Hardman in Peru

2007-03-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

Pena de Muerte

As a radio journalist I have recorded hundreds of events, press conferences and interviews over the years. Many of these audio encounters have faded from my memory. One recording that will stay with me forever is of George Ryan, the former Governor or the US State of Illinois. Governor Ryan was not supposed to be a memorable guy. He was an older heavyset white man with white hair, a former pharmacist, not a particularly gifted speaker, and on the political side he was deeply embroiled in corruption charges. Ryan was hardly the reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln, Illinois’s most famous son. But on an otherwise unremarkable day at a low key gathering of law students at Loyola University, Governor Ryan did something extremely remarkable. He cried. I will never forget that moment. Nobody who was in the room will ever forget that moment.
It is rare that we see such emotion from politicians, especially when it is genuine. Ryan had just announced his intention to commute the sentences of more than a 100 prisoners who were then on Illinois’s death row. A series of investigations had led to the exoneration of more than 15 inmates since Illinois had reinstituted the death penalty in 1977. Ryan said his conscience would not allow him to continue to support a system that was not perfect. Some very high profile cases had ended in death row prisoners being found innocent. Naturally people wondered if innocent people had indeed been executed. “No more,” said Ryan, and he proceeded to follow through on his promise, closing death row and changing the sentences of its more than 150 prisoners to life without parole.
One of the most famous cases that led to Ryan’s decision was that of Anthony Porter, a Chicago native who was sentenced to die for the 1982 shooting deaths of two people on the city’s south side. The United States was caught up in the 80’s in a movement to “Get Tough on Crime.” This led to record numbers of arrests and in big cities like Chicago, widespread abuses by police, politicians, and courts looking to clean up the streets. In Anthony Porter’s case he was a black man involved in gangs in neighborhoods that were notorious for crime. That is to say he was an easy target for a police force looking to make progress on crime. One witness to the double murder was shown a photograph of Porter and threatened by police to testify that Porter was responsible. Porter’s court case was marked by an incompetent lawyer and an unsympathetic judge. He was sentenced to die.
In 1998, 50 hours before Anthony Porter was supposed to be killed, a court reviewed information regarding Porter’s IQ and decided that he lacked the mental competence to understand his pending situation. The court delayed his execution. With this window of opportunity a journalism professor from Chicago’s Northwestern University and some of his students began to review Porter’s case. Professor David Protess’s class investigated the details of the murders and began to follow up on evidence that the Chicago police neglected. This investigation led to the confession of another man to the two murders that Porter was sentenced to die for. Porter was exonerated and immediately released from prison.
As a journalist I must admit this type of investigation is nothing short of remarkable. Professor Protess and his journalism students saved the lives of at least 4 death row inmates over the past decade. Their actions were directly linked to the decision by former Illinois Governor George Ryan to eliminate the death penalty in his state. While I revel in the success of quality journalism and investigation, I am disturbed that it takes college students to do the necessary work to determine culpability. I am disturbed that a negligent system that included cops, politicians, prosecutors, judges and even juries, were responsible for the wrongful convictions of innocent people. I am disturbed that a political desire to appear tough on crime led to human rights abuses and miscarriages of justice.
Can a society control all the variables that make up the good and the bad of daily life? Inevitably societies encounter flaws in their structures. Thankfully many societies realize the benefits of liberal democracies where courts, representatives, and a free press can keep an eye on each other, revealing and correcting deficiencies and mistakes. Even in a high functioning democratic society not all flaws will be caught; at least that is what former Illinois Governor George Ryan decided. Ryan said that he would never feel 100 percent sure that every death row conviction would be justified, and therefore, the system could not be justified.
I am a visiting journalist in Perú teaching future reporters and training those already working in the business. I have watched as rhetoric from Peruvian President Alan Garcia has increased, calling for his Congress and all Peruvians to support his desire to institute a death penalty in Perú. I have watched as the list of those who would be eligible for the death penalty has quickly grown from child rapists to include terrorists. I am waiting for that list to inevitably grow. If there is one thing I can share from the experience of my country, the United States, it is that once you engage the idea that societies can determine who deserves to die, not who deserves to pay for a crime, but who deserves to die, you open up a can of worms.
I was not in Perú during the 1980´s and 1990´s when tens of thousands died. I do not know what that is like and do not propose to understand the pain and suffering that occurred here in Perú. I have had the fortune to work with a group of journalists here in Perú that at one time were jailed as political prisoners. I do not know their complete histories, nor do I know or care about their political leanings. I am simply helping them to become better journalists. To refer to these people as terrorists, which is a common label thrown at them, would be to paint them with a very broad brush. I have never heard an inflammatory or hateful word come from these people. From my observation they are simply trying to piece together lives that were interrupted and forever changed by long jail sentences and in many cases torture. It is especially here that I cringe at the thought of the death penalty in Perú. The possibility that people caught up in a very complicated and violent period of time could yet be sentenced to die for things they may or may not have done. Is Perú ready to let anger and sadness dictate their acceptance of a system that is proven to be flawed, a system that sentences people to die?
Anthony Porter was a gang member during a time in the United States when politicians where using high rates of crime as a way to get elected. Porter was guilty of living in a bad neighborhood during a time when he and most of his peers were in gangs. Did he kill two people? No. Was he sentenced to die? Yes. At the end of the day George Ryan will never be considered the best or brightest politician in the United States, but I believe he was one of the bravest. It is yet to be seen what kind of President Alan Garcia will be. Playing on peoples’ anger, fears and sad memories is a precarious path. If President Garcia is as serious about making the death penalty a solution to terrorism and other crimes, he better be developing the necessary infrastructure that will ensure justice as best as it can be measured in human terms. Even if this is achieved, courts, politicians and most importantly journalists better be ready to take on the task of investigating and doing what they can to make sure the capital punishment system is not killing innocent people. Recent history has taught Peruvians that death can come easy. As a democratic society that should be a warning, not a concept to embrace.

2007-02-22T16:25:00.000-08:00

Hitting the streets

I had the fortune of shadowing a local radio reporter here in Lima a few weeks ago.

The day starts early, 5 a.m., but I am used to it after years of the early morning news shift in Chicago. When you get up that early you are dealing with a very select group of people, most of them doing some serious labor and not sitting in an ergonomic chair, zoning out at a computer like I was.

You get to know everybody who is up at that hour because there are only two trains or busses an hour. Everybody is pretty dilligent because if you miss the half hour deadline, you will be late to work.

I remember one guy who always used to wait at the bus stop with me. Everyday he arrived with a small lunch cooler, suspenders, a flannel sweatshirt and a hat emblazoned with the term "Head-Butt." We never spoke. He did not appear to have many teeth so that was probably for the best. But I did feel some sort of kinship to him, a strange pride that comes with the notion that everybody else is still in bed. He would get off a few stops before me at a construction site.

I always loved the early morning construction guys because they would be up so early that lunch time landed around 9 a.m., when most other people were getting to work. They would be lined up at a portable lunch wagon ordering ham and cheese sandwiches and burgers while people walked by with their latte's.

I digress...

Back to Lima and the present. So I got up at 4 and hit the RPP radio studios at 5, the sun was starting to rise as it is summer. The morning news program, Rotativa del Aire kicks off around 5 a.m.. I was matched up with one of the staff beat reporters who spends the day moving around the city collecting news. Lima has no public transit system, so unlike the old days when I would hop on a train to catch a press conference, the RPP reporters have not only company cars, but drivers. This service is referred to as movil, and it is, more than anything, a very creative marketing tool. Obviously a tv crew warrants a truck and driver based on equipment and deadlines. You don´t really need a truck to lug around one microphone, a tape recorder and a pair of headphones. It appears to make even less sense in the case of RPP where reporters mainly file stories almost exclusively via cell phone. But don´t underestimate the beauty of a car with a shiny logo. The movil service doubles as a very visible marketing tool. People constantly came up to the car throughout the day to share news, say thanks or just chat. RPP has succesfully sold itself as the media of the people.

