El Salvador is in the thick of a political campaign, and I’m going to comment on it, albeit with a caveat. Peace Corps is an apolitical organization, and as such PCVs are prohibited from engaging in political activities or publicizing their preferences with respect to host-country politics. I wholeheartedly agree with this rule. If Peace Corps staff or volunteers were found (or even perceived) to be meddling in local political campaigns, the challenge of establishing trust in the communities where we operate would be all the more difficult. Maintaining trust with the national governments of host countries is also essential, as Peace Corps serves at their invitations and political activity on the part of Peace Corps could result in a withdrawal of host country government support for Peace Corps. In the spirit of this apolitical obligation, I’m not going to betray my leanings on matters related to these upcoming elections, nor levy the criticisms of local politicians that I keep tightly bottled up inside.
Campaigning is currently underway for El Salvador's 84-seat Legislative Assembly and the mayors of the each of the country’s 262 municipalities. Delegates to the Central American Parliament (Parlacen) will also be chosen, though the Parlacen is not a widely understood or influential institution. Voting will be held on March 1.
Perhaps the defining quality of a Salvadoran political campaign (at least in provincial El Salvador, which leads me to a second caveat: my analysis is limited to how things are outside the capital region, which hosts over 30% of El Salvador’s population and boasts higher education and income levels than the rest of the country) is the noise, as my fellow PCV Daniel discusses in his blog. Ageing pickups with massive concert speakers strapped to their beds and adorned with party flags do laps around town blasting political anthems with little regard for anyone’s post-lunch siesta. Campaigns also commonly host dances, a tactic that consists of transforming a block of road in the middle of town into a temporary nightclub that winds down only around two or three in the morning. Between each bass-heavy Swedish house music track, the DJ puts in a plug for the sponsoring candidate. Inevitably, most residents within a five block radius hear this DJ’s appeal, as few possess the wherewithal to sleep during what is essentially a night-long, highly-localized earthquake.
To be fair, there is a reasonable amount of good old-fashioned knocking on doors, as well.
In campaigns here, ideas are discussed only sometimes. Mayoral candidate debates don’t happen outside El Salvador’s few sizable cities, and some candidates opt not to release a platform or even announce so much as a handful of policy proposals. I attribute the non-programmatic nature of these municipal elections in part to the rigidity of party allegiances here. People old enough to have lived through the traumatizing civil war of the 1980s tend to vote for the party that corresponds to the belligerents they supported in the war. Those who supported the military vote for the right-wing ARENA party, and those who supported the guerrillas support the leftist FMLN party. Parents and grandparents tend impress their political affiliations upon their younger family members, so the trend won’t necessarily disappear as today’s adults are replaced by tomorrow’s.
Often one’s leanings were defined by a highly personal and traumatic event. An example would be that the guerrillas killed Pedro’s brother, so Pedro resents the FMLN and will only vote for ARENA (or one of the smaller right-wing parties that have splintered from ARENA in recent years). Pedro’s story and ones like it are all too common; over 70,000 people were killed in the war.
Another event that can solidify one’s political leanings here is bestowal of goods. Seeking re-election votes in a particular cantón (a village forming a small part of a larger municipality), the mayor may print his name on 500 water jugs and distribute them to residents, or hand out toys to the village’s children. An infrastructure project (usually road repair or running water), even if poorly executed, can serve a similar purpose.
Another event that can solidify one’s political leanings here is bestowal of goods. Seeking re-election votes in a particular cantón (a village forming a small part of a larger municipality), the mayor may print his name on 500 water jugs and distribute them to residents, or hand out toys to the village’s children. An infrastructure project (usually road repair or running water), even if poorly executed, can serve a similar purpose.
In short, local campaigns here are often not issue-based because voters don’t demand that candidates tell them where they stand on the issues.
What’s more, there are virtually no local news outlets in El Salvador, so provincial political campaigns and their protagonists receive practically no scrutiny from anyone trained to analyze them in an objective and disinterested manner. I believe very strongly that if El Salvador is to continue its trajectory toward democratic maturation, the development of a local press (and a corresponding reading culture) is essential. Small-town mayors in rural El Salvador are allowed to go about their work in a manner that is essentially unchecked by the media and civil society, and while the extent of the resulting misuse of resources is unknown, it is certainly substantial.
I have been awfully negative up to this point, and it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t give credit where credit is due. Since the conclusion of the civil war in the early 1990s, El Salvador has administered mostly free and fair elections, which is an accomplishment to be applauded. The nonpartisan governmental body charged with planning and running elections has a comprehensive communication strategy whereby it explains how, when and where to vote. It seems to reach even the most isolated households. Furthermore, many young people participate in campaign activities, which is heartening to see. There is a serious dearth of extra-curricular activities for youth in provincial El Salvador (a problem compounded by a brief 4.5 hour school day), and participation in campaigns provides opportunities for teenagers to develop skills and self-confidence.
I could carry on about Salvadoran politics, but instead I’ll conclude with one interesting observation. In the United States, we’re used to a reasonably pronounced urban-rural split when it comes to voting patterns. Urban dwellers are more liberal and trend Democratic, while rural dwellers are usually more conservative and tend to favor Republicans. Suburbs, meanwhile, run the gamut from very liberal to very conservative, depending largely on the region of the country in which they’re located. Here, because voting is in large part non-ideological and often based on personal experiences, political divisions do not occur specifically along urban-rural lines.
The quick updates I’ve promised:
- Tourism: I’ve recently started participating in a regional tourism coordinating body that convenes hotel and restaurant owners. The organization is engaged in developing and implementing a regional tourism strategy. It has been very interesting so far, and I love being surrounded by aspirational and ambitious professionals who are committed to improving their lot.
- Entrepreneurship: As soon as the campaign is over (which is very soon; voting is on March 1), hopefully my counterpart who is planning to open a gourmet café in town will put the pedal to the metal on that project. I have secured a $500 grant for her to acquire startup equipment and she has managed to pull in some consulting resources from an NGO. I’m excited about it and my expectations are high, which is never good in Peace Corps.
