Yuliana Kenfield provided crucial introspection into how Quechua functions between family members and communities. Growing up in Cuzco, Peru, Kenfield is able to weave how Quechua influenced her personal life and the importance of the language within Cuzco—as well as within the surrounding rural areas. We would work together as a class to forge our mutual understandings of the language with Kenfield’s guidance. For instance, we discussed the cultural constructions behind the song “Yaw Yaw Puka Polleracha” and how the phrase Chakray ukhupi Pukllasqaykita has a double meaning. We forged cultural comprehension through understanding the phrase meaning, “they are playing in my field.” In Quechua, chakrapi pukkllay or “to play in the field” is along the same lines of the idiom “roll in the hay.” Depending on where an individual is in their life, the phrase means two different things. Children will understand the phrase much differently than adults.

Beyond forging interpersonal cultural understanding, we worked with the text Kasway Vida. This book is the first English-Quechua textbook that presents Quechua in a very particular light. Beginning with greetings, chapters 1-10 demonstrate the conversational tools necessary for individuals living within rural areas as one of the runa (people). Communities in the Andes are close-knit and therefore always getting your fellow community members is essential. Moreover, the early focus on where are you from, where are you going and where are you coming from provides an interesting look into the migratory nature of many individuals in the Andes.

Kasway Vida, also, vibrantly demonstrated the important forms of economic production in rural areas that are often attributed to traditional life styles in the area. We learned the names of animals, clothing, and important verbs (such as to plant, weave, heard, etc.). Unfortunately, I found that this particular textbook limits the portrayal of Quechua speakers in the Andean world. Kasway Vida confines the Quechua experience to rural areas. The language is mostly spoken in rural areas, but this predominate focus denies the existence of the language in other areas (towns, cities, etc.). Everything that the text displays is important to understand in order to know the general function of the language, but it is lacking a more nuanced presentation representing the diversity of Quechua speakers throughout the Andean Region.

Moreover, this text relies heavily on memorization in the early chapters and does not provide an experience as interactive as I would prefer for my personal learning experience. The classroom environment, however, does provide much of the important interaction crucial to language learning. Kenfield diversifies her approach to the language through many multimedia outlets. We watched several movies to help increase our understanding of the culture, lifestyles, and use of the language in daily life. Moreover, we listened to traditional and modern music produced with Quechua lyrics. Music is a wonderful way to introduce language to new learners: the rhythms, notes, instruments, and words meld together to create a profound portrayal of language and culture together.  UCHPA, a band from Ayachucho, Peru that sings in Quechua provides a fascinating look into the progression and continued use of Quechua.

Originally, UCHPA sang Quechua covers of Nirvana and 1960s-1970s classic rock before the band recreated itself in the early 2000s. Their song “Pitaqmi Kanki?” or “Who are you?” dramatically combines traditionally singing with their modern rock use of Quechua to critique Sendero Luminoso and demonstrate how broken many communities became in their wake. Using this song, along with many others during class and for class projects assisted my understanding of Quechua and allowed me to understand the usage of the language on a more profound level.

We also conducted research covering important cultural items in Peru. Selecting one particular item, we spent a week researching the item to understand its historical background, the cultural implications, and current uses of the item. I researched the Toritos de Pukará (handmade terracotta bulls), while my classmates took on the siku (panflute), ch’uspa (small woven bag for carrying coca leaves), and the kero (ceremonial cup), amongst others. Our presentations helped us to not only practice a little Quechua, but to share our discoveries with our classmates. We grew in our understanding together and by the end of the class we demonstrated significant progression in comprehension and usage of Quechua.

Besides opening my eyes to a new world view, Quechua also helped me to better conceptualize monographs utilized in my other classes. In one of my classes—Gender and Human Rights in Cold War Latin America—we read Intimate Enemies by Kimberly Theidon. This text presents a rural and gendered perspective of Sendero Luminoso from the ethnographic research of the women living through 1980s Peru. Theidon uses many Quechua phrases and terms throughout her book that add significant detail and legitimacy to her text, when the reader has a decent grasp of Quechua. For the average reader the phrases do not contribute too much to the overall presentation of the book. However, even with my beginner understanding of the language, I felt more immersed in the narrative Theidon provided and I felt that I understood the realities facing Quechua speaking women in rural Peru during this time period.