So I hopped in the back of the car with the equipment (cell phone and notepad) and went along for the ride.

We started the morning in the La Victoria district, at a local fruit market-distribution center for the city. The joint was hopping at 5:30 a.m. as people were getting their supplies for the day. Lima has both a growing number of formal supermarkets and continues to host an army of corner fruit stands.

The news...rains in the eastern Peruvian jungle were killing the papaya and pineapple imports. We got ahold of the market manager who oversees an impressive 3 thousand different vendors inside the market. We chatted with the guy for about ten minutes, getting the details on the papaya pandemic.

So, being a neophyte, I began to wonder why we weren´t recording our encounter. Where was the microphone and tape recorder? In a flash my reporter flipped open his cell phone, called into the RPP board, and next thing I knew he was live filing a report. The most impressive part of the 2 minute news flash was how he set up the quote from the market manager. He put the phone in the man´s face, got a ten second quote, and slipped right back into his internal script. That kind of mini report used to take me a good half hour to write, cut the sound bite, and voice back in the day. And I thought I had it down to a science. So, considering what I had just witnessed, I was left feeling a little bit like a sloth with a Western Union Telegraph machine trying to tell the world that my tree is on fire.

We hustled out of the market to our waiting chariot. The beauty of having a driver with the company car is we never have to find parking, which is tough when you are manuevering 3 thousand fruit vendors with carts and trucks.

Next stop,

Breakfast.

Yes I know, this image is of a plate of fried rice. But when you get up at 4 you have got to find away to keep the tank full of energy. So we headed to a lunch counter inside a typically kiosk flooded Peruvian comercial center. My options where fried rice or pasta with meat sauce. I went with the pasta, mi estimado had an enormous plate of chaufa, or Peruvian-Chinese fried rice. Just as we sat down to eat a tv news crew rolled up. Apparently this was the spot for the early morning news hounds. A few slaps on the backs and jokes later we were on our way again. For the record, spaghetti breath at 6 a.m. is a little rough.

The TV reporters gave us a hot tip on a press conference at the soccer stadium for a local club. Some fans had breached security and nearly killed a rival the previous weekend and an announcement was expected handing down a punishment to the team. So we headed to the suburbs where the stadium was. A half hour later we got word nothing was going to happen. Perhaps it was a food coma, or the already blazing 7 a.m sun, but next thing I remember it was 8 a.m. and I was waking up from a nap in the back seat. Apparently I didn´t miss anything. Another bum press conference later and we were off to San Miguel. We pulled up to a curb in a neighborhood adjacent to the ocean. I was told it was a personal visit and not to get out of the car with the reporter. Interesting.

He put on his designer sun glasses and disappeared for 20 minutes.

The driver of the car seemed fairly adept at being the opposite of his cohort, he was very good at not asking questions. Next stop, the reporter´s house where we waited another 20 minutes, he returned with wet hair, apparently it was time for a quick shower. By this point the sun was so hot that my t-shirt was starting to stick to the synthetic back seat. Mr. so fresh and so clean was revived and ready to hit another press conference. Mr. Hardman was hot, sweaty, smelled like spaghetti, and ready to go home.

Luckily the next press conference was on. We entered the swanky offices of Perús most powerful business coalition. There were actually two press conferences going on. The first was definitely the opening act. Peru´s Minister of industry was announcing a new partnership between the government and the local Yellow Pages to promote Peruvian made goods.

The minister, Rafael Rey Rey (translation Rafael King King) walked into the room flanked by two models in matching Yellow Pages jumpsuits. He was dragging on a cigarette and looked about as trustworthy as a second hand Yugo. He paused, checked out the crowd, an assistant came over waited as he took one last deep inhale, then she took the cigarette from him to extinguish. He proceeded up to the stage and sat down at the table while a, literally, 5 minute presentation took place.

Mr. ReyRey in another important moment inspecting toilets

A host of tv and radio stations were on hand. Around seven microphones were set up at the table, some of them were not connected to cables, which generally means they are remotes. Not in this case. Some radio stations had no intention, or possibly no capacity, to record the press conference. Their microphones were at the table so their company logos would be in the tv camera shots. Again, marketing rules the world.

After the presentation a few nice words were said and it was time to drink. 10:30 a.m. and a line of waiters in tuxedos walked in the room with platters full of pisco sours, Perús flagship alcoholic drink. Rey Rey and the Yellow Pages CEO drank first, and then everybody was offered a drink to celebrate the occasion.

I was again at a loss for words. My reporter in tow was nowhere to be found. While polishing off some more pisco sours Rey Rey took some questions. Some of the radio reporters hid small tape recorders under their logo flanked microphones that were again connected to thin air.

The Yellow Pages girls tried to slide into as many press photos and video shots as possible. The mood was more Vegas superfight weigh-in than political press conference.

My reporter appeared, he had been outside smoking. This press conference wasn´t worth the time he said. The next one happening in the same building in a half hour was the big one. The coalition of big business owners were going to shoot down a government proposed new wage law. It sounded like legit news which both excited me and threatened to ruin what to this point was a terrifically insane morning. I thanked my reporter, waved goodbye to the Yellow Pages girls and headed back out into the hot sun. (I must apologize, I did not have a camera with me this day and I will never forgive myself. But, I hope my words do justice and that you believe that every last thing I wrote is VERDAD.)

2007-02-18T12:18:00.000-08:00

Economics of Peru: Needs More Color

This inflatable Spiderman turned up at a recent festival. As you can see in this photo his chest was tatooed with the message, ¨needs more color,¨which I thought was a nice symbol of economic reality down here in Latin America. I am guessing somebody got a window office for finding a market for these ill-fated super heroes from the island of reject toys.

So Peru imports Spiderman imposters and exports its rock minerals, natural gas, and bountiful agriculture. Sounds like a fair exchange.

I am far from a bandwagon rider of Bolivia and Venezuela, but I can begin to see how their leaders win support when they spin rhetoric regarding resources. Evo Morales likes to say Bolivians first. It is perhaps a failed economic strategy, but it sounds a little more inclusive.

A recent trip to the North of Perú revealed an amazing desert climate with a real water shortage issue in some areas. Last week in the Northern town of Piura temperatures were in the 90s and the local water grid failed. Not pretty. Yet a short drive away up towards the Ecuador border brought a fascinating backdrop of miles and miles of flooded rice fields. So apparently somebody has some water.

I can´t quite get a beat on whether or not there is much of a market for Peruvian rice, nor whether or not anybody is making much money on it, but everybody is doing it.

And the latest crop...What´s that? Somebody says organic bananas are in? We should all grow organic bananas? OK...lets do it.

I found this gem of an economic analysis of Peru on line. It is from 1996...

Peru's bustling economy, engendered by tough-minded market reforms, is good news for U.S. exporters wanting to expand their markets in South America. Of the $2 billion in goods and services that the United States exported to Peru in 1996, agricultural, fish and forestry products made up over $300 million.

Since the election of Peru's President Fujimori in 1990, the country's economy has spiraled upwards. Once in office, the Fujimori administration began massive reforms, eliminating nearly all controls on trade, investment and foreign exchange.

We know now that Fujimori was more than a little corrupt and hogging the cookie jar. This spiraling up economically was not being redistributed, not that it ever is.

This type of analysis also tends to leave out that more than half of all Peruvians live under the poverty level. More than 90 percent of public school students cannot read or do math at grade level. And that a small small sector of the population is formally employed, which explains why many make around 2 bucks a day. This seems to both support a rosey economic outlook in terms of low worker wages and also explain why the country is a pitfall in that the labor force is not educated.

But don´t worry, President Alan Garcia has a new failsafe plan. He relaunched a campaign recently to both spur economic growth and better health in Peru by getting Peruvians to eat more Anchovies.

2007-02-18T09:34:00.000-08:00

Economics in Peru: It´s a family affair

I am an informal economist at best, but thanks to my reporting skills I am effectively naive, observent and curious, which comes in handy here. This economic look at Peru is therefore a reflection of my experiences here. I will start, as I often do, with a view from the ground up.

