Tree bust.

We bumped our way down the red earthen road, half sliding in the ditches where the path turned to mud after three consecutive days of rain. I was in the back with Enrique and Cesar, while the policeman and Inginiero Miguel rode up front. They had offered to let the lady ride up front, but given the opportunity I always choose to ride in the beds of trucks and trunks of station wagons- they offer the best view. Enrique looked ahead, undaunted, and Cesar absent-mindedly examined the mud on his shoes that reached up to his stonewashed jeans. As I watched the tangled, familiar forest go by, my heart beat in my throat. We were going on an illegal logging bust. It wasn’t my first time, and I didn’t fear men with chainsaws, but rather the social implications of the excursion. This bust, unlike the others, was in Chimeo.

There are two things that are omnipresent in the ambiance of Chimeo. One, Parque Aguarague, looming high, deep, and verdant over your shoulder. The other is the sound of chainsaws. The rugged lawlessness found throughout Bolivia has preserved pristine areas like Aguarague; at the same time, new roads, better transportation, and freer communications has opened these virgin areas to exploitation, by Bolivians and foreigners alike. Nowhere is this more true than Chimeo. Traditionally, the folks in Chimeo have lived in unison with Aguarague. Nonetheless, the price of lumber and ease of extraction, if one can get his hands on a chainsaw, has become irresistible for some community members. Chimeo is a vein into the arboral artery of Aguarague, mere kilometers from the market in Villa Montes and conveniently on the paved road to Santa Cruz. While the price they get for the lumber the sell is comparatively high, its dirt cheap to what it could fetch once processed and sold abroad. Sadly, like so many other things in this country, we lack the industry to best take advantage of our resources. At night you can hear the trucks, heavy with wood and failing at their attempt as a clandestine escape, work their way out of Chimeo and into the market.

Everyone knows that this illegal extraction is going on, and rampantly. One would ask herself, then, why don’t we do anything to stop it? One reason could be resignation- how do we stop people from extracting from a place so vast and uncontrolled as Aguarague? Another could be acceptance- in a place as densely wooded as Chimeo, its hard to imagine an end to it. I had asked myself the same questions, tip toeing over the stumps and shavings of Cedar and Palo Blanco on my way to see bee hives. Maybe people are right- how can we enforce preservation in a country that seems to cherish its anarchy?

Today’s inspection was more than anarchy though; it was a massacre. The forest Ive come to know and love, deep green with vines twisting and cascading from the canopy to the floor, was missing. Right off of the main road, over a dozen cedar, mora, and palo blanco trees has been carelessly felled, some taking their innocent, young neighbors with them. The holes in the green veil were blatant; the light shone down on the forest floor like an open wound, ripping open what had until then been timeless and immaculate. I couldn’t believe the damage that had been wrought since I last passed down this stretch of road a week ago.

Enrique had brought Cesar and Miguel, representatives of the forestry unit of the mayor’s office, to check for an extraction permit and record the illegal extraction with fotos and GPS. I had been through this routine before with Chachi, that time on a palo santo bust on the other side of the river. This time felt so different though- this was Chimeo, MY Chimeo, my neighbors, my woody slice of heaven. Also, on the previous adventure everything was in black and white- how dare those men! Strip them of their chainsaws like they stripped the land! The culprits in this case are not those men. They are P., who selflessly helps harvest honey without a bee suit; F., who has a wonderful wife, a million kids to feed, and a drinking problem. They are also C., the capitan of the community, Enrique’s brother, and the father of my godson. I haven’t seen C. or his family for almost a month, as they’ve transferred everything to their little hut on the mountain to make things easier for C. and his sons while they work. C. is also the small man in this picture- he is extracting the wood for his boss,, a well connected man in town. Where and to whom this fellow will sell the wood, I don’t know. I cant help but feel like C. is just a pawn in a bigger game. He is doing all the hard work, and furthermore, a few weeks ago his eldest son, Ivan, was pickpocketed of his pay for three months of lumber extraction. Ivan is a great kid who would, and has, helped me in any he could. Nonetheless, the family should know better. They’ve attended workshops put on by GTZ and others about environmental conservation. They’ve nodded as Chachi, myself, and certainly previous PCVs have spoken about conservation. So who here is to blame? C.? His boss? The blind eye of the community?

I too am a pawn in this whole matter. I don’t wield any political sway in town, but in Chimeo my social power is unrivaled. A number of jealous souls would love to see my friendship with Cecilio and his family tarnished- I refuse to let this happen. Lucky for me, today we only saw one lumber site, P.'s. We couldn’t make it up higher into the mountain, where C. is working, due to the condition of the roads. My social ties were spared, but certainly Aguarague wasn’t, as the chainsaws continue to echo through the hills after we had finished the inspection. After seeing the logging site today though, I have decided to stand for the forest, even if it makes things between C’s family and myself difficult. This is bigger than us- this on (one of the many) the front lines in the battle for the environment. I have to trust that C and A’s respect for my opinion, as both Licenciada and Comadre, will keep our friendship in tact, and perhaps keep their chainsaw in the house. Ill likely spend the next two days, my last in Chimeo before I go home for the holidays, crusading with Enrique for the trees. C. and A. will keep on working up in the mountain, and the Aguarague will undoubtedly keep looking over our shoulders.