Burning Tires in Cuenca, Ecuador

Diane: Last week on our way to Spanish class, TM and I encountered tires burning in the middle of an intersection about a block from our school. As a result, the police had blocked the road to vehicular traffic and we were tempted to walk in a street devoid of cars. Instead, we changed direction intending to approach the school from the other side. Bill, from the "English Bookstore And Cafe" spotted us first. He assured us that it was not violent and we could walk through safely. Indeed, many people were milling around the general area, talking quietly. Based on what was written on a long sheet staked across the street, this was a worker's strike directed at the government. For about an hour during my Spanish class, I could hear people chanting loudly. By early afternoon, when my class was over, the charred tires had been cleared away and traffic was flowing smoothly again - or as smoothly as it gets here.

It was deja vu the next day. The same intersection. More tires burning. Some chanting. I looked for coverage of the incident in the local papers, but I could only find news of demonstrations in Quito.

A few days later, on our way to the Film Festival, we saw more tires burning. This time they were burning in a major intersection across the river and only two blocks from the theatre. We stopped to watch from the other side of the river. There was a small tank-like vehicle, what people here call a trucutú. Within a couple of minutes, bystanders were throwing rocks at the trucutú. Then everyone was running away from the intersection with the trucutú in close pursuit. With prudence as our guide, we decided to walk along the peaceful cobblestone path that was significantly more than a stones throw across the river from the stone-throwers. From the pedestrian bridge just beyond the theatre, we could see the trucutú turn left, lob some tear gas in the general direction of the stone-throwers, and then continue on its way.

Since all the action seemed to be over, we proceeded to the Festival ticket booth but from around the back. There were a lot of students hanging around the theatre courtyard. Many had shirts wrapped around their heads as if in anticipation of a large amount of tear gas. But no one was selling tickets. Inside the theatre, they assured us that they would be showing the scheduled movie. Eventually, a woman walked out to the ticket booth. We left TM in the theatre lobby and went to buy tickets. Our exchange was interrupted by an agitated Film Festival staff member explaining something in Spanish that I did not follow. Although I had my money extended, the ticket seller seemed distracted. She just looked at me, but didn't take my money. Using my carefully honed observation skills, I looked up and could not help but notice a mob of young people running at top speed in our direction. The three of us fled to the theatre. The agitated staff member was already hurriedly putting a metal bar through the door handles so that no one could get in. When he saw who we were, he let us in, but no one else.

Well the show must go on. With no tickets sold, they decided to show the movie for free to those of us now barricaded inside the theatre lobby. Many people streamed into the theatre courtyard. But for us, the calm theatre beckoned. Even with many schedule changes, we had seen many excellent films over the course of the past week. Thus far my favorites had been "Hubo Una Vez Dos Veranos", "Kikujiro", and "The Weeping Camel". I was looking forward to this afternoon's film, "Los Muertos". As it turned out, this was possibly one of the worst films I have ever seen. It was both slow and coarse, highlighting the vulgar aspects of everyday life.

I was glad to escape the film and the theatre. However, once outside, we were confronted with a very different scene. There were now tires burning in front of the theatre. Next to the tires stood an abandoned city bus. There was graffiti painted on the ticket booth and across the exterior wall of the theatre. There was no traffic along the streets. Groups of students were huddled together making what Tom was sure were Molotov cocktails. The students were animated in their discussions. We figured it was time to get out of there.