A New Spy Scandal: Bond. James Bond.

There’s been a lot of attention recently to the faux pas of the new James Bond film, which filmed Bolivian scenes in Chile with Chilean actors and even Chilean monuments (ironically, marking the victory of Chile over Bolivia in the War of the Pacific). Reporting on it are The Mirror (London), the Telegraph (London), Reuters (UK), Bloomberg (NYC), LA Times (Los Angeles), and This is London (which gives a detailed account of the protest, including Mayor Carlos Lopez of Banquedano driving his car onto the set to disrupt filming, and the most un-Bond-like fleeing of the main actor).

Chileans feel that it was filmed in their country because theirs is more “modern” (see The Mirror article). They object to being dressed up as “Bolivians”, who they see as less educated and more “Indian” (with all the racialism that might imply).

Bolivians are also angry. An open letter (printed in La Razon) by Bolivian Vice-Minister of Cultural Development Pablo Groux objects to the stigmatization of Bolivia as a place unfit for movie filming, as well as to Bolivians as drug lords and narco-trafficantes.

In response to the outcry by both countries, the film’s co-producer, Michael G. Wilson, stated the film was “set in Bolivia because the narrative for the story wouldn’t work in Chile” (quoted in the Bloomberg article). The plot has something to do with drug trafficking and an attempt at a military coup. This makes the filmmakers’ claims of ignorance ring true, since they are not only unaware of the history of the War of the Pacific, but, it seems, they also know little about Chile under Pinochet. Certainly Mayor Carlos Lopez of Banquedano had Pinochet in mind: “For a town that has just 1,000 residents, sending in special forces and water cannon, preventing people from walking in the street, reminded me of the worst of the Pinochet years,” Lopez was quoted as saying in the Reuters article.

Since some of the portrayed villages are also coastal fishing villages, one also wonders if the filmmakers’ are aware that Bolivia is currently landlocked, or whether they are going to try to fool their audiences into thinking that the Pacific Ocean is really Lake Titicaca.

But what bothers me is the underlying North Atlantic assumption that this is a strange case of nationalism gone awry, of people hung up on events of the deep past. The War of the Pacific ended in 1883; most Americans think that would be — and should be — old news, and wonder why Bolivians and Chileans alike still think these events are relevant to their lives. For example, the LA Times says this is something the two countries “haven’t gotten over” — a throwaway comments that dismisses why it might be seen as still relevant.

I can’t speak to this from a Chilean viewpoint (it would be great if someone would). But for Bolivians I spoke to, the War of Pacific is important because it is seen a turning point in their own history, a turning point that leads to their increasing impoverishment and marginalization. The loss of the sea coast has become a symbol of something much larger: Bolivia’s position in a world economy, and the constant struggle of the majority of her citizens against poverty.

The Litoral is commemorated at civic ceremonies throughout the highlands, especially by schoolchildren. Throughout their education, children are taught that the Litoral is part of Bolivia. They march in the Dia del Mar. They write letters to the President of the U.N. They receive Jimmy Carter, a supporter of the cause.

But the most eloquent expression of this is during local civic ceremonies, such as for Bolivian independence day on August 6. I watched the celebrations in the small, altiplano village where I did fieldwork. The children did quasi-military marches around the town square, pausing to allow chosen pairs of boys and girls, dressed in the tipico dress of one of the nine Bolivian provinces, perform short dances to recorded music. It was a clear message – Bolivia is the sum of the regions, cultures, and peoples who make it up.

But there was another message. When these children were done performing, the Litoral was remembered. She is always a girl, dressed in a long, black, nondescript dress, in shackles fashioned of cardboard. She walks slowly, sadly, dirge-like music crackling from the small boom box. The mood transforms from festive to contemplative. She is not the past. She is the present – Bolivia feminized as a damsel in distress, captive to foreign powers, unable to laugh, dance, or even reproduce.

“The past is not dead. It is not even past.” William Faulkner was right. And once we recognize that, so much outcry over a mere adventure flick seems very reasonable.