(the following is a text from The Panamerican Diary, a series of entries that are not usually shared in this blog, but that we include here in the interest to show a different perspective of the journey)

The Melancholy of the Silent Periphery and The Panamerican Psychiatrist

On the bus in Formosa, Argentina

I believe to have entered into a state of semi-depression, partially due to the low energy I have, the continuing difficulties of the trip, my tightening budget, and the growing sense of dislocation for having been away from home for so long. It also has not helped to travel through countries where one sees so much poverty and corruption that it is hard to maintain a positive outlook about things. In this sense, Asunción turned out a particularly exciting –and saddening— place to be.

Being in Asunción revived in me a feeling that I had while traveling through Eastern Europe over the last few years. I would call it “the melancholy of the silent periphery”. Paraguay, like Eastern Europe, is an area that incorporates all the references of the West, but in an obtuse manner. While they follow the music, culture, and fashion of the outside, and they emphatically see themselves as part of Latin America, they also accept their role in this process as of mere spectators and consumers, which creates a strange environment where they seem to accept that their local reality can never be referenced whatsoever, nor that they can ever aspire to be heard.

In some cases the melancholic countries of the silent periphery have attractive and interesting idiosyncracies. Nevertheless, their sense of identity is vague at best, and aside from the regular nationalistic affirmations, there seems to be a resignation toward the exterior model. But in contrast to the Slavic countries, whose economy is improving thanks to its gradual integration with Western Europe, countries like Paraguay do not see any light at the end of the tunnel.

Paraguay, which by most standards is the poorest country in Latin America after Haiti, has such a painful history of failure, has accumulated so many problems and vices amongst its ruling class, and has carried over so many economic, social and political conflicts that it is not surprising that most Paraguayans see their own country as hopeless and turn to the U.S. as the only alternative for protection and stability.(although it was U.S. policy which supported and encouraged the rise of Stroessner to power). “The only thing left here is to put the U.S. flag in the country”, told me a sixty-year old Paraguayan woman who sat next to me on the bus. “Things have just gotten worse. In the last five years, crime has grown so much that I now have a rifle, one rottweiler, and a doberman”.

Incidentally, Stroessner died a few days ago, after a long exile in Brasilia, at age 93. In a local magazine that comments on the dark Stroessner legacy, there are accounts of people who personally went through torture and imprisonment under this dictatorship, all of which are seen as normal. The “archivo del terror”— a recently discovered archive created during the Stroessner regime that documents the many atrocities it did to its citizens— is only but an example of the trauma of this country. In many conversations I had with Paraguayans, many spoke about having a collective inferiority complex. More than in any other place, I saw a country that had a very peculiar richness, and yet such a deep sense of failure that most appear to have given up.

In a context like this one can ask what could possibly be the role of contemporary art in a place like this. The internationalism of contemporary art only feels like a reminder that there is no art market here, no great stimulus to make art, and little interest from the outside.

While I left with this sense of hopelessness, at the same time I had the strong feeling that this was the absolute best place to be for an art project such as the one I was bringing. As opposed to some art communities that felt too international or sophisticated for a project like this, or felt that they did not need to be lectured by what they see as a privileged artist from the “center”, here the sense was an infinite thirst for anything that would come from outside, and the desire to be part of something larger. In Paraguay I quickly became known as “the Mexican”, or, like local artist Mónica González called me after a workshop: “the Panamerican psychiatrist”. Two weeks are left before I take the plane back to New York. So much has happened since I boarded La Panamericana on that Spring day in Anchorage. Neither myself, nor the continent has remained the same

At this point, and after having crossed seventeen borders, there is a cacophony of memories in me. it is hard to make sense of all this. There are too many voices, too many images, and too many roads that have taken me through (or away from) the Panamerican highway. Yet, Panamerica is appearing to me in the form of informal commerce, of splendid landscapes, endless waits in gray rooms, the savage “every man for himself” nature of the borders and the highways, human kindness and human violence, ingenuity and sarcasm, deep fried yucca foods, Shakira everywhere, local beers and cell phone companies, and a myriad of accents, most of them saying things I don’t comprehend, but that I still am trying to connect.