Learning Quechua this past semester has provided me with many opportunities and challenges that I would not find in any other class. This language is beautifully unique with a powerful history. I feel honored that I was able to partake in the opportunity to learn Quechua and I encourage students of all ages to expand their knowledge of the world around them through learning a new language, especially a less commonly taught language.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtIsCtyE00k: UCPA Pitaqmi Kanki?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZ5VTWy01Wg Yaw Yaw Puka Polleracha

After the concert, the entire group went out to eat with members of SOLAS. We shared stories, discussed politics, and reflected on the show, but mostly laughed, relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. The following morning, the group met with activists from (un)Occupy Albuquerque, a local organization created in solidarity with the Occupy Wall Street movement and indigenous and colonized peoples worldwide. The two groups discussed current issues of social justice and human rights abuses in Latin America and exchanged meaningful gifts they had brought.

Overall, having Karla and her group in Albuquerque for two days was an incredibly rewarding and meaningful experience for all those involved. Their music was beautiful and touching, and their words were extremely poignant. Karla tells the story of many people, and it is her desire for us all to see ourselves and our struggles through her so that we might make a difference.

I first became interested in transitional justice in Uruguay when I heard the story of Macarena Gelman. Gelman was twenty-three years old in 2000 when she learned that she was born in a secret Argentine prison in 1976. Argentine and Uruguayan operatives extrajudicially abducted and murdered Gelman’s parents, transferring Gelman to live for the next twenty-three years as the unwitting daughter of a Uruguayan policeman and his wife.  Sadly, the abduction and transfer of babies born in covert prisons was a widespread and systematic practice during the regional dirty war. There are likely numerous young adults across Latin America’s Southern Cone who today remain unaware that they, in effect, disappeared at birth.

Amnesty and the Disappearance of Children

In the 1990s, Uruguay’s Peace Commission received forty denouncements involving children; eight were alleged by young people doubting their biological identities. Given methodological limitations and challenges confronted by the Peace Commission during their investigation, disappearances of children are woefully underreported. Indeed, when Gelman and her grandfather brought a case against the Uruguayan state, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights recognized the systematic forcible transfer at birth of the children of detained political dissidents. While increasingly acknowledged in Argentina, the ICC’s recognition of forced infant disappearance reveals how the practice remains Uruguay’s dirty little secret.

So I became interested in transitional justice in Uruguay—particularly prosecutions, or the absence thereof. As a dual degree Law and Master’s student focusing on human rights in Latin America, I am interested in studying the role that amnesty laws play in negotiating the transition from authoritarianism to democracy in the wake of the region’s military regimes of the 1970s and 80s. The field of transitional justice— worldwide—has been partially shaped by debate surrounding the efficacy of amnesties as “necessary evils” for negotiating peace in the war torn nations of Latin America and Africa.[1] Whatever the outcome of this ongoing theoretical debate, I am convinced that three decades of impunity in Uruguay must come to an end.

Democracy and Impunity in Uruguay

From 1973 until 1985, Uruguay was the prototypical Orwellian state. Military personnel entrenched themselves in most public offices. Police records classified citizens into categories of ideological trustworthiness, greatly limiting the opportunities for work and travel of those who were arbitrarily blacklisted. Worse still, the prime method of repression was mass-incarceration and torture. For much of the period, Uruguay was responsible for the highest per capita incarceration rate on the planet. The military locked away—without due process—student activists, professors, union organizers, journalists, lawyers, doctors, social workers, and Communist party members. Meanwhile, children like Gelman were born in military prisons and disappeared.

When the military stepped down in the mid ‘80s, the leaders of the fledgling democracy agreed to immunize the prior regime from future prosecution. In 1986, as victims and their families filed civil human rights lawsuits in Uruguayan courts, Parliament passed a retroactive amnesty resolution: the Ley de Caducidad (“Expiry Law”). Ignoring threats from the military, Uruguayans gathered over a half-million signatures to overturn the Expiry Law by referendum. Still, to the dissatisfaction of many Uruguayans and international human rights observers, the law survived. The architects of the dirty war were thus insulated from civil and criminal penalties.