Enrique...my doorman and resident political scientist seemed rather preocupied yesterday.

He always has something on his mind. I generally put in a good half hour with him every day mostly listening to his various theories and commentaries on Peru, Latin America, and frequently an analysis of the hypocrisy that is the United States foreign policy.

Last night was a little more pedestrian for Enrique. He took a break from his usual and quite convincing dissection of why South America should unite and form a European Union type agreement so as to compete with the US.

Instead the topic was his wife´s recent return from visiting her family in Perú's eastern jungle. She was upset that he never came to visit while she and their son were gone. Enrique explained, beyond not really digging his in-laws, that he can´t really take a break. He shares doorman duties with two other Peruvians, Oscar and Pastor, they split the day between 8 hour shifts and when somebody is off, which is rare, they split 12 hour shifts.

Technically they get up to a month of vacation, but, as Enrique explained, none of them take it. He took a three day weekend last year, his only vacation in nearly 3 years of manning doors at my building. Enrique says if he were to take a break the building would bring in a substitute. His concern is that the building management will like the substitute better than him and he would be out of a job. More importantly the break would be a non paid leave, something few Peruvians can afford to do. So, he works and he works, and he laughs at the thought of taking a vacation. I didn´t get the feeling a lack of vacation sticks in Enrique´s craw and makes him bitter. In fact there was a strange pride eminating from him, that he doesn´t need a break. I guess he´s the Lou Gehrig of Peruvian doormen.

I don´t know what Enrique makes a month, my guess it is in the ballpark of 200 dollars. I have recently got a beat on what salaries here in Lima are, and what they afford people.

A cab driver who doesn´t have to rent his cab makes around 300 bucks a month. That sounds low, but it is actually comparatively around the median.

In fact, especially in rural areas, unemployment is so bad that you get the Cuban effect, lawyers and doctors driving cabs.

One must factor in that more than half of Peruvians survive on less than 2 bucks a day.

2 liters of water costs close to a dollar, a very cheap meal at a restaurant costs 2 dollars, and rent probably between 100 and 200 bucks. So factoring its salaries, Lima is not necessarily a cheap or workable place to survive.

So how do people survive?

Enrique and his family share a house with his dad and his brother and sister´s families. He says it works out but space is tight. Most of my friends here live at home, some never leave. Rent, even when it is cheap, is still between a third or a half of ones salary. You can imagine this has a bit of an affect on cultural and social development.

Families are wonderfully tight but children often lack the natural transition to being on their own and assuming more responsabilities. Most middle to upper class families have at least one maid if not two. Many of these employee are live in help, so siblings grow up never doing the dishes, laundry, etc.. That dynamic just doesn´t exist here. I recently enjoyed a conversation between a friend and his 3 young kids about why it didn´t really make sense that they get an allowance. Essentially household chores are done by the maid, and thanks to some sweet urban planning, nobody has a yard big enough to mow, so that chore is out. All we could come up with was washing the car.

Another friend of mine who is in his 40´s has a decent job working in the journalism department of a University and he earns around 5,000 dollars a year. He and his six siblings are solidly

entrenched in their childhood home.

As you can imagine I am an oddball in that I

A. live alone in an apartment

B. clean up after myself

C. can afford to have the lifestyle I do, one that is by no means lavish in US terms, but is considered so here.

It sounds like king of the mountain to some to collect a US salary in a foreign country. The problem is, thanks to natural market selection, that you often wind up pretty isolated. In my building there is essentially nobody in my age bracket.

I am no Thurston Howell III, so the class of people I often find myself around is not really comfortable or congenial. I am the only person in my building I have ever seen utilizing the stairwell, for the exception of the occasional smoker.

I also don´t have a tiny dog, nor a maid(although I do have a bathroom and workspace for one: If anyone who reads this is interested in the job, please send me a CV and a few references)

Obviously my complaints will be recieved as shallow and rightfully so. If I hadn´t been robbed with a long sharp knife gracing my neck I probably would move to a more middle class area. I am internally tortured by the image of modern saint Dr. Paul Farmer living in the bellfrey of a church so he could save money on rent and concentrate more funds in setting up a clinic in Haiti. That sounds like a righteous move to make, but I haven´t done it yet. Maybe a good compromise would be to just die my hair black, take a paycut and move in with Enrique´s family.

2006-12-14T21:47:00.000-08:00

Examen Final: Radio Canchita

I was searching for a way to motivate my Radio journalism students to actually pay attention to their final examen. My solution ended up being booking them a stage at a local bar and making them put on a live radio show. Lets just say while they did leave certain things until the last minute as they are accostumed to doing, it was a lot more fun than sitting in a room for 3 hours and writing essays. Actually, to do them justice, they were great and they loved the challenge and in their way I think they got a lot out of the experience.
I know I sure did.
Being up on a stage in front of 60 people and running a show in a second language is no peice of cake. Thankfully I had the Peruvian Sancho Panza, Lucho Hernandez, accompanying us on piano. He saved us more than once. For those of you familiar with the Public Radio program Prairie Home Companion, this was intended to be a similar format; music, humor, fake advertisements, commentary. It is in Spanish...but even if you cannot understand it, I think you can probably enjoy it.
Here are some photos from the show and audio of the first part of the program.

Listen To Radio Canchita, Parte 1
¡Warning! the audio cuts in and out a little in certain parts.

Radio Canchita (Canchita was chosen because it is a double entendre. It is the salty corn bars put out to go with beer, it is also slang for soccer pitch and for the political field too)
So here is how it worked. On the left you can see Lucho and his piano. He is visually impaired, so he recorded all his spoken parts and brought along a walkman so he could repeat the script.

I am the gringo looking gringo with the laptop. I used my computer, which was wired through the sound system, to play various soundbites and ambient sound. I also provided some live sound effects, like coconut shells(horse hooves), to create audio.

Three different groups of students produced the 3 parts of the program. They all wrote scripts and came up with music and sound effects to accompany their monologues and dialogues. One student, a local musician, also lent us his voice and guitar.

People came to the show, some of them happened to be at the bar, some were invited, and most of them laughed at least a little.

We used some old fashioned methods to get the crowd involved

After the show I was told by a number of people that this type of thing was unique for Lima. One person mentioned that in a small sense Perú would be a different place because of us. Who knows if that is true...at least we had fun doing it and to quote one of my students, "this is great, it is the first exam where I can smoke and drink while I take the test."

2006-12-11T11:34:00.000-08:00

Invidente Eres Tú
My class produced a series of radio shorts with the help of local musician and radio afficionado Lucho Hernandéz. Needless to say Lima is not a very easy place to live for people with disabilities. While laws exist to ensure the rights of those who are impaired, they are not enforced. Getting around town is no easy task for those without disabilities, much less those who have them. These radio spots were produced by my students to reflect a variety of angles: sensitivity, workforce issues and prevention. We also recorded an audio tour of Lima with Lucho to see how he uses sounds to get around.

Invidente eres Tu
Jonathan Hunter, Angel Ilbaguren, Paloma Vergara, JuanLuis Nugent

Invidente eres Tu 1
Invidente eres Tu 2
Invidente eres Tu 3
Invidente eres Tu 4

No me Cierres las Puertas
Antonio Tello, Fiorella Munoz, Gabriel Massei
No me Cierres 1
No me Cierres 2
No me Cierres 3

Prevencion
Daniel Goya, Sissy Delgado, Maria Jose Ampuero,
Fiorella Cruzalegui, Carolina Maceda, Sheyla Navarro
Prevencion 1
Prevencion 2
Prevencion 3
Prevencion 4

Sound Tour of Lima Peru
Luis Hernandez, Jesse Hardman, Jonathan Hunter

The piano you hear at the end is Lucho playing. He has a gig every Tuesday and Thursday at Mango's in Miraflores and Friday through Sunday at Las Canastas in La Molina.

