Giving thanks and making our voices heard
Protests and Thanksgiving in Bogotá
We’ve been at it for eight straight days. Colombians all over the country and here in the capital of Bogotá have had enough.
They’ve had enough of the conservative government of Ivan Duque, a puppet President that governs at the whims of his villain-like Centro Democratico predecessor, Alvaro Uribe. They’ve had enough of the systematic killing of indigenous social leaders. They’ve had enough of extreme socio-economic inequality, and the widening of the gap between the extremely wealthy and the poor. They’ve had enough of the privatization of would-be government services, and the prioritization of economic gains at the expense of Colombia’s incredible natural environment. They’ve had enough of the painfully slow, unsuccessful rollout of the now three year-old peace accords, and the violence that has continued as a result.
I say “they” because I’ve only just gotten here. I’m only starting to understand the depths of the injustice that plagues this place. Though I may not feel Colombian by culture, I am Colombian by birth, and I am here to stand for my people who just can’t take it anymore. I have joined my neighbors on the streets to make our indignation heard through peaceful, pot-banging protest.
The cacerolazo
The basic premise of a cacerolazo is to express collective and individual outrage by banging on pots and pans in unison. By taking banal kitchen items and turning them into instruments of social protest, anyone can easily express their dissent.
The cacerolazo or casserolade is a centuries-old form of non-violent protest that can be traced back to 19th century France, during which opposers to the July Monarchy banged on pots and pans to express their disdain for the government’s public servants. The cacerolazo’s more recent history in Chile is more widely known. It was first taken up by right-wing women discontented with Allende’s socialist Chile and then by dissenters of Pinochet’s brutal dictatorship. Argentina, Venezuela, Catalonia and even Quebec have appropriated the cacerolazo technique in the latter part of the 20th century and into the last decade.
The night of the national strike, last Thursday, November 21, I thought I had made it home for good. But, biking back from a full day of marching, my roommate and I got hit with tear gas as we passed la Universidad Nacional, the best public university in the country, known for its activism. It was a first for me, and I have to say it was pretty terrible. My eyes welled up uncontrollably until I couldn’t see. I only made it home because my roommate calmed me down and geared me in the right direction. He had been gassed several times before.
After recovering and few hours of news consumption (information overload), we heard some clatters from outside of our living room window. We had all seen the flyers that were circulating on whatsapp, inviting us to join the cacerolazo, but we weren’t sure how much it would take off.
Sure enough, we were out in our neighborhood with at least 100 other people, banging and chanting and connecting. It was true protest magic.
After that first night, I attended three more cacerolazos in a row, going out every night with my roommates with my same trusty pan and wooden spatula. I all but destroyed the pan after hours upon hours of continuous banging — a fair sacrifice for peaceful protest (protest tools pictured above).
Since finding community here, I’ve really been looking forward to hosting Thanksgiving and bringing people together— my friends, cousins, and roommates. But, with the protests still going strong the day before turkey day, I almost called the whole thing off. I was worried that I was asking too much by asking people to take a night off from the all-important national movement. Transportation around the city has also been a nightmare, biking notwithstanding. It seemed like going forward with Thanksgiving could end up being a disaster, but I couldn’t help but have a stubborn, “the show must go on” attitude.
So the show did go on.I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner for 15 guests, most of whom were experiencing the holiday for the first time. Two Brits, a Scot, a Belgian, a handful of Colombians, and three fellow Americans came together to eat absurd amounts of food and take the time to give thanks. We gave thanks for our relative freedom, for feminism, for the paro nacional, for friends, for community, for health. When my turn came, I gave thanks for the unique opportunity I chose to take: the chance to come back to Colombia to reconnect with the place, the culture, and the language. I am seriously forever grateful.
My dear Colombian friend who lived abroad for seven years and only came back two years ago, gave thanks for being in Colombia to participate in the history-making national strike. The table cheered in agreement, chanting “Viva el paro nacional!”
To top off this week of Thanksgiving and protest, activists have called for a “Cacerolazo Latinoamericano” on the evening of December 1st. People all over Latin America and Latino communities in the United States and Europe will participate in the coordinated mass protest. It’s an opportunity for all Latin Americans to “call for real policy for the progress and dignity of all Latin American people.”
I’m grateful to be here to witness this historic moment.
Who knew that during the American President’s impeachment hearings and at the height of the Democratic primary campaign, I would be so engaged in Colombian politics and activism?
Despertar, Colombia despertar.
