Foreign researchers as fat-stealers

Well, tonight felt awkward. Having arrived in La Paz two days ago I heard through Facebook about the presentation of a book about Kallawaya culture by a woman who works for one of the government ministries and who is from one of the Kallawaya communities.
It felt awkward, because of the references the author made in speech to the foreign authors who came to Kallawaya communities, putting their voice recorders in people's faces, asking questions, and expecting the locals to answer. When she referred to researchers coming from Germany and the United States and writing books and not leaving copies of their research with the Kallawayas I half expected her to point to me sitting halfway up the auditorium - and that Englishman over there. When I entered the auditorium I sat behind a friend of mine from the same community who I had got to know during my year doing fieldwork research. At one point during the speech, he turned around to me and asked me "and when are you going to present your book?". "A good question," was all I could think to reply. The author went on to say that when she, in conjunction with others who had the idea of writing the book, had sat down to look for works they could reference, they didn't have access to the work that had been written on the Kallawayas by foreign researchers. They had had to find those works in libraries in La Paz. She went on to refer to foreign researchers, who she said came to steal their knowledge, as kharisiris. Kharisiris are a type of vampire who is believed in the Andes to steal people's fat, viewed in the Andes as the vital life source.
"Why can't we write for ourselves?", she asked, "this book isn't for others, it is for ourselves, the Kallawayas". I couldn't help but reflect momentarily on the academic work, which is written about people who might never read it, for journals and read only by other academics. She went on to decry the way that Kallawaya communities were written about in terms of governing themselves through "usos y costumbres" (traditional customs). They are not "usos y costumbres", she explained, they are saberes (knowledge).
She related how she had been invited to an event in Germany to represent Bolivia, and while there had been to visit a museum exhibit of Kallawaya culture. Apparently she had asked to be able to take a photo, but had been told that she would have to pay if she wanted to take photos. "But this is my culture, these are my acsu, my clothing", she replied. She also recounted how she had been to Copacabana and had seen a photo of herself on a postcard, taken when she was younger, on sale. She asked the salesperson to give her the postcard, because that was her in the photo. There was a caption describing her as a "poor woman". Naturally, the salewoman wouldn't give her the postcard, telling her that she had had to pay for the postcards herself from the "author" of the photo. "But I am the author", she said, "I am in the photo!" reflecting on the authorial rights of the subject.
After the speech was over, I followed several others to ask the author to sign my copy of the book, and told her it was great that she had written it. She thanks me warmly for coming, and me when I would be visiting her community. Later I asked her if I had sent her a copy of my thesis, and told her I would send her a copy. "No, you still haven't", she replied (though I had given badly translated copies of my thesis to the people who had appeared in or help me the most with the research for my thesis when I visited Bolivia last year).

It was a great speech. I sat there wishing that I had brought my voice recorder with me so that I could have recorded it. It would have made great material for a journal article.    

Seating arrangements #2

As a follow up to the post I wrote in March last year http://jonicito-theowlofminerva.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/seating-arrangements.html, today in the Social Anthropology department seminar I was amused and surprised to notice the gender segregated nature of the seating arrangements in the room. Almost everyone on one side of the room was male (11 our of the 14 people sitting on that side of the room). While almost everyone sitting on the other side of the room was female (12 out of the 13 people on that side of the room). There were two people sitting in the middle at the other end of the table from the speaker, who sat contrary to this pattern, but I am discounting them because they were in the middle.

I tried to analyse why and how this seating arrangement came to be, and couldn't find a good answer. It seemed ironic that the topic of the seminar itself concerned a kind of gender segregation itself as it dealt with female Roman Catholics whose chosen role within the Catholic church had been rejected by the church itself.  

I wondered if it was anything to do with the (male) head of department sitting on what I am now thinking of as the male side of the room, and the rest of the men in the department following. I am assuming that the first men and women to sit on either sides of the room were then followed unconsciously by those that sat down afterwards according to their gender.