uh, democracy?

A few weeks ago on October 3, after what was in some cases a full year of campaigning, aspiring Peruvian politicians at the local and regional levels finally faced popular elections, and now it would seem the world can go back to relative normal again. What I’ve observed, especially as the races intensified over the last several months, has allowed me to reflect on the gaping differences between the electoral system and politics in general in Peru and in the States – the major ones of which I´ve got pretty well ironed out by now, having been asked at least a few times a week for several months now what our elections are like back home and what I think of Peruvian politics.

What I think of Peruvian politics is that it is shockingly corrupt and completely inundated with self-serving scumbags. But I´ll return to all that. As a student of politics, what I´ve found to be the most profound difference in terms of the actual substance of American and Peruvian politics is the issues themselves, or what is generally referred to around here as a candidate´s propuestas – his “proposals” to the people. Especially in isolated districts like mine, but also in the bigger municipalities and even the coastal cities, it´s all about obras, or projects – projects built with cement and brick and manual labor and that you can see with your own two eyes: water systems, sanitation projects, irrigation, roads, soccer stadiums, town plazas, and the like. Contrast that with the luxury we have as citizens of the developed world to vote on things like stem cell research and the death penalty and gay rights. The basic services that determine the outcome of Peruvian elections are already ours to take for granted (and I guess if these things weren´t needed here, I wouldn´t have much of a job to do). But even so, the complete domination of obras over other moral or social issues has been surprising to me. It seems that for now, the Peruvian population, like that of so many other developing countries, is content with the right to have its votes counted regardless of skin color or gender; other moral issues can wait until the everyday basics are covered. It makes total sense; in the general hierarchy of needs there has to be a progression from the utilitarian to the more abstract. But I wonder what elections in 50 years will look like, because as the Peruvian middle class continues to expand and demands more transparency and attention to moral issues, the logical shift away from obras will mean a complete uprooting of the entrenched political system. Which, currently, is entirely based on (often false) promises, institutionalized corruption, and vote-buying campaign tactics.

What this focus on obras means in practice is a political environment where a whole lot of nice-sounding promises can be made by just about anyone who can get the people to listen to him (and it´s a hell of a lot easier to promise a new town plaza than to promise equal rights for gay couples). You also don´t have to be the best-educated guy on the block to do so. And in contrast with the majority of moral and social issues, it´s also completely uncontroversial to propose obras, which is why in my district for example, each of the six candidates for mayor put forth basically the same propuestas (“NO to the miners! YES to agriculture! Down with corruption! More obras! Let’s have a beer! Vote for me!”) And so, although everyone talks about the proposals as being the end-all, be-all of the whole process, the reality is that people vote for their friends, or people they think they might like to be friends with – or vote against people they dislike or are convinced to dislike. Unfortunately when you have very little in the way of economic resources and I am a candidate backed by a national party, it becomes very easy for me to make you my friend by throwing a good party with lots of free food and booze, or maybe bringing some building materials out to your town. In this way, straight-up shameless vote-buying is the name of the game. Increasingly, some politicians strive to rise above this level, but by and large most still buy right into it and thus, perpetuate it.

As I have repeated in so many conversations with poor rural farmers in the last few months, I see this as both the fault of the politicians and the voters themselves, who are locked in a vicious cycle of simple supply and demand. The politicians know they can buy votes, and so do. And the people, who have nothing, take all they can get and ask for more. The stories of countries that have developed out of poverty point to an educated populace as the key factor in breaking this cycle, and as I tell people, in my mind the only hope lies with education. Once people have enough foresight (and financial security) to see through the immediate rewards of a case of beer or a few bags of cement or even the promise of a local work project, they can start demanding real progress and stop sustaining the ridiculous system.

All cynicism aside, the specifics of the actual process here are pretty interesting. First of all, starting about eighteen months before an election, houses around town start to change colors. Candidates literally paint their slogans on the walls of houses (sometimes even without the approval of the homeowner). It only intensifies as the election approaches, so that by August of an election year just about every house in town is inundated with propaganda slogans and symbols of various parties (and to think we complain about those front-yard signs in the States…at least all you have to do is pull them out!) These signs and images bring up another noteworthy aspect of the process: the actual voting itself. Much as I assume things were in the US before the Era of the Hanging Chads, here the voting is all done by hand – and instead of marking a candidate´s name, what appears on the voting card is a series of drawings, each one associated with a certain party. It just recently dawned on me that his is probably because of the still relatively high level of illiteracy out in the campo towns. This year we had a heart, a tree, an outstretched hand, a smiley face, a rooster, and a star. So at least the pictures on the houses create an interesting mix, if not one that is actually nice to look at.

Voting is obligatory for all Peruvians 18 and up, which means they either return to their home of record and vote, or face a substantial fine (I’ve heard everything from 80 soles to more than double that). Whatever it is, it´s enough to make you want to vote even if you don’t have a clue who’s running or why (which, particularly in rural districts like mine, plays right into the “Let-me-bring-you-a-shovel-Mr. Poor Farmer” strategy employed by so many candidates). I can´t decide which I think is worse: a voluntary system like ours in the US where only a fraction of the populace actually votes – or one where everyone votes, whether they want to or not.

In the days leading up to the latest election, Chalaco began receiving truckloads of Peruvian Army troops to monitor the proceedings. (Let me remind you that Chalaco is a tiny mountain town of roughly 1,500 people, with another 8,000 spread out in the hills). This caught me off guard, but I soon realized that an election can be pretty intense when all the eligible voters in the district meet up in town for one single day of voting and all that goes with it. The voting itself is pretty quick, but then there is the day-long wait to hear the results (which, of course, is conducive to heavy drinking…which generally doesn’t mean good things in a politically-charged environment). Fortunately there were no incidents this time, but up the road in Pacaipampa I heard a few people were killed last time around. Yikes.

The social unrest and often-violent instability that goes along with elections and politics in general in Peru – and much of Latin America (see: Ecuadorian president Rafael Correa’s recent kidnapping by his own police) – is not only damaging to the psyche of the local population, but has to hurt developing countries’ chances in the global marketplace, too. If I’m a businessperson in San Francisco thinking about expanding into a Latin American emerging market like Peru, and then all the sudden there are elections and half the country is rioting at the results and their neighbor to the north is in a state of emergency as the national police and army battle it out in the streets…why the hell would I ever want to set up shop there? I wouldn’t. I would take my business to Southeast Asia or China or India, where people may still be poor but at least my factory probably won’t get burned down or appropriated by a wackjob leftist revolutionary government.

I’ll end on a lighter note. As cynical as I’ve become about all this, I have to admit that it’s had its perks. Namely, the fact that it being an election year means politicians are much more willing to dish out funding for projects as long as they get their name stamped on it. Hence, the chunk of cash that the sub-regional government in Chulucanas dropped in my lap for my composting latrine project. They ended up paying for about 20 of the units, which was a game-changer for me. Not that the process was uncomplicated, because it wasn’t. But even the possibility of that kind of support probably would not have been there last year, or next year for that matter.

So maybe the campesinos actually have it all figured out, and we’re the idiots. They get all kinds of cool stuff from a whole bunch of different people, vote for any one of them, and then maybe get even more from someone else campaigning in a city six hours away who they’ve never even heard of. And democracy marches on!