 (11) 2850433 ± Fax 0955
(11) 2844862 ± [email protected]
Ð Hon Consulate: Ave Presidente Antonio Carlos 607, Terceiro
Andar-Centro, CEP 20.020.010 Rio de Janeiro ± Tel (0955) 21
2405684
Ð Hon Consulate: Rua Bororo 496, CEP 91900-540 Porto Alegre, RS
CHILE
Ð Embassy: Torre San RamoÂn, Avda 11 de Septiembre 2353, Piso
16, Providencia, Santiago 9 ± Tel 0956 (2) 231-2860/2/3 ± Fax
0956 (2) 2313185 ± E-mail: [email protected]
COLOMBIA
Ð Hon Consulate: Calle 17, Nr 10-16, Oficina 502, BogotaÂ ±
Tel 0957 (1) 3411291/3346477
COSTA RICA
Ð Consulate: PO Box 2816-100, Pacifico, San JoseÂ, Costa Rica ±
Tel (0950-6) 2221470 ± Fax (0950-6) 2238223
CUBA
Ð Embassy: Calle 22 no. 503, Miramar, Havana, Cuba ± Tel 0953
(7) 249672-6 ± Fax 0953 (7) 802857 ± Cell 0537802239 ±
GUATEMALA
Ð Consulate: 10 Avenida 30±57, Zona 5, Guatemala City CA
01005 ± Tel (09502-2) 326890/311190 ± Fax (09502-2)
327291
HONDURAS
Ð Hon Consulate: 3 Ave S.E. 21 y 22 Calle Barrio, Las Palmas, San
Pedro Sula ± Tel 09 504 566466/566567 ± Fax 09 504 567084
MEXICO
Ð Embassy: Andres Belloca 10, Forum Building, 9th Floor, Col.
Polanco, CP 11560, Mexico D. F. ± Tel. 0952 (5) 282-9260/65
± Fax 0952 (5) 282-9259 ± E-mail: [email protected]
MEXICO
PANAMA
Ð Embassy of Mexico: Third Floor, 1101 Burnett Street, Hatfield,
Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 3622822±9 ± Fax (012) 3621380 ±
Ð Hon Consulate: c/o Durling & Durling, Edificio Vallarino, Calle 52
y Elvira Mendez, Panama City ± Tel. 09 507 2636900 ±
Fax 09 507 2636964
PARAGUAY
PARAGUAY
Ð Embassy of Paraguay: 189 Strelitzia Road, Waterkloof Heights,
Pretoria ± 0181 ± Tel (012) 3471047 ± Fax (012) 3470403 ±
Ð Hon Consulate: Casilla de Correo 848, AsuncioÂn ± Tel. (09595)
21 92093/81931
PERU
PERU
Ð Embassy: Torre Real Tres, Centro Empresarial Real, Via Principal
155 ± OF 801, San Isidro, Lima ± 27 ± Tel. (09511) 4409996 ±
Fax (09511) 4223881
Ð Consulate: Camino Real 1252, 2ë Piso ``B'', Lima ± 27 ±
Tel. (095114) 222280 ± Fax (095114) 427154
Ð Embassy of Peru: Infotech Building, 1090 Arcadia Street, Hatfield,
Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 3422390/1 ± Fax (012) 3424944 ±
Ð Consulate: 202 Infotech Building, 1090 Arcadia Street, Hatfield
± 0083 ± Tel. (012) 3422390/1 ± Fax (012) 3424944
Ð Hon Consulate: 2007 Golden Acre, Adderley Street, Cape Town
± 8001 ± Tel. (021) 215944 ± Fax (021) 215944
URUGUAY
Ð Embassy of Uruguay: 301 MIB House, 1119 Burnett Street,
Hatfield Square, Hatfield, Pretoria ± 0083 ± Tel (012) 3626521/
2 ± Fax (012) 3626523 ± E-mail: [email protected]
URUGUAY
Ð Embassy: Dr. Prudencio de Pena 2483, Montevideo ±
Tel. 09598 (2) 790411/16 ± Fax 09598 (2) 790459
VENEZUELA
Ð Embassy: Apartado numero 2613, Carmelitas, 1010 ± Caracas
D. F. ± Tel (09582) 9097151/9098606/5 ± Fax (09582)
9098607 ± E-mail: [email protected]

UNISA CENTRE FOR LATIN AMERICAN STUDIES

Transcription

Similar documents

Vista Club, S.A. // Alameda do Príncipe Real // Luanda · Angola Tel

¡Viva Colombia/Colombia Viva!

How to Deal with the Disaster and Overcrowding in the

hotel infrastructure - Invierta en Colombia

Press Sheet

Returning to Colombia - Tracks

EVENT SPONSORSHIP OPPORTUNITIES

annual report - Genesis Foundation

Practical Information for traveling to Colombia

Rodriguez-Ferreira Julian - International School of Space Science

Miss Universe 2011 is ANGOLAN