2006-11-20T05:52:00.000-08:00

Covering Lima...not just its candidates

My students have spent the past month covering various neighborhoods around Lima, investigating what the more pressing issues and needs are in advance of regional elections.They encountered a lot of things. You can see and hear some of them on this page. (I should note some groups ran into trouble as these neighborhoods are not the safest. Equipment was stolen right off their backs. Reporting is indeed more difficult not just for the assumed reasons down here. Some very practical issues often get in the way)

Pachacamac
Report:
Sissy Delgado y Ángel Ilbaguren
¡Escucha!

San Juan de Lurigancho
Report:
Veronica Aliaga
Carolina Maceda

¡Escucha! Listen Here

Villa El Salvador
Report:
MariaJose Ampuero y Gabriel Massei

¡Escucha! Listen Here

Puente Piedra
Report:
Paloma Vergara, Antonio Tello
¡Escucha! Listen Here

2006-11-19T16:02:00.000-08:00

Fool me once, shame on…
Elections day

I would show the pictures I took of election day with my digital camera, but I can’t, because it has been sitting in customs here for 2 months. The local authorities apparently deemed it unnecessary to tell me not just that they have my camera, but where exactly I can look for it so I can actually pay the import tax. I am also currently a fugitive in Perú which sounds more fun than it is. Unfortunately it is not as romantic a life as lived by Butch and Sundance when they ran away to Bolivia to hide out and continue robbing banks. No, I am on the other end of the robbing here as I have been told, with very little explanation, that I cannot renew my visa. I am however welcome to stay as long as I like, I just have to pay a dollar a day penalty. Fascinating. I wonder who made up that policy over a few too many pisco sours. My guess is it is a temporary thumb to the nose until the US government actually signs the TLC, a NAFTAesque trade deal with Perú. To my knowledge no candidate ran on a platform of helping Gringos find their detained properties or actually obtain formal visas, so even if I could vote, I didn’t really have a candidate proposing to fix my particular problems.

For those that could vote today, and voting is obligatory here, there were a few options. 127 thousand candidates seeking some twelve thousand spots around Perú. Yes, I did the math too, that is about 10 candidates per race, a bit of a problem if you are seeking legitimacy with your governance.

I gave an inspired speech to my class explaining to my students that their responsibility as journalists is ten-fold during elections. I explained that without them propaganda gets injected directly into the bloodstream of unwitting voters. They applauded after my presentation, which included footage of the Gore vs. Bush Florida debacle, although I couldn´t tell if they clapped simply because my stump speech was over, or because they liked it. We did get at some interesting issues. While I lamented the low voter turnout in a country, not naming names, that insists on having its elections on non-holiday Tuesdays, my students actually said they would prefer a non obligatory voting system. They said that too many people make up their mind in line, or leave selections blank opening the door for strategically paid voting booth attendants to add some ink. Is there a system out there that inspires instead of requires? (Am I stealing this rhythm from Al Sharpton or is it truly original?) Anybody...? Bueller…?

No alcohol is sold the weekend of elections and candidates are not allowed to campaign in this period either. To fill this void an army of yellow clad ice cream vendors with matching yellow carts head out to line the entrances to voting centers. Democracy never tasted so cold and creamy. But without politics and a drink life here can get a little dull. I can´t wait for Monday when politicians start talking crazy talk and drinking again. My favorite campaign moment happened the other evening while driving through the Barranco neighborhood. Right next to a main square a female candidate for mayor had set up a stage and was putting on a show. Cars were passing during rush hour but nobody was paying any attention to what was a spectacular sight. 7 chicas in yellow jumpsuits with the candidates name and party symbol dancing in unison while what can only be described as a Peruvian Rod Stewart, complete with long puffy hair and a gut stuffed into a tight tracksuit, belted out songs extolling the candidate’s virtues. She clapped along and tried to dance her way into the hearts and minds of the locals.
One word…Awesome.
My favorite two politicians so far are the current mayor of the local district Pachacamac, who in being interviewed by two of my students explained that she wasn’t running for re-election because she didn’t really like her constituents, that they don’t pay their taxes and they don’t care, so, essentially, screw them. I don’t know if she actually expressed as much because she didn’t think my students would get their story on the air, which they did, or because it was time to be honest. My second favorite politician is running for mayor of a district, Los Olivos, that has recently watched as a mega mall was constructed across the street from its district line. You can cross a bridge from the decidedly chaotic Peruvian Los Olivos side to the decidedly sterile gringo looking megamall in the Independencia district, complete with a 20 person deep line at the ATM machine.
This candidate is running on a platform of convincing voters not to shop across the street, “buy local” he says. Something tells me the lady who just passed me with a cheeseburger and a new stereo isn’t listening. I will take the initiative to dedicate this woman’s vote to the late Milton Friedman.

Farewell sweet prince.

2006-11-19T15:27:00.000-08:00

Over the BorderLine:
Dispatch from the North

About a week ago I was fortunate enough to spend a few days in Piura, a town in northern Perú surrounded by desert and near the Ecuadorian border. A journalism contact Luz Maria Helguero, who runs the local El Tiempo newspaper invited me to give a few talks to a group of rural reporters and local University students.

Journalism students at the
Universidad Alas Peruanas in Piura

Luz Maria runs an Open Society funded organization dedicated to training news reporters and editors from around Perú to do their jobs better. Unlike my students here in Lima, most of these reporters have little formal training before they start actual media work. While many have the desire to exude the fourth power, few have the training to understand how to do it well. Luz Maria invites these reporters to workshops around the country so they can get a little slice of how to be better, more complete reporters. While I struggle sometimes to get my students to listen to me, I often find the opposite at these rural workshops, an eagerness and hunger from participants that is heart warming. In Piura I was forced to abandon my planned powerpoint presentation (the nerve of some countries to not have proper technology), and just talk.

I have gotten way too accustomed to visual aids and have somewhat strayed from the real, effective nature of story telling. Spanish Improv Gringo Jesse style, to my surprise, went well. We developed an outline for more creative news coverage, how to find new sources, and how to write more complete stories. One of the participants offered the example of a polluted river in his town for us to use as an example. We worked around the various informative scenes we could create, the people who dump their garbage next to the river, the people who scavenge through that same garbage to make their livelihood, the people whose health is jeopardized by this garbage, etc.. So instead of a simple story that the river is indeed polluted, we came up with a whole week series of stories about the river and its various implications in this town. At first I felt what I had added to this group was kind of pedestrian and simplistic, but the response I got was indeed the opposite. They wanted not just a creative solution, but a framework that they could take back to their papers and radios. They felt that I had helped them with that. I am now hoping to follow up and visit some of them so I can see if and how they have used my suggestions.

The second part of my trip to Piura involved an adventure with some local journalists from Luz María´s paper, El Tiempo. A lazy Sunday afternoon of coverage got a whole lot more interesting when we dropped in a local town, Sullana, to investigate what turned out to be a probable case of human trafficking. After a few hours of waiting, a busload of 31 Chinese nationals arrived at the local national police office. My cohorts snapped photos as the Chinese, most looked twenty something, blurry eyed and decidedly un-showered, were ushered into a room for interrogation. The only Spanish word uttered from the group was baño despite the effort by local authorities to make them speak Spanish. The police captain tried for about a half hour to communicate by getting directly into their faces and shouting, “Ha-Blas Es-Pañol?” They stared straight back expressionless. The scene turned a bit comical as the police tried to figure out what to do and the Chinese began to get restless and started touching everything in the room, computers, file cabinets, photos, etc., I fully expected the 3-stooges to arrive to complete the moment.
Eventually 4 Peruvians, also detained, arrived looking extremely culpable, hiding their faces as my reporter companions snapped photos. One of them helped his case by eating his cellular phone sim card so as to prevent the authorities from tracing his calls. Pretty funny, I am sure that sat well in his system.
Details finally came out that the group was found in a hotel on the beach near Piura. They had no credentials and had not paid for a weeks worth of room and board. The authorities were trying to determine if the Peruvians had stolen their credentials or if this was a case of human trafficking. Apparently the group’s itinerary included going from Perú to Panama to the US eventually, presumably illegally. Something tells me that if people are willing to fly to Perú from China and from there figure out a way into the US, building a wall on the Mexican border is not going to stop them. But what do I know.

