CHAPTER 41
A Coup against Fundación Pachamama
Although the attempted coup against Correa had failed, on another level it had succeeded. I figured the jackals had learned from that other “failed” coup in Seychelles that sometimes it is better to let a president survive. Sufficiently scared, he or she then plays the game, joins the ranks of all those other heads of state who know that to resist is futile. In any case, Correa had reversed his previous position and had posted “for sale to oil companies” signs on more than six million acres in thirteen areas of the Amazon, known as “blocks.”
Yet, something had gone wrong. The opposition to the oil auction had weakened Correa’s resolve — or at least forced him to change his plans. He had vacillated. He had postponed the auction twice since November 2012.
By the time I returned from Vietnam and Istanbul, the oil companies and their public relations people had swung into action. The articles I read online, in the Spanish newspapers and blogs, shook me to the core. They were reminiscent of articles that had appeared during the Roldós presidency. They were aimed at convincing the Ecuadorian people who lived in the heavily populated Andean and coastal regions that the only way their country could finance better schools and hospitals and build the infrastructure needed to develop energy, transportation, water, and sewer systems — the only way it could raise itself from poverty — was through exploitation of its Amazonian oil. The argument was made, over and over, that although Ecuador was one of the poorest and most densely populated countries in the hemisphere, roughly a third of the country was sparsely populated. That third happened to be a rain forest rich with oil.
I traveled the spectacular road from Quito to Shell and, from there, by small plane and canoe, deep into Achuar territory, in the summer of 2013. I found that the Achuar and their neighbors — the Huaorani, Kichwa, Sápara, Shiwiar, and Shuar — were frightened, incensed, and most of all, determined to protect their lands. They understood the immense value of the rain forest — not just to them but also to life on this planet. They referred to the forest as both the heart and the lungs of the earth. They pointed out that, in addition to being worth protecting for its own sake, the forest is one of the most biodiverse places on earth, a defense against carbon dioxide poisoning of the atmosphere, and a place where as-yet-unidentified plant species offer potential cures for cancer and other diseases.
Bill Twist and the staffs of the Pachamama Alliance and Fundación Pachamama were spending lots of time, energy, and money supporting the indigenous people of the region. They let those people know that many of us who are the biggest consumers of oil were on their side, that we were trying to convince Americans and Europeans to consume less and to pressure oil companies to stay out of the Amazon basin.
For me, it was another opportunity to redeem the sins of my past. I’d heard the false stories in the late 1960s about how Texaco would benefit the country. I’d been one of the EHMs who had encouraged the military dictators of the 1970s to swamp their countries with debt. I’d tried to woo Jaime Roldós into our ranks. I’d felt the horrible pangs of guilt; now I’d committed to action. One of those actions was to increase my involvement with the Pachamama Alliance.
I joined Bill, Lynne, and some of our key supporters in developing a plan to help Correa. We understood that he was in a difficult position. We hoped to organize a summit that would be hosted by the president and that would show him to be a reasonable man who wanted to find alternatives to the oil auction.
During this same period, the indigenous people launched their own campaigns. Supported by Fundación Pachamama, they marched from their rain forests over the Andes to the capital, picketed the presidential palace, and demanded that Correa cancel the oil auction. The protests were reported by media around the world. None of the efforts deterred Correa. He went ahead with the auction in November 2013.
However, something miraculous happened. Most oil companies stayed away. Not a single US-based one showed up. Bids were placed on only four of the thirteen blocks. As an oil company executive admitted to me, “It just isn’t worth the risk of all the bad publicity.”
Ecuadorians living on the heavily populated coast and in the Andes, those who had come to believe that oil was the catalyst for economic growth, were disappointed and outraged. So were the EHMs and the CIA. Corporate moguls everywhere took notice. What had happened in Ecuador was just one more sign that consciousness was changing and that when poor people who had been marginalized in the past united, they had power.
Correa was in a bind. His presidency and perhaps his life hung in the balance. In December 2013, needing a scapegoat, he sent his police to the offices of Fundación Pachamama. Dressed in street clothes, looking like ordinary citizens, fifteen officers suddenly appeared at the door, flashed their badges at Executive Director Belén Paez, ordered the dissolution of the organization, and drove everyone out. They locked the doors and sealed them with stickers that accused the organization of destabilizing the government. Then the police demanded that Fundación Pachamama donate its computers, its desks — all its assets — to other organizations. Although the government never arrested any of our staff, on several occasions they followed and harassed Belén and other individuals.
I traveled to Ecuador after the closing of our offices. I met with Fundación Pachamama’s supporters and with representatives from other nonprofit and nongovernmental organizations. Needless to say, we all were extremely upset with Correa. Organizations and individuals that had previously supported him now publicly condemned his actions. Although I agreed with them, something else gnawed at me.
I kept thinking about the man, Rafael Correa. Who had gotten through to him? What was he facing? I knew there was more to the story than the one we were hearing and telling ourselves.
Late one afternoon, I sat alone in the place where I’d been the dinner guest of the Texaco seismologist during my first week in this country, four decades earlier — the restaurant at the top of the Hotel Quito (formerly the InterContinental). Now, once again, I was treated to a spectacular view of Pichincha, hovering over the city. As the sun cast a shadow that crept down the face of the volcano, I thought about the hope that oil had seemed to offer this country in 1968. I thought about Correa’s world.
Much as I hated his change of heart and his actions against Fundación Pachamama, I understood. He knew he could not beat big oil, that he had to compromise, keep his job, and fight battles he had a chance of winning. Otherwise, he would be overthrown, like Honduran President Zelaya and so many others before him, or assassinated, like the president whose memory he so often invoked, Jaime Roldós. Correa was smart enough to realize that if he was taken out, he’d be replaced by a CIA puppet.
In fact, Correa had accomplished a great deal. He’d been in office for nearly eight years, a milestone for a country that had experienced eight presidents in the decade before him. He’d invested a lot of money in public programs. He’d created Buen Vivir, a government agency charged with ascertaining that everything done by every branch of government contributed to making a good life for all Ecuadorians.1 He’d exhibited amazing courage when he defied Washington by closing the largest US military base in Latin America and renegotiated oil contracts to the detriment of the oil companies and for the benefit of his people. His example set new standards. During his administration, the thirty thousand Ecuadorian plaintiffs won their lawsuit against Chevron (now the owner of Texaco); the company was found guilty in an Ecuadorian court and was fined $9.5 billion (although Chevron continues to employ an army of lawyers to fight this decision).2 A new constitution was approved — the first in the world to protect the inalienable rights of nature. According to World Bank data, the poverty rate declined from 32.8 percent in 2010 to 22.5 percent in 2014.3
One of the things that most impressed me was the way this PhD economist stood up to the Western magnates of debt. He appointed a debt audit commission to review the legitimacy of the loans taken on by previous heads of state — especially by the CIA-supported dictators who were in power during my early EHM days. The commission uncovered many instances of “illegality and illegitimacy” in the country’s foreign obligations.4 Correa refused to make a $30.6 million interest payment, choosing instead to send his country into default and to incur the wrath of the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and Wall Street.
As it turned out, the “illegality and illegitimacy” of banking operations was by no means limited to Ecuador. In fact, the United States itself — and just about every country on the planet — had once again been the victims of the criminal activities of some of the world’s most respected financial institutions.