MAZAMARI, Peru — Peru’s defense minister has announced an investigation into possible drug-related military corruption following an Associated Press report that Peru’s armed forces were turning a blind eye to daily drug flights to Bolivia.
The official, Jakke Valakivi, said Wednesday evening that the Defense Ministry and the joint armed forces command would jointly conduct the probe.
Peru’s armed forces have failed to effectively impede the ferrying of more than a ton of cocaine a day to Bolivia from the world’s No. 1 coca-producing valley, traffic that has picked up in recent years, according to prosecutors, drug police, former military officers and current and former U.S. drug agents.
In part because of that nearly unhindered air bridge from the Apurimac, Ene and Mantaro river valley, Peru surpassed Colombia in 2012 as the world’s top cocaine exporter.
MAZAMARI, Peru — It happens about four times a day, right under the nose of Peru’s military: A small single-engine plane drops onto a dirt airstrip in the world’s No. 1 coca-growing valley, delivers a bundle of cash, picks up more than 300 kilos of cocaine and flies to Bolivia.
Roughly half of Peru’s cocaine exports have been ferried eastward on this “air bridge,” police say, since the rugged Andean nation became the world’s leading producer of the drug in 2012.
Peru’s government has barely impeded the airborne drug flow. Prosecutors, narcotics police, former military officers and current and former U.S. drug agents say that while corruption is rife in Peru, the narco-flight plague is the military’s failure because it controls the remote jungle region known as the Apurimac, Ene and Mantaro river valley.
Wilson Barrantes, a retired army general who has long complained about military drug corruption, said giving the armed services control over the valley is “like putting four street dogs to guard a plate of beefsteak.”
An Associated Press investigation found that “narco planes” have been loaded with partially refined cocaine at landing strips just minutes by air from military bases in the remote, nearly road-less valley where about two-thirds of Peru’s cocaine originates.
Of the 55 classmates who graduated from his Plaquemines Parish high school in 2005 with Richie Blink only about a half dozen stuck around. Blink tried moving to Baton Rouge, where he worked at the airport and got his pilot’s license, but the land drew him back. What’s left of the land, that is.
Blink won’t quit on the Mississippi River Delta, which is disappearing at the rate of a football field an hour in what some have called the Western Hemisphere’s biggest environmental disaster after the deforestation of the Amazon.
He’s lobbying and cajoling to broaden coastal restoration projects and save the delta from the seeming death sentence rendered by human activity. (View ProPublica project Losing Ground)
One goal is to rebuild a 50-mile buffer against ocean storm surges that has been erased in a single human lifetime, a buffer that might have eased the hurt to New Orleans from Hurricane Katrina.
Blink sets off from the wharf at Buras _ where Katrina made landfall _ in a fisherman’s skiff into a mostly open bay with sparse clumps of marsh grass.
We’re 70 miles southeast of New Orleans on the right bank of the Mississippi. This is the sliver of land, sheltered on both sides by 20-foot-high levees, that those who remain inhabit. Rebuilt homes on the peninsula _ including the high school _ are raised on piles driven deep into sandy soil.
Blink shows us where engineers have built an “oyster break” in the shallow water by the wharf. It’s a concrete honeycomb designed to help rejuvenate the oyster population .
He opens up the throttle and the boat slides through heavily brackish water.
“When I was a kid, this was all little bayous, meandering streams. I spent a lot of time here,” he says.
We pass a working shrimp boat and an old abandoned fishing camp on stilts.
A little more than a decade ago, the place was crawling with alligators and other wildlife, a teeming coastal swamp. Now, the Gulf of Mexico is in charge.
We pull up to a barrier being built by barges that dredge the bottom and hurl muck over the berm. This is land-building. And it’s expensive.
The government has spent $300 million building a barrier a few miles away across more than 30 miles of coastal islands fronting the gulf.
It’s six feet high in some places.
But it’s not holding back the tide. Sea levels are on the rise with global warming. But that’s the least of it.
The reason the Mississippi Delta has been sinking by much as a meter a century is human engineering. It’s part of the reason half of New Orleans is now below sea level.
By stringing levees up and down the length of the Mississippi to protect homes and businesses from flooding, we have robbed the great river of vigor, diminishing the flow of silt that, since the last ice age ended 7,000 years ago, made the delta. Once meandering, the river is now straight-jacketed. Successful river control has degraded coastal wetlands.
The greatest flood danger now comes not from the Mississippi but the ocean, as Katrina proved.
Worsening matters, the energy industry has since the 1930s dug some 20,000 miles of canals in the delta to extract oil and natural gas and service pumping operations.
Add to that as aggravating factor the introduction of an invasive South American rodent, the nutria. It devours root systems _ yet another coastal erosion engine at work.
The toe of the boot that is Louisiana is wasting away. The physical version we know from maps is no longer true. The boot is not solid. It is gossamer.
“This is the dying side of the river,” says Blink. We head back to the marina. Blink runs the skiff up on its trailer.
It’s time to head over to the Mississippi and drop in there. We’ve done the bad news piece of our vanishing coastline tour.
Blink works as Coastal Zone Program Manager for Plaquemines Parish. He ensures coastal restoration projects are built as designed. The job dovetails with his passion of fighting to preserve a peninsula that four in five residents abandoned after Katrina.
They run educational tours of these wetlands in kayaks. And Blink plants cypress trees, well over 10,000 to date, to fight the ravages of sinking soils and salt water seepage.
We cross the Mississippi to its left bank, what Blink calls the bank of hope.
A few locks separate the river here from marshlands and estuaries to the northeast.
But there are also breaches, crevasses they’re called. We drop down one, the boat swirling in a churning whirlpool.
Soon, we are motoring through true tidal marsh. We hear songbirds, see fish jump. Marsh grass, cattails and lotus pods abound. A farmer still grazes cattle on land above one bayou.
Blink navigates into a narrow channel where grass gets caught in the outboard’s propeller.
He is taking us to a cemetery whose graves _ several score _ date back to the 1830s. The most recent is from 1976 and relatives still tend it, cutting the grass and even bringing flowers from time to time.
Blink does his best not to get too heartsick. But he has no illusions.
Stacked up against the coastal reconstruction campaign he champions are an influential lot: oyster and shrimp fishermen, the oil and gas industry.
He realizes that he and others who are bound sentimentally to the disappearing delta and are trying to turn back the rising tide will most likely have to settle, if they want to stick around, for what climate scientists call adaptation.
“Either your house will be on stilts,” he says, “or on an earthen mound.”
We started with a few scripts (computer programlets) written for us by a Twitter programmer who wishes to remain anonymous. They were used to passively identify the bots that instantly retweet hashtags issued by various state- and party-run accounts. Hannah then passed the scripts along to three academic groups, who also used programs of their own.
Most businesses are closed the day before Peru’s Independence Day so it’s a good time to issue a decree that you’d rather people not scrutinize. Except what’s becoming known as “The Stalker Law” is getting plenty of attention.
The Electronic Frontier Foundation’s Katitza Rodriguez wrote that it provides the cops with “detailed footprints of our daily lives.” Most people don’t realize how much data their cellphones collect about them minute by minute. And even