2006-11-12T10:42:00.000-08:00

Papa Alan...

So about two weeks ago Peruvian president Alan Garcia reveals nonchalantly that he has a one year old kid with a woman who is not his wife. The details are that during 2005 he separated with Pilar and found himself in the company of a wonderful and intelligent other woman with whom he had a kid. Then he got back together with Pilar just in time to enter, run and win the presidency on a platform that championed family values and his “five” now “six” children.
I could take this in a number of directions…so I will.

I am told otherwise, but this photo looks like Alan is touting some lucky lady's undergarments
I will start with the good and save the bad and the ugly. This is obviously big news and in my opinion highlights a tendency towards deception by Garcia, a tendency that will undoubtedly rear its ugly head more as his term runs on. I will compliment the Peruvian press in that this was front page news the day it broke, and then that was it. Nobody discussed it too much after that. There was no Monica Lewinskyesque scandal where rival political parties burned Alan at the stake and impeachment proceedings precluded actual important governance. Part of the reason for this is that other candidates probably have kids out of wedlock too, infidelity is accepted here. Not quietly accepted mind you, no this is an out in the open frank acceptance on both sides of the ball. I initially was somewhat taken aback in talking with local Peruvian women that they had very little problem with Garcia’s revelation. Most pointed to the fact that he was separated from Pilar, why shouldn’t he be free to date other women? Let alone have a child.
In fact, Alan actually came out of the whole affair as chivalrous because he had acknowledged his child and signed papers at its birth that he was indeed the father. Perú has a problem with men not taking responsibility, legal or otherwise, for their out of wedlock children. In fact recent president Andres Toledo had a similar situation as Alan and was discovered to have not acknowledged his extramarital kid.

That is one happy looking couple

I find it fascinating that Alan had time to date and have a child as he was preparing to run a presidential campaign with his actual wife, Pilar, by his side. That takes talent. It is not like this is a case of a mistake made years ago by a young married guy who has since grown up and learned the right path. This happened a year ago…when the dude was 56 years old. But it is not like Peruvians can’t trust Alan…they already had him for 5 years in the late 80’s, and it went pretty well…he left the country in economic ruin with a national debt of 900 million dollars.
No biggie. Local bets are that Pilar is as ambitious and crafty as that gringa extraordinaire Hilary Clinton, and will keep her mouth shut with the promise of power and internal influence.
The most curious turn in all of this is that his wife has kept by his side. In fact she has publicly been lauded for standing by her man and maintaining her dignity. The two appeared in public at his infidelity announcement. It was like marriage counseling being broadcast across the country. An awkward moment and photo shoot. Lets just say she didn’t look so happy.
I finally found one Peruvian woman who agreed that the reconciliation photo and general acceptance of this event is horrifying for women around Perú, especially those in rural areas. This Peruvian said in essence it is telling women that this kind of act is not only acceptable, but that if it happens, they should stand by their man.
The big question for me in all of this is you cannot tell me the press didn´t know Alan had an extra kid when he was running for president. I don´t buy it for a moment. Locally people assume that nobody published anything about Alan´s fling because people were afraid it would aid his opponent, Humala, who many, mostly in Lima and the North, were afraid might be elected with a strong support from the more rural population.
Like most things here that I question, I generally get a return shot from Peruvians about my own country, which is generally warranted. So this time around it is about Bill Clinton and Monica, who by all accounts appear to not have been as friendly as Alan and his mistress. The questions are not, well, Clinton was worse. The questions are, why was it such a big deal? Why did it paralyze your government and why did it stay in the press so long?
All I can say is touché.

2006-11-08T08:20:00.000-08:00

Sea Change
Politics in Perú

While election fever is raging in the United States and taking global headlines by storm, Perú is quietly in the midst of its own pre-election fervor, anticipating the arrival of November 19th, when people go to the polls to elect new mayors in districts around the country. Now before I analyze, I would like to take a moment to appreciate that elections are on Sunday here, so everybody can vote. Voting happens to be obligatory, as does hanging the Peruvian flag from your house or building on election day, but that is besides the point.
Luis Castañeda is the official mayor of Lima, but all 30 districts within Lima have their own mayor as well. Castañeda has an approval rating close to 80% and considered running for president last year. Indeed by some standards he is more popular than the current president, Alan Garcia, or simply ¨Alan¨ as he is know here. (my next entry will be dedicated to insane Alan. Stay tuned)
Castañeda has chosen not to speak to the press or engage in any debates in the run up to the election. This is a common practice all over Perú for incumbents. He is not interested in answering questions knowing it would be difficult to improve on an 80% approval rating, which in a country where voting is mandatory, that is a pretty decent indicator that you will win again whether you open your mouth to reporters or not.
The press often does not help the matter of politics here. El Comercio, the most relied on paper, published an article on the front page recently that marveled at Casteñeda´s approval rating.
Lima is covered in a colorful array of political wrapping paper at the moment. Walls and billboards are plastered and painted with a variety of symbols and slogans for candidates. There are few regulations on where propaganda can go, so people take to painting names of candidates wherever they feel like it, including over the names of other candidates. Propaganda also can be found prominantly displayed on the front page of newspapers. (One editor explained to me that to keep his paper operating he needed the fat revenue only wealthy politicians can provide)

Please note in the upper right hand corner of this paper there are 3 ads for candidates. I also like the headline,
¨Death at Sea¨

My students have been given the task of visiting some of the less developed outer lying areas of Lima to talk to citizens about their needs and hopes for their districts. Most journalists don´t visit these neighborhoods, so it has been an interesting exercise to engage with a public that is not used to seeing microphones and being asked their thoughts. Our goal was to interview candidates too, but many have taken a shine to Casteñeda’s strategy and refused to talk. So we turned our focus to investigating some of the more pressing themes in these areas. We have encountered everything from security concerns (one group of students interviewed a hair stylist who had a gang rip a whole in his bathroom to get to an ATM machine in the next building over), to no sewer system, to unregulated bus systems, to packs of wild dogs, to a tuberculosis pandemic. Many of these issues are directly related to a political system that does not serve the people, instead serving themselves. Less you think I am sounding a bit Socialist, one must spend some time in Perú to understand what a frustrating place it is for the majority of citizens. As pointed out in a prior blog entry, people call the national radio network to ask for help instead of their local representatives.
Returning to my staple straw poll of cab drivers, most drivers begrudgingly admit they will vote for Casteñeda, but few feel inspired to do so. They appreciate that he has rerouted traffic and made the highways more efficient, but he has not done a whole lot else they claim.
The big word used by politicians here is ¨Obras¨ or public works. They love to build bridges and expand roads and occasionally new parks. They equally love to have somebody paint their name and the name of their political party on said public monuments. Many voters are conditioned to talk about Obras as well, thinking that is what politicians do, build things with concrete. I am trying to get my students to understand that by covering issues like health, finance, security, etc., they can help turn the attention to what life is like for most residents.

One of my students out in the field, literally...