Between the 1980s and 2005, four Uruguayan presidents sponsored policies of “silence and oblivion” regarding past crimes. Many citizens felt that Uruguay’s transition to democracy was incomplete without justice. As one Uruguayan told journalist Lawrence Weschler, “You can’t pardon someone who’s convinced he has behaved well.”[2]

The Inter-American human rights regime has denounced impunity in Uruguay. In the early 90s, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights published a report concluding that the Expiry Law violated several articles of the American Declaration of the Rights and Duties of Man and the American Convention on Human Rights—including the right to justice, the duty of state parties to respect and ensure rights, and the right to judicial protection. In 2011, the Inter-American Court condemned Uruguay for the Gelman disappearance, ordering the State to guarantee that the Expiry Law would no longer impede investigation into past crimes. In response, on October 27, 2011, Uruguay negated its Expiry Law, purportedly ending nearly thirty years of amnesty for the aging generals of the military regime.

But impunity remains. In February of 2013, Uruguay’s Supreme Court ruled that portions of the law that derogated the Expiry Law were unconstitutionally retroactive, prompting the UN’s High Commissioner for Human Rights to remark that the “shadow of impunity” was potentially being restored in Uruguay. While many observers remain hopeful that past crimes will soon be investigated, I propose that it may be time for the international community to step in.

Prosecuting Uruguay's Generals in the International Criminal Court

Perhaps one strategy for forcing investigations and combatting impunity in Uruguay is to prosecute those responsible for the enforced disappearance of persons in the International Criminal Court (“ICC”). As a legal matter, the ICC is not bound by domestic amnesties or statutes of limitations. Crimes against humanity are considered nonderogable jus cogens, which cannot be insulated from prosecution by domestic law. The  ICC’s arrest warrant for Joseph Kony in Uganda, for example, demonstrates that the ICC prosecutor can and will determine that a domestic amnesty has no legal effect on extraterritorial prosecution.

A more difficult obstacle is that the ICC has temporal jurisdiction only over crimes that occurred on or after July 1, 2002, the date that the statute establishing the ICC went into force. But enforced disappearance is a continuing crime—“continuing” in the sense that withholding information about the identities and fates of the disappeared is itself a crime that leaves families and entire communities of victims in a state of frozen mourning. The crime thus continues until the State identifies the whereabouts or fates of the disappeared.

Participants at the Rome Conference (the “framers” of the ICC) had considerable difficulty drafting Article 24, which eventually provided: “[N]o person shall be criminally responsible under this Statute for conduct prior to [July 1, 2002].” Some participants suggested that “[c]are should be taken not to bar prosecution” of acts that “began before but continued after the entry into force of the Statute.” One delegate even proposed to append the words “unless the crimes continued after that date” in order to ensure jurisdiction over continuing crimes, like enforced disappearance. This interpretation of Article 24 would permit ICC prosecution of pre-2002 disappearances in Uruguay, so long as the whereabouts or fates of the disappeared remain concealed. According to William Schabas, the chair of the Working Group on General Principles eventually resolved the highly contentious and “unresolvable” question of temporal jurisdiction over continuing crimes by avoiding the issue altogether and essentially leaving the issue open for interpretation.[3]

An analysis of the proceedings at the Rome Conference and reconsideration of the temporal and legal status of criminal enforced disappearance suggests that there may be no concrete legal bar to prosecuting Uruguay’s generals in the ICC. The normative issues are much more difficult as extraterritorial prosecution arguably tramples Uruguay’s sovereignty and calls into question the viability of amnesty as a tool for negotiating transition to peace after civil conflict. Questions arise: Would future repressive regimes be willing to cede power knowing that amnesty laws will have no effect in the international sphere? Is it appropriate for the ICC, with its mandate to promote peace as well as justice, to assume the risks associated with the investigation of crimes that occurred decades ago? The real question, in other words, is what type of international court do we want?



[1] Mark Freeman, Necessary Evils: Amnesties and the Search for Justice (Cambridge University Press, 2009).


[2] Lawrence Weschler, A Miracle, A Universe: Settling Accounts with Torturers (University of Chicago Press, 1998), 198.


[3] William Schabas, An Introduction to the International Criminal Court (University of Chicago Press, 2011), 198.

