Llegamos

Paro – work stoppage, blockout
Parar – to stop, halt, finish, detain, end

The bus ride out of Cayambe was on a small local bus that traveled cobbled roads – a sign we were nearing our Ecuadorian home. The radio played interviews with protesters and the station definitely had an anti TLC bias. We arrived at the first road block in Ayora: a large ditch filled with water, a few smoking tires, old bailing wire scattered around, and a few tired looking people. We got out of the bus, crossed without fuss, and began the five km trek on a high altitude dirt road to the next road block accompanied by three indigenous women from Olmedo. On the way, we talked, at first timidly, then openly about the TLC, the campesino way of life, what life is like in the US, the struggle of small farmers everywhere, how we make our money. What stood out to me was the grandmother saying more than once, “We don’t want to lose our culture.” They seemed relieved that we were in agreement with the politics of the protest, and when we arrived at the next road block I was glad for their company as the crowds immediately began taunting us, making fun of how tall is Cameron is and calling me gringita. The three women continued to chat with us as we entered the crowd and they greeted their neighbors by name. When a truck carrying some of Cameron’s students whizzed by with them shouting his name, we exchanged hearty handshakes and meaningful eye contact with our new friends, and then caught a very lucky ride the final leg to Zuleta.

I looked up the word paro in the dictionary after realizing that strike is not quite the right term for what is going on right now. The indigenous federation is in paro, blocking the roads to wake people up, to stop transport, to cause inconvenience, to put pressure on the government not to sign the TLC on Friday. Returning to Zuleta today I began to realize the full impact of the extensive protests. On the truck ride, we heard that the town of Ibarra, our local hub, is almost out of gasoline, preventing all sorts of local transport and limiting local bus service to just a few times a day. Eddie, who was giving us the ride, was stopping often to check on any hidden supplies of gas, as his tank was almost empty. All school has been cancelled as students and teachers do not have reliable and safe means to travel. The one big grocery store in Ibarra is almost out of everything, and is rationing things like toilet paper. At the last road block, we saw big trucks full of corn and platanos just waiting to be able to bring this food to the capital to sell. The hacienda is now feeding most of its milk to the pigs, as it has nowhere to sell it. There was a pause in some of the back road blocks on Sunday, and the rush of big trucks that flew down our rural dirt and cobble roads after the recent rains left sections caved in and ruts bigger than most bath tubs. These road blocks are extremely thorough, isolating communities and suspending all transportation on the Pan-American highway in Ecuador.

If this happened in the states, the military would be there in a flash before anyone felt the pinch. Here, there has so far been no military involvement. At first I thought Ecuador was perhaps a more peaceful country, but upon revision I believe the government fears a civil war, and does not want to anger the indigenous people to the point of unified armed resistance. I do not know what sort of solution this situation will have. Many people think Ecuador will sign Friday, others think they will listen to the people. Vamos a ver. I am concerned for how much money some very poor people are losing right now. I am happy to be back in our little pueblo, and hope our toilet paper doesn’t run out before this is over.

Addendum:
Military involvement began last night, although everything is calm and tranquil in our little area. Cameron found some good articles concerning the situation:
Q & A from the BBC
"State of Emergeny" from the NY Times