My favorite example of Obras comes from a visit I made to Villa El Salvador, one of Lima´s largest and most destitute districts. It is where part of a major battle with Chile occurred in the 1800’s and soldiers are claimed to still be buried in the sand dunes around the area.
Enrique, my doorman and cub reporter, invited me to visit a part of Villa El Salvador where many migrants from Perú’s mountain region start out. I brought my tape recorder along and explained he would be playing the role of civic journalist. The guy was a natural…hands down. He convinced locals to talk to us about life in the barrio which sits on a tall sand dune that is covered in houses made from mostly recycled materials. We documented a local recycling center, latrines made out of old olive oil canisters, a two room shack inhibited by a family of four who have to lug barrels up their hill in order to have clean water for cooking and cleaning, and even some budding micro enterprise entrepreneurs who were advising locals on raising pigs. The coup de grace was a house that stood at the foot of a concrete stairway, an Obra from the aforementioned mayor Castañeda. A stairway could be a great aid to a neighborhood that sits on a steep sandy incline. The problem is that this stairway serves exactly two houses. The city stopped building it after a block, but not before they took the time to paint Casteñeda on the stairs and install an arch with the mayor´s name. Lovely.
Enrique giggled at the monument. He understands what is wrong here and knows that it is nothing short of a Garcia Marquez short story. Now if I can only overturn hundreds of years of ingrained inequality here so Enrique can run for president…I think we might sow some seeds of change.

2006-10-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

The Fraternity
a dispatch from Buenos Aires

The aging proprietor has his back to the TV as he pours house wine into a dime store glass reserved for tap water in most parts of the world. Wine flows like water here, which is evident as the barkeep heaves a jug up to his shoulders and directs the red flow into a funnel. The funnel leads to some green glass bottles whose faded labels suggest they have seen some use over years, not days. The barkeep squints through thick prescription glasses as his pour splashes onto his burgundy apron, a cloth shield that absorbs the red drops perfectly. He is still pouring a few minutes later when he begins to bark at the TV. Although the Barkeep has yet to actually gaze at the screen he yells with such confidence that this must be a routine. A series of mumbled explicatives stream out with a climax of, “You Suck.” The 12 patrons of Tabare Café-Bar take their maestro’s lead and chime in with their own variations on “You Suck.”
The object of disdain is a soccer game and in particular the home team, Boca Juniors, a capable squad that has just taken a 1-0 lead. In fact the Boca players are more than capable, seemingly unbeatable as they dance around their helpless opponents as if intoxicated with the spirit of the tango, a dance that got its start a few blocks away from the stadium.
Just a few days before Boca Juniors was rated the best soccer club in the world.
To this the unimpressed reply, “You Suck.”

Is Tabare Café-Bar enemy territory? Are these men watching their team get beat by bitter rivals? A quick glance around the room provides a response. The walls are covered with three things, a layer of grease from years of short order meals, dozens of pictures of Christ in various poses, and Boca Juniors.
Welcome to Buenos Aires, a city where you can be the best in the world and in the eyes of locals you still “suck.”
On a late Sunday afternoon the first service of the day, Mass, is over, and the second, soccer, is just getting going. The Boca stadium, also known as the Bombonero because it is shaped like a box of chocolates, is filled to capacity with screaming fans. The general mellowness of Café Tabare, a Boca stronghold, sits in direct contrast to the scene on the TV above. The feeling is that these men could easily be at the game but why bother.
The strongest glimpse of emotion in this discrete Boca shrine comes from a picture of Christ who sheds a tear as he embraces a lamb. The picture sits just to the left of a bottle of whiskey. Nearby is a team photo of Boca Juniors in their world recognized blue and yellow jerseys looking particularly cocky after winning yet another trophy. If these near perfect footballers suck, it begs to wonder what these hard to please locals make of Christ, god’s version of perfection.

Perhaps upon reading the bible for the first time in parochial school they were likewise unimpressed. Christ’s accomplishment of turning water into wine conjured a “you suck,” because he didn’t turn grains of sand into chorizo as a complimentary feat.
This seems plausible as the chorus of boo’s increases as Boca passes the ball effortlessly around the field.
The mostly 50 something crowd continues to ignore the soccer game except for the occasional glance when the announcers’ voices pick up. They are more engrossed in a game of cards that is being contested with dried lima beans instead of money.

A cat skirts across the room at the sound of a dog barking across the street. The cat disappears behind a curtain in the back of the room. A younger man appears from the curtain almost simultaneously. His furry appearance, big curly hair and a scruffy chin, begs a wonder if the cat simply took on a human form so it could drink some wine and catch the soccer game. Cat-man slaps a few patron backs, grabs a beer from the fridge and heads to the kitchen. The bar has begun to transform into a sort of halfway house for local soccer fans. Grease spatters as Cat-man fries something in a large pan. A few minutes later he sits down with a small t-bone steak and proceeds to gnaw at it so vociferously that one expects to hear an animal-inspired growl.
Back on the TV Boca Juniors star forward has just clipped an opposing player from behind and received a red card. Boca´s coach, the controversial Argentinean Ricardo Lavolpe, is up off the bench and screaming. Lavolpe has just returned from a 20 year exile in Mexico where despite coaching numerous professional teams and even the recent Mexican World Cup team he is still considered a loser and not Argentine enough. Lavolpe is apparently trying to convince his countrymen otherwise as he has transformed himself into a caricature of a Latin man with gelled hair, jeans, and a white dress shirt unbuttoned almost down to his waste exposing a hairy chest and gold chains.
The Tabare fraternity don´t talk much about Lavolpe, which is a testament to just how bad he sucks in their opinion. He is an interloper. Go back to Mexico they say.
While the overly emotional Lavolpe kicks equipment and screams at the referee the bar is a sea of calm as it debates the merits of the red card. The Tabare fraternity seems unworried this turn of events will hurt Boca´s chances of winning. This is the paradox of these men, their indifference is equaled only by their self-assured cockiness. They are not unlike their beloved Boca players, except instead of defeating their opponents with physical skill and grace, these guys dribble and pass with their wits and sarcasm. The result is an equally stifling array of talent.
A tall man with slicked back hair and a black second hand suit walks in to a quiet welcome. He stumbles a bit as he approaches the bar, appearing to have already spent the post Mass afternoon drinking. Whatever prayers that were said apparently couldn´t save this guy from some rough moments, a big smile reveals no front teeth. The Barkeep pours him a glass of red wine and he shoots it like tequila right through the gap in his teeth. Another glass of wine quickly follows. The man in the suit looks up at the TV screen, sees the 1-0 score, shakes his head and throws a ¨You Suck¨ at the Boca players before he turns and heads out the door.
The poker game heats up and everyone is engrossed. They miss a great 2nd goal by Boca off a set play. Cat-man, still pawing at his steak, doesn´t bother to look up at the TV but is apparently paying attention as he begins to yell por fin! por fin! Finally! Finally! Boca is doing something. The Barkeep is across the room at the makeshift poker table losing badly and almost out of beans. He goes back to the bar cracks open a bottle of coke and grabs a pastry from a display case, tearing off half with his incisors as he heads back to face his poker reality. As the game wears on and the Barkeep gets more involved, a sort of open house starts to develop as patrons grab food and drink as they feel like it. A few men grab handfuls of ice from the freezer and dump them into glasses, forming a line in front of a bottle of whiskey. The barkeep grabs another pastry from the display case and eats it quickly. He is back a few minutes later for a third.
The tall man in the suit walks back in the door with wet hair and a change of clothes. He is now wearing a pink golf shirt. Mr. Tall continues on to the bar and picks up right where he left off, shooting glasses of wine, although this time he is mixing a little water in to dull the effect or perhaps so he can drink more.
The Barkeep is now back behind the bar rummaging around for something. He checks a shelf that hosts a curiously eclectic shrine: tabs of aspirin, white out, a figurine of the Virgin Mary flanked by incense and a shot of rum, a flashlight, and an enormous jar of olives. The Barkeep gives up for whatever he was looking for and turns his attention to the jar of olives. He sticks his arm in up to the elbow and rummages around for a good juicy prize. After a minute of fishing he finally snatches a keeper and holds it up as if a jeweler looking at a priceless diamond. The barkeep then pops the 24 karrot olive into his mouth and walks back to the poker game.
His grin exudes extreme contentment.
Boca Juniors score a third goal, this time people take note, it is a beautiful curling strike into the left hand corner. A few nods hint at pleasure. 3-0 for Boca.
This strange satisfaction lasts less than a minute as the opposition kicks off and immediately marches down on a lazy Boca defense to score.
The chorus is back, ¨You SUCK!!!¨
Order has been restored.