On September 4, I attended a talk at UNM by Michael Hammer, Ambassador-Designate to Chile and former Assistant Secretary of State for Public Affairs, entitled “U.S. Foreign Policy and Why it Matters to You”. Hammer gave an overview of the main duties of the State Department and discussed its ‘strategic priorities’ in advancing U.S. interests abroad. He highlighted several U.S. programs, including economic partnerships such as free trade agreements, jobs diplomacy to advance the interests of American companies abroad, empowerment of women and girls, and digital diplomacy. He finished by telling the audience members why they might want to work for the State Department, citing the foreign language skills that its employees develop, the experience of living in new cultures, and the variety and change of moving to new posts every 2-3 years. 

Throughout his talk, Hammer emphasized the State Department’s commitment to promoting U.S. interests abroad. All of the priorities that he mentioned were expressed in terms of protecting U.S. national security, creating jobs in the U.S., and forging ties with other nations in order to enhance shared interests.The rhetoric of self-interest was juxtaposed with the stated priorities of promoting ‘democracy’ and ‘human rights’ in Latin America and around the world. 

As a student of Latin American Studies who has grown up during the age of the so- called ‘War on Terror’, I am skeptical of this rhetoric. The war in Iraq, Guantanamo Bay, and the School of the Americas are just a few examples of the discrepancy between U.S. foreign policy and its oft-stated goals of democracy and human rights. This week marks the 40th anniversary of the U.S.-backed coup in Chile that overthrew the democratically-elected president, Salvador Allende on September 11, 1973. In this case, U.S. self-interest was carried out in opposition to democracy and human rights. Similarly, in Nicaragua, Guatemala, Haiti, Argentina, El Salvador and many other Latin American countries, democracy and human rights were inconsistent with the self- interest of the U.S. government. 

A more recent example of this inconsistent rhetoric is clear in Hammer’s discussion of economic trade deals, which similarly highlighted the conflict between U.S. self-interest and human rights. Over the last two months, hundreds of thousands of Colombians have taken to the streets in protest of the U.S.-Colombia Free Trade Agreement. Some of the demands of small farmers result from their inability to “compete with low-price food products imported under free trade agreements with the United States and the European Union,” among other demands (See article on Truth.org ). The Free Trade Agreement was approved even though Colombia is considered to be “the most dangerous place on earth to be a union member” (See article on ITU website). However, when Hammer discussed free trade in response to a question from an audience member, he emphasized that the “net benefit to the United States far exceeds any negatives.” In other words, U.S. self-interest (and arguably the interests of the Colombian government) takes precedence over the interests of large sectors of the Colombian people whose economic well-being and human rights are severely threatened. 

U.S. national interest also takes the form of military intervention, or more euphemistically military “cooperation”, in Latin America. A prime example of this is in Honduras, where U.S. funding and training of the Honduran police and military is promoted in order to advance its commitment to fighting drug trafficking. However, these U.S. policies are highly controversial, given the horrible human rights record following the 2009 coup d’etat. As Hammer stated, “We have to deal sometimes with governments who do not have pristine human rights records, in fact, they have pretty bad human rights records and what we do as diplomats, what we do as an administration, is try to urge them along, both in terms of private conversations with them in terms of trying to encourage an improvement in human rights.” On the ground, this ‘urging along’ has been ineffective. On the night of May 26, 2012, Ebed Yanes, a 15-year-old boy was killed at a Tegucigalpa checkpoint on his way to visit his girlfriend. The soldiers that killed him were in a special forces unit that the U.S. had trained, funded and vetted to ensure that they were complying with human rights standards (See article in Huffpost). And this is not an isolated incident. Honduras’s recent decision to militarize the police has not changed U.S. funding and support. As History Professor Dana Frank (UC Santa Cruz) points out in a recent article, “The United States...is pouring funds into...Honduran security forces, countenancing a militarization of the Honduran police that has long been illegal here at home, while dismissing Congressional pushback about human rights issues in Honduras” (See article in Miami Herald). In Honduras and elsewhere, the “War on Drugs” continues under U.S. leadership despite widespread human rights violations. 

The discrepancy between the stated goals of the State Department and its effects in Latin America are clear. Why does U.S. foreign policy matter to me? Instead of asking why U.S. foreign policy is in my self-interest, I pose what I believe to be a more pertinent question: Why does U.S. foreign policy matter to those who are most heavily impacted by it, such as Colombian small farmers, Honduran youth, victims of U.S.- sponsored violence and even U.S. military personnel who feel the impacts of war? This is where U.S. self-interest falls short.

