I'm from a tiny country, in the heart of South America, called Paraguay. It's not as small as Uruguay, but for some reason, Uruguay is more known than Paraguay. Well, the reason is that Paraguayans have given up.
In order to understand the 'surrender' of Paraguayans to our current situation in the country and the world, it's crucial to know about the war that ruined us, and left us for dead. La Guerra de la Triple Alianza (The Triple Alliance War).
So, the thing is that this horrid war, was one which, objectively we had no chance of winning at all, even though we were the most advanced country in South America at the time; we had the first metallurgy factory and the first train and railway system. And yet the odds were stacked against us because of who those allied against us were. Brazil, the largest country in South America; Argentina, the second largest, and Uruguay, the tiny country that tipped the scales, were all allied against Paraguay.
Why did this happen? Well, the bare-bones explanation is: country demarcations. Paraguay shares borders with Bolivia, Brazil, and Argentina. There were conflicts going on with our shared borders with Brazil and Argentina. Cariocas (people from the region of Brazil where our shared border is) kept sacking the villages we had near the border. We kept defending ourselves; same thing with porteños (people from Argentina). Brazil said, "This is bullshit. We're the better country, that land is ours, and you [Paraguay] are going to give it to us." Argentina said basically the same thing. Uruguay wasn't really involved yet, but we opened a communication line with them and they promised to aid us in case anything went south. Everything went south, including our makeshift alliance with Uruguay.
Brazil and Argentina started attacking, we defended ourselves, and everything went to shit. We sent missiles to Uruguay asking for help and they shrugged and said, "Sorry, dude. Brazil and Argentina threatened us and we're tiny. We won't risk our necks for you. We want to, though, if that helps." It didn't. We hailed Bolivia, and they raised their hands in a gesture of surrender, "You're so fucked, man. We like you, but not that much." So we were alone fighting a war against Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay. They ravaged my country.
We won some battles, yes. But nothing was ever enough. Our troops were decimated; our hope murdered. So much so, that around the end, there weren't enough men left in the army; around 3,000, and that was about it. One more battle, and we were left with 1,000; not enough to fight the next one. So kids dressed up as men. They painted mustaches and beards on their faces, wore big clothes, and had rifles bigger than themselves strapped onto their backs. Old men dusted off their boots and straightened up and marched with them. Women chopped off their hair and put on trousers and boots and caught up to the makeshift army. They did this twice. The second time, La Batalla de Acosta Ñu (our national Día del Niño), was the worst, and our last stand. Everyone that went, was slaughtered. And those that weren't killed in battle, died when the captain of the Brazilian army sent soldiers back to slit the surviving kids' throats. We were utterly, and completely defeated.
Of course, after their victory, both Brazil and Argentina razed our capital, Asunción, for their spoils of war that they felt they rightly deserved. The last remaining Paraguayan lieutenant managed to evacuate almost the whole city before the Brazilians arrived. That is the only reason why Paraguay is still a country on the map.
The Aftermath
So, you see, we weren't left with much after the war. There was about 1 man per every 3 women. You can imagine how that ratio affected the value of men in our society, despite the fact that it was women who built the country back up since there weren't enough men to do it. There weren't many children left either, to grow into young men to help develop the Paraguayan population, so the women really had to get a man to bear children with, and there weren't enough for all of them. So all of the young men left were raised on ridiculously high pedestals. They would sit around drinking tereré, scratching their butts, and have sex every once in a while. Life was good (ish) -- as much as it could be after the horrors the country had been through. It was the biggest boost the Paraguayan patriarchy could have ever received.
And so, men started thinking, "If we were so strong and advanced, and could still be reduced to this, is there ever any hope for us to be a great country again?" Despite the pride in our nationality, our hope for a good future for our country was relatively gone. There was though, a huge pride in our women, in their roles in the household, in their role in building the country back up. But they were still women. So that pride remained, but their autonomy, as the rebuilding of the country progressed through the next generations of kids grown into men, diminished.
Life in Paraguay
I was lucky enough that I was born in the upper class of Paraguay. I was a part of the 'one percenters' -- which is literally the case because our class disparity is huge, the middle class is rising, but very slowly and practically non-existent in Paraguayan society.
"And somewhere, in his secret English heart, being a good deal of a soldier, he believed they were right to resent the difference. He felt himself a little in the wrong for having all the advantages. Nevertheless he represented a system, and he would no be shoved out" (Lady C's Lover, Lawrence, 167).
Despite the fact that I had so many advantages and could have easily been raised in a 'rich bubble' my parents -- thankfully -- didn't let me. My dad 'pulled himself up by his bootstraps,' and my mom's family is 'old money.' With the differences in their upbringings and their life stories, they were able to give me a more wholesome education; in the sense that my mom taught me how to behave in and how upper class society works, and to be aware of our different reality than that of the majority of our country, and my dad taught me how to not be Clifford, i.e. not to be awkward with those differences, but to be comfortable in interacting with different classes and not rub our standing in society in other people's faces.
I went to The American School of Asuncion (ASA), the most 'prestigious' school in the country. The reputation that the students from ASA have (snobby assholes who live in their rich bubble, judgy dicks, and more descriptors along those lines) followed me around everywhere. It was mostly true, though, what people said of ASA kids; the only thing is that there were still some 'normal' people among those snobby assholes. Like me, like the friends I had, like some other people that pretended to be snobs in order to fit in, but were actually nice kids. Because of the fact that our reputation was mostly very applicable to my classmates, I didn't really go out with them on weekends, or hang out with them outside of school; but rather I made friends with people from other schools, which was extremely hard when you have a huge sign on top of your head saying, "ASA kid = bitchy." And so when going out with people from outside the school, I had to do my best to either avoid saying that I went to that school, or if they knew, then to keep the conversation going on long enough for them to realize I wasn't actually a bitchy snob, despite the fact that I was an ASA kid.
In school, nobody could understand how I had such friends; meaning that they didn't understand how I didn't give a shit about what school they went to or where they lived or what their house looked like or what brands they wore. This intense focus and fixation on class position is one that we inherited from the war. We were so poor and beaten down, that when someone actually gained something, they clung to it as hard as they could.
We are all so aware of the difference classes and the people that belong to those classes. Lawrence's quote is one which I can definitely relate to, and Paraguayan society can, for some parts of it, relate to it as well. I was always well aware of the fact that I was in a car and others went about their days in buses (and I can tell you, that our buses aren't at all like the ones here). I was deeply aware of the fact that there were kids my age working as supermarket bag boys while I was the one buying the supermarket goods that they bagged. And I felt guilty. Because everything I 'owned' was not mine, but my parents', and yet I made use of everything. The only reason that they were bagging the goods and I was the one buying them is because of who my parents are and worked to get, not because of something I have done to deserve it. I've done nothing else but be born in a certain home, and them in another. And they're right to resent the difference between my reality and theirs; but the thing is that because of the war, they resent it, but they won't do anything about it. The hopelessness that we inherited from the aftermath of the war is still present in our society. The want for more, but having a sense of no agency to do anything about it.
The resignation; that is the real aftermath of La Guerra de la Triple Alianza.
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