As the barkeep returns to the poker game a phone rings at the end of the bar. Not a cell phone mind you, no, this is the kind of place where you wouldn´t want to be caught dead with technology. Somebody with a laptop or cell-phone would last about five minutes in Tabare, the evil stares alone would send a man reeling towards the nearest Starbucks. No, this is a circa 1970 payphone that is shaped like a box with a coin-slot at the top.
One of the patrons answers it and begins to chat up the other line. It is not clear if the call was for him or not. In this time-warp of a bar details like that don´t really matter. What matters is that you can simultaneously embellish and complain about the best things in life. If you embrace the intricate logic that something can both suck and still be the best, then you are not only welcome at Tabare, you can also pour your own drink, grab your own olive, and fry your own steak.
Top that Christ.

2006-09-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

Keep on Rockin' in the 3rd World

I had the tables turned on me in my classroom the other day. Actually, that's a pretty frequent occurence as you can see by this photo. My students are debating the finer points of their homework assignment(an assignment they did not do).

But this was different, this time we were teetering on a very fundamental explanation and understanding of journalism, functional democracy and Perú.

It all started with this guy...on the right...Rául Vargas...host of the most popular morning news program in Perú.

In the spirit, thankfully just the spirit, of Howard Stern or Imus in the US, RPP radio has put it´s morning news program on TV. The technology of the host, considered the dean of radio here in Lima, has not caught up with the technology of the radio. He was sleeping on camera during an interview the other day. The kind of sleeping where you doze off and your head lowers until your chin hits your chest, and then you wake up briefly. Pretty entertaining. He ramped it up a notch when he picked his nose and tightened his tie a couple of hundred times all the while harrumphing at various guests.

OK, enough of my condemnation of radio on TV. RPP has a segment it inserts in its morning program called Rotafono. People from around the country can call in and broadcast live a problem they have, a service that they need, a crime that has been committed against them, any variety of need based issues. At first this seemed a bit of a marketing stunt. People like to hear other peoples problems. Then I listened more intently and realized that the radio hosts were actually promising help. A kind of "we´ll see what we can do to help." Red flags were going up all around my apartment. Did this journalist just cross a line that should not be crossed?

It got even more complicated...

Listen to the audio: http://media.odeo.com/0/6/0/rotafono.mp3

Alright, so the kicker...and even if you don´t speak Spanish you might have picked up on this one, the lady gives her phone number over live radio, broadcast to all of Perú.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

So I went to my class armed with this example of what I thought was the teachable moment.

I assumed they would all agree that journalism outfits have a reponsibility to protect their listeners best interests. Mainly not broadcast personal information to all Peruvians. I also wanted to plant the seed as to whether or not they felt it was the job of journalists and RPP radio to formally aid Peruvians in need. To get them to a hospital, or help them find a way to pay a bill, etc..

Let´s just say the gringo was wrong. I got a unified rejection. In fact the defense of this practice went beyond a debate. Rotafono is the single most important thing in Peruvian media according to some of my students. If RPP radio didn´t help those people, who would? Who would they turn to? As for the telephone number being read out over the air...some students said that allowed other Peruvians to call that person and help them.

So, taking one giant step back, I tried to make heads or tails of this. While I had not slept through journalism 101, apparently I had been sleeping during Understanding Perú 101, I think it´s a correspondence course down at the local CC.

During the 80´s and early 90´s when terrorist attacks happened around and in Lima, RPP served as kind of a warning siren for the public. People knew that to get the latest on a bombing they had to tune in. If they couldn´t find a loved one they had to tune in. This relationship between the public and the media is ingrained in a way that I have no reference to. These are not experiences I have had.

After the debate in my classroom I am entrenched in getting a better beat on society and politics here before I take on journalism again. I am thinking of calling in to Rotafono and explaining that I am a lost gringo who is desperately hoping to understand how things work here. Something tells me I should not give them my number.

PS-while Sherlock Holmes my have tripped up with Rotafono, he certainly did find a clue on another matter. In their morning newscast RPP included, as a news item, the expansion of one of their music radio stations to broadcast around the country. A beauty of a commercial but not news. I won that battle.

2006-09-29T08:25:00.000-07:00

Enter Doorman(Portero)
Who are the people in your neighborhood Capítulo 4

The final part to my Peruvian trinity of informality are the trusty and engaging doormen to my building. Mind you I have yet to meet a single resident of my building(again the formal sector seems too busy for the gringo). But what would be considered an informal sector friendship has blossomed with my doormen. They work 8 hour shifts, and the one day they get off a week means somebody has to work a double. That is a lot of door opening, no matter how nice the door.

I´ll start with Enrique. He is probably the most engaged Peruvian I have met so far. He is constantly consuming and analyzing the news. We have dissected Socialism, the theoretical side of terrorism. "One Man´s terrorist is another man´s freedom fighter"
We have talked Chavez and Bush, the economy of Perú, the war in Iraq, and poverty.
I think Enrique gets scolded for talking to me too much by the building manager. I tried to make up for this by purchasing him the occasional Inka Cola, his favorite. He´d make a darn good Peruvian President, but in the meantime, he´s the most engaged doorman on the block.

Oscar

Oscar gets the night shift a lot of the time. Most nights I get home and he´s there braving the chilly lobby(it´s still winter here). Last night I got home and he was wearing a New York Knicks parka with the hood up. I wanted to slap him five and talk about Sprewell, but I figured he didn´t buy the coat because he was a baller.
He likes to call me Señor Hardman, which makes me feel like I should own a granja (sprawling country estate).
Oscar likes the finer things in life. Mainly movies and the occasional trip to the Casino.
He explained his gambling strategy to me. In one pocket he keeps a 20 soles note, the other, a 50. He starts with the 20 and tries to work some magic. If that fails, he brings out the big guns.
Casinos began to pop up during the reign of President Fujimori. They are everywhere in the city, mostly featuring slots or tragamonedas as they are called here.

Pastor
Little is known about the mysterious Pastor.
He is a curious fellow and he works hard. I give him fits because I use the staircase instead of the elevator, thereby nullifying his task of opening the elevator door. He often runs to the door or the elevator to get there before the resident.
Pastor is never without his black suit and matching five o´clock shadow. I like to muse that in his spare time he is a contract killer or something like that. He would definately be cast in the Peruvian version of the film Reservoir Dogs.

2006-09-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

Who are the people in your neighborhood Part 3

I also get a daily dose of informality and often friendship on the way to and from the University I teach at. Cabs here are a lot like locust, they swarm around the city, covering its highways and roads in a dark cloud of exhaust. There is little regulation of this industry, therefore it is everybody’s favorite second career. All you need is a car and a homemade Taxi sign.

The Mayor of Lima defended this seemingly unmonitored problem the other day by saying that they are just people trying to make a living during tough economic times.
Using taxi´s as a way to get up to speed on the basic information of a new place is an oldschool journalism trick and by now a bit of a cliché.
For me it is also a chance to work on my Spanish twice a day, learn local vernacular, and I also use the cab drivers as low paid therapists on my way home from teaching.
My daily forty minutes of cab time has also allowed me to begin an informal study of the media here. I engage cabbies in their radio listening preferences. Oxigen which plays rock hits from the 70’s and 80’s is a cab favorite. One cabbie and Oxigen fan, who went by Johnny, had a Jersey mullet and in between explaining the ins and outs of eating Cuy(guinea pig), talked about Bon Jovi and Barry White.
For information people listen to RPP, Radio Programas Peruanos. The news is read at the speed of someone calling the Kentucky Derby. Here's a sample: http://media.odeo.com/2/3/8/rpp.mp3
They tag team the news headlines and I am convinced every hour somebody is crowned a winner. In between the news races there are a variety of talk programs. Most reporting is done live from cell phones. Production, aside from the board engineer, is relatively non existent.