THE PANAMERICAN ADDRESS OF THE PEOPLE OF ASUNCION

In Asunción, Paraguay, today, September 1st, 2006, we declare:

That Paraguay is a country with a bicultural identity, resulting from its Western and indigenous heritage, particularly the one coming from Guaraní culture;

That the difference amongst our cultures is very strong and it manifests itself through common and differentiated codes;

That the Paraguayan indian does not identify himself as Paraguayan, and that the contemporary Paraguayan is not Guaraní altogether. A an example, those present here today and who are connected to the art activity, are not necessarily Guaraní speakers;

That despite this distancing, both the Spanish and Guaraní languages interveave in our daily cultural dialogue. While Spanish may be the official language, Guaraní is used as the sentimental language, expressing a multiplicity of untranslatable meanings;

That our cultural ambiguity influences our continental positioning and our relationship with Latin America, since Paraguay is rarely remembered as part of the continent;

That maybe as a result from this condition, as well as from historic cultural processes that are connected to our intermixing, we have assumed that we cannot believe in ourselves and have thus developed a low self-esteem in regards to our national culture. That Paraguay has lived a long period of repressing its deepest emotions;

That in Asunción we observe a sustained process of “ruralization” that impacts the development of contemporary urban culture. That change today is seen with suspicion, be it in changing the design of a ceramic pot to changing deep convictions. We constantly adopt external models and regard that which comes outside as something better;

That despite the fact that we live in a country with enormous natural, culinary and indigenous richness, with unique traditions, we rarely value these as virtues, and instead are witness to the linguistid deforestation of Guaraní as a historic project of the state;

That nonetheless, Paraguayan immigrants who experience nostalgia (techagau) recreate their world by reclaiming traditions and cultural rituals, in order to regain profound feelings;

That we regard the rise of the artistic community as a challenge, given the adverse economic conditions and the absence of an art market in Paraguay, after a decade of financial crisis that still continues;

That art should get out of the mold, that it should generate a social ritual that would allow it to regain its place amongst us. That as soccer and the film industry have managed to do, we should strive for establishing an emotional connection with the audience, because to disregard that which one feels with that which one does results in making dead art;

That we need to documient and write, and prevent others to be the only ones to write our history;

That despite our global and contemporary isolation, it is necessary for us to learn how to make our very own cultural ceremonies part of our daily life, so that we can find reconciliation amongst ourselves;

We set as our purpose, as art workers, to keep ourselves abreast to the socio-historic development of our country, in order to build a collective strategy that may lead to a strengthening of our culture and may find positive projection in real life.

Signed

Natalia Antola, José Arazategui, Gustavo Benítez, Oswaldo Campeccioli, Christian Ceuppens, Silvana Daher, Gisela Esposito, Alejandra García, Adriana González Brun,, Mónica González, Laura Mostatá, Soledad Patino, Carlos Sosa, Pablo Helguera (secretary)

Gisela Esposito, a Paraguayan artist and teacher, said to me: “when I learned that a Pan-American project was coming to Paraguay, I couldn’t believe it. No one ever considers us when there is talk about the continent”. Paraguay does live the difficult historic situation of being in between two giants of the South cone – Argentina and Brazil— which contributes perhaps to this feeling of cultural invisibility. Actually, Paraguay has a very singular culture, nurtured mainly by the Guaraní traditions and customs.

In any case, the multiple delays and mishaps that the SPU had to get to Asunción ( I arrived with two days of delay, without the van, and without the schoolhouse, which is still stuck in Venezuelan customs) still did not manage to impede us to make the project happen here. Thanks to the enthusiasm of the local art community here (who appeared willing to adjust their schedules in any way, contribute with materials and volunteer time), we were able to determine and implement a strategy. We considered it would be important to build a surrogate version of the school out of fabric and wood. The “reconstruction” process turned out to be a very exciting and singular chapter of the SPU, as it helped us appreciate the idyosincracies of the place where the project was being presented. The Plaza del Cabildo, which is adjacent to the slums of La Chacarita, is pretty much dominated by the children of the area, who spend the whole day there. They immediately involved themselves in the project, so it became just natural to formalize their involvement. Every object placed in this plaza disappears within minutes, to become construction material for one of the houses in La Chacarita, and the schoolhouse, which we needed to keep there overnight, was certain to have the same fate eventually. We were nonetheless able to convince the children that it was critical not to steal the materials until the next day— after that, they could dispose of it as they pleased.

That evening, we held the debate and writing workshop amongst artists, professors and students, where we produced the Panamerican Address of Asunción. We departed from subjects addressed at the panel presented in preparation of the project.

The fact that we conducted the Panamerican ceremony from the balcony of the Cabildo, which was until recently the Paraguayan congress, gave the event a particularly significant dimension. Shortly after the event was over, the kids from La Chacarita took apart the schoolhouse in a snap, returning Panamericanism once again to an ethereal state.