Election

So Ecuadorians are casting their ballots today, some of them even as we speak, and I can safely say that I am wholly ignorant of the scene -- minus the posters, flags, bullhorns, stickers, billboards, and murals.  Still, the whole affair is infinitely less intrusive than our own marathon elections.  Maybe it's because I don't have TV, and even so wouldn't understand half of a campaign speech.

Yes, I almost ducked the thing entirely, remaining blissfully dumb on the matter -- that is until the dry law kicked in yesterday.  Wow, I thought when I first heard of it, you can drink on the street, carry any beverage into a restaurant, and even stop traffic by simulating intercourse with the hood of a car while your girlfriend passes you cups of beer to chug (though to be fair, that's only once a year).  Moreover, if you can find one that's open, you can buy on Sunday morning in many a neighborhood tienda after keeping it rolling all night.  Selling liquor is ostensibly banned on Sunday country-wide, but only the big grocery stores really follow it.  And the Sunday sanction was lifted for the debaucherous Carnaval celebrations two weeks ago.  Suffice it to say that liquor legislation here is lax.  

But this dry law kicked into effect on the Friday at midnight, and it's in effect until midnight Monday, the day after the election.  The logic of this control mechanism is pretty obvious: people get really fired up for soccer and politics, and adding booze to the scene amps up the chaos, and sometimes violence, by degrees.  I hear that there is also an infringement on what we call Freedom of Assembly, though all of Otavalo was one big assembly yesterday.  People go out on Election Sunday dressed to the nines, vote, pray, and eat.  

During this three day period it is illegal -- and supposedly even punishable by time in the cooler -- to buy, sell, transport, consume, or even sniff a wine cork.  The multa, or fine for showing up at the polls under the influence is half the monthly minimum wage, about $150.  And in Ecuador, voting is mandatory.  I do not know what the multa is for skipping out on the ballot, but I assume it is less than the drinking-and-voting penalty.

Whereas US voter turnout hovers just over half, compulsory attendance here means that just over three quarters of Ecuadorians show up in voting booths to check the boxes.  One wonders how many of the remaining 25% stayed home boozing.  I'm sure there are other reasons for not voting.

Liquored or not, there are eight "major" candidates, spanning the usual political spectrum.  Since I started writing this, the incumbent Rafael Correa has already claimed victory for another four year term.  A populist-type guy, Correa enjoys quite a bit of popular support.  I do not base this assertion on any polling, rather the ubiquity of Correa's party, PAIS 35 campaign signs in the city and in the country.  Just like in the US, Correa posed with local politicians everywhere, though I suspect he actually distributed a bunch of life-sized thumbs-up cardboard cutouts to all of his local affiliates.  But to me these Correas look just a wee tad too similar in every shot, though I'm sure he has practiced that smile.  The banners feature a solid, smiling, and confident Rafael posing with one or three local candidates and are draped from the tops of buildings, sometimes hanging one or two stories.  "Ya tenemos un presidente.  Tenemos Rafael," say his campaign murals and posters -- "We already have a president. We have Rafael."  Very effective.

Back in the real world, Correa has paved roads all over the country, built up rural schools and health care centers, cut down significantly on nepotism and gov't corruption, and enforced modest tax laws.  What does that mean?  Yes, you guessed it, the old establishment despises Correa -- everyone who benefitted from the previous corrupt system, mostly rich people.  Two of his closest opponents on the right are the richest guy in Ecuador (Noboa) and the president of Banco Guayquil, one of the country's largest banks (Lasso).  Correa has helped to bring the poverty rate down from 64% (in 2000) to 27% (currently), and that doesn't happen without ramping up public spending.  And tax collection. 

"Priveleged people don't like him because they've always benefitted from the system, especially in Quito and Guayquil.  But the government is for everyone, working people, poor people too, people outside of the major cities."  Sound familiar?  I asked a cab driver yesterday about the election, and I got an earful.  He actually lectured me for five minutes in front of our house.  I nodded a lot and said, "claro."  

Correa's success, according to The Economist, derives from tripling of gov't revenues, thanks in large part to rising oil prices (though production here has gone down).  Adamantly -- some say pathologically -- independent, he's railed against the IMF and defaulted on $32 billion in foreign bonds.  No doubt, he's capitalized on this brilliantly, and Ecuador is currently enjoying an elevated status.  "Ecuador is no longer for sale," Correa says at campaign rallies.

But Rafael is also expert at squelching opposition, especially the critical press.  Like his buddy Chávez over in Venezuela, Correa has employed a provision originally intended only for national emergencies: requiring all media outlets to carry his broadcasts, some 1,300+ times.  He's rabidly pursued libel cases against critical journalists, he's seized and mobilized two major media outlets (from corrupt bankers), and he's vastly limited the power of the legislature where PAIS 35 is a minority.  With every "good" public work, you know about it because Correa has erected a sign that says effectively, "Look at what I've done for you!"

The good, the bad, and the pistol-whipped, for sure -- Ecuador is certainly stable and certainly "developing" -- we can see the evidence in infrastructure everywhere we've travelled in roads, buildings, and a new Int'l airport, which is due to open just after the election.   

But like I said, I'd prepared myself to ignore this -- that is, until I couldn't buy a beer yesterday.  I've spent the last several months cultivating relationships with three or four tiendas, or stores in Otavalo, one of them downtown on the same block where our friend Pete lives and where we lived for a month.  I always stop in and chat.  The owner has a special needs son, and he loves my bike.  We always slap fives, and I pretend to be surprised that he's switched my gears.  

So yesterday I stopped in to buy some milk, and also ask if, oh perhaps, she might sell me a beer.  "Por usted?  Si. Venga atras," she said, "For you?  Yes.  Come back here."  We made our illicit transaction in the back room, and I happily pedaled away.  All politics is local, sure, but so are the tiendas here, especially for the national beverage.