Cabbies like the program, Los Chistosos, which is an hour and a half of slapstick humor. Lots of laugh tracks, funny accents, and the occasional donkey soundbite.
I cannot say I understand every joke on this show, but I do get why people love it. The beauty of a joke is that one can communicate and speculate things that might not be appropriate in a more formal setting. Some of the more poignant political and social analysis, especially in a country with a history of press repression, can come from a program like Los Chistosos because the hosts are freed of the responsibility to report the facts, or in some cases, free to talk and speculate about sensitive facts. This format is perfect for a cab driver who spends his day piecing together the social and political fabric of Lima through his cadre of interactions.

I also ask cabbies about what papers they read or what tv station they watch for news. Straw poll says #1 ranking goes to….drum roll….Discovery Channel.
Do not get me wrong, I enjoy talking about the finer details of Shark attacks and Mummies, but as a journalist again I find myself a little dismayed. Of course you are probably thinking to yourself at this very moment, ¨What do you expect to hear? You are surveying taxi drivers after all.¨ In my opinion this is exactly where the interests and habits of cab drivers are especially relevant. If the goal of the media is to create an informed public, then the public, that means everybody including cab drivers (especially cab drivers), must be engaged.

I had a cab driver give a personal testimonial of why he mistrusted the press. He described a night where a group of kidnappers commandeered his car, robbed a bank, and then, upon being caught, he was accused by the police of aiding them.
He said the TV news cameras arrived at the scene and after hearing his account of the events proceeded to broadcast that while he said the following, cab drivers are known to not tell the whole truth.

My favorite comment came from a cabbie who remarked, “you know what I like about you gringos, you are fearless.” I wasn’t sure if he meant fearless in a gung ho Hollywood induced image kind of way, or something else. It takes some chipping away to explain how gringos really are as opposed to what people learn about us through tv and movies. But if he meant fearless in that I got in his cab, despite the handmade sign, well, perhaps I am naïve, but if that is what it takes to get to know this place, sign me up.

2006-09-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

Who are the people in your neighborhood? Part 2

I am trying to navigate the aforementioned formality vs. informality of Lima.

I want to fit in and to fit in one needs a guide.

I am routinely told not to go anywhere alone, but since the majority of those telling me to be careful (the formal sector) are relatively too busy to do the accompanying themselves, I am forced to When in Rome.
I have outsourced this job to the informal sector.

So far my cohorts in Lima consist of a cadre of doormen, taxi drivers and some Saturday afternoon footballers (most of whom wash cars in my neighborhood for a living). I have met them in a variety of ways, but all are eager to explain, show, and muse about Lima and Peru.

To them I am gringo or colorado (I have tried to explain to them that while in Spanish this refers to my colored hair(red), in the US it is a state, not unlike Peru, with mountains and carwashes too). Soccer is often my gateway into this world. The people who came to install my phone the other day saw the banner I picked up at a local soccer match. They happened to be supporters of the rival team and joked about installing my phone incorrectly. I assured them that the banner was simply a souvenir, and that secretly I really liked their team.
The fact that I know any team here in Lima often gives me some street cred.
In the vain of ¨Charlie Don´t Surf,¨ down here, ¨Gringos don’t play football.¨
When asked by one of my sponsors here what I did last weekend, I couldn’t lie, I explained I had played football down at the beach, something I was instructed specifically not to do.
Cuidado, I was told.
But after a few weeks, I have to say, unless my team of cachorros are planning an elaborate kidnapping/heist, I am most convinced they, if anything, have my back. Scoring goals buys self preservation, analyze that international market truth Mr. Greenspan.

2006-09-20T06:15:00.000-07:00

Who are the people in your neighborhood
Part 1

Lima is by all standards a rather informal place. People tend to not arrive on time, class starts when the moment feels right, and the foundation of the economy here is run on the predication that it is too expensive and time consuming to get a license to do most things, so why bother.
I am trying very hard to get with the program, I want to fit in.

Based on the neighborhood I reside in, I have a view of a golfcourse, and where I work, a private University, the general class I find myself in the company of is upper, and in keeping with my research model, ¨Formal.¨
Latin American has one of the world’s more staggering rates of economic disparity. The assumption is if you can make it this far to visit, you have some moolah, and therefore will be spending your time in certain areas.

Among my current formal contacts there is general concern for my well being, there is also a sense of understanding; most have visited the US. They know New York(Some of my students know NYC better than Lima), Miami, LA, and in so knowing, some consider themselves to know me. I am estadounidense(United Stateser…when will this term finally make it into US vernacular?). Others, and I always appreciate this, have for one reason or another landed in more obscure spots in the US. I met someone who spent a year of high school in Kansas. The nearest thing of note, he said, was an Amelia Erhardt landmark. I met another person who had lived in Vermont and Utah. People like this understand that just as to know Lima is not to know the entirety of Peru, to know New York is the tip of the iceberg.

I had a diplomat, formerly stationed in D.C., tell me “Oh, I know your country very well, Very Well.” To prove this he described his drive to work from Maryland and how he would listen to NPR and how some days he would be forced to remain in his car because a particular radio story would be so riveting.
No offense, but I traveled all this way so I wouldn’t have to talk about NPR driveway moments at dinner parties for a spell.
Being the curious fellar that I am, I asked him what he knew of Anacostia, D.C.’s more troubled area. “Oh I know this place, this is a place of nothing, of drunk people and poverty.”

Certainly this response is not unique to a Peruvian, it would be just as easy to hear it from a United Stateser or Russian or anyone.
It is more to illustrate the point that to know a place is to know a place in its entirety, the nooks and crannies and everything in between. Something I am attempting to accomplish here.

2006-09-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

I have been in Peru nearly a month. So far I know these things to be true.

---this photo is not out of focus.

Lima appears skyless to me most days...as if the grey, which locals refer to as the color of a donkey´s stomach, is more complex than just clouds. I am told that the humidity of the climate clashing with the cold ocean water creates the impenetrable cover.

The effect is somewhere between a Garcia Marquez dream state and Orwell's 1984.

In an attempt to lighten the mood Peruvians drink their national soda, Inca Kola, the color of sunshine. Inca Kola is not just the sabor de Peru, but the strange bright yellow concoction, which tastes a lot like drinking a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, encapsulates local pride.
In fact Inca Kola is so powerful that it was outselling Coca Cola here. Nothing like spinning globalization on its head. Of course Coke proceeded to buy Inca Kola, but what else is new. Look for it at your local bodega.

Peruvian journalism (the reason I am here) is alive and well, but few locals seem to care. There is a distrust here that pervades a lot of things, especially the press. Small press stands sell upwards of 15 different newspapers, most of them tabloids or "Chichas." Chichas grew under the former president Fujimori who wanted to dilute public information with distractions from the real news, the result, scantilly clad señoritas on page 1. A number of news outlets were shut down or handcuffed during his reign. Many others took substantial bribes from Fujimori's intelligence chief, Vlademir Montesinos. Although I am told bribes have always existed, just not as egregious.

Mistrust is a part of life here.
An often heard goodbye is ¨Cuidate¨meaning take care, or be careful...although here it is said with a hint of worry, as if something bad is going to happen. I am beginning to understand that this is what happens when a country truly knows terrorism.
I am routinely warned about going anywhere by myself. Upon hearing of my plan to go to a local soccer match between the two Lima powers, my doorman hatched an elaborate plan to get me into the stadium and back home without getting the crap beaten out of me. Needless to say I encountered few problems and was happy to see how the other 90% of Lima lives.

You can kind of see me a few rows over from the flares. My team has just scored.
I think the most surprising thing about Peru is that its paralysis is subtle. The outward face is one of upward mobility and pride, but inside is a ball of emotion. I sat in on a local radio program today where the host interviewed a local psychologist. He anaylzed the Peruvian psyche and tried to get at the cloud of insecurity and percieved inferiority that keeps what seems to be a country that has everything down.
I am beginning to believe that the ominous sky here in Lima is a reflection of a much deeper issue, something that lies inside those who walk these streets.