There is something interesting cooking in Brazil right now. Traditions are starting to change. The old guard, so keen on replicating the techniques and ingredients of Europe and, to a lesser extent, the United States, are being edged out by those more keen to produce something authentically and honestly brasileiro. To add even more importance to this shift, the eyes of the outside world are starting to take notice, as they should be. But some of these eyes are not watching the ‘vem pa rua’ protests, nor are they watching Brazil’s uphill struggle to accommodate the world and its own citizens as it prepares for the Olympics and World Cup. These eyes are watching a man named Alex Atala.

Alex Atala is a celebrity chef. While the label ‘celebrity chef’ more often than not brings to mind images of acerbic and ego-maniacal TV personalities, Atala seems to be a force for good. Through his restaurantD.O.M in Sao Paulo - ranked as the sixth best restaurant in the world by some - Atala has used his new-found fame to push forward an ideology that is centered around the concept of alimento, which can be summed up as a manifesto that ties together environmental and social awareness, things that taste good, and a general sense of well-being. 

Atala and his restaurants champion and use only ingredients that are found within Brazil, particularly the Amazonian Basin. Within culinary terms, this is, while not being entirely unique, not the road most travelled. Atala’s approach stands in contrast to the many menus that are flecked with ingredients that have crossed at least an ocean, if not more. While it is enjoyable, if ultimately curious, to be able to experience sushi in New Mexico, quinao in Georgia, or bananas in Alaska, there is something to be said about food that has a sense of place, what the French call terroir. Whereas the idea of terroir was once a superfluous term – of course people ate what was nearby, as there was no way of getting anything else – this idea contributed to the formation of ‘cuisine’ itself. Cuisines formed not because of preference, but because of the availability of resources. Foodstuffs, techniques, and climate all figured into the development of what we now see as cohesive cuisines. Atala pushes against the amorphous ‘global cuisine’ and looks at the ground that supports his feet. Yet even for those who question the importance of food in the human experience, Atala’s manifesto has had tangible socio-economic impacts in parts of Brazil. By using his celebrity, Atala has helped support and publicize small, agricultural ventures. These grassroots organizations often produce exotic and localized foodstuffs, often far away from Brazil’s major metropolitan areas and outside the reach of the nominal market.

Atala’s style of cooking rejects contemporary, scattered cuisine and draws from the greatest culinary tradition of all: that of the marginal. His menus are defined by regionally specific ingredients such as manioc, nameless river fish, ants, and the infinite flora of the Amazonian Basin. But more important than his ingredients are his sources. Atala and his newly formed Instituto ATÁ – an organization about humanity’s relationship to food – seek to enhance the socio-economic and cultural meaning of food by forging partnerships with Amazonian communities, assisting in the development of small-scale agro-businesses, and espousing the larder of the Amazon. 

Celebrity chefs are not in short supply; however chefs who are changing the social, economic, and cultural relationships with food are. Atala represents a break from the old guard, from those who reside over an empire of restaurants and guest appearances. But perhaps what is most important to take from Atala is his self-awareness, of his consciousness of the earth that feeds him and of his fervor to pay his respects. Even more so, he seems to perceive the fragile, but essential, string that holds our entire food system together, to go outside what is wrapped in plastic, to forge bonds with people who are not wrapped in plastic, and create art and nourishment that pays tribute to both the land and the honest people who work it. While Brazil no doubt influenced him tremendously, his manifesto is not tied to any particular place, but can be applied where people can see the dirt between their toes. Maybe we should all, from time to time, look down instead of forward to find our next meal. 

                                                                             Here is the manifesto of Instituto ATÁ:
A relação do homem com o alimento 
precisa ser revista.
Precisamos aproximar o saber do comer, 
o comer do cozinhar, o cozinhar do produzir, 
o produzir da natureza; 
agir em toda a cadeia de valor, 
com o propósito de fortalecer os territórios 
a partir de sua biodiversidade, agrodiversidade 
e sociodiversidade, para garantir 
alimento bom para todos e para o ambiente.

The relation between man and food 
must be revised.
We need to bring closer knowledge and eating 
eating and cooking, cooking and producing, 
producing and nature, 
working in the whole value chain, 
aiming to strengthen the territories 
from their biodiversity, agrodiversity
and sociodiversity, to ensure 
good food to all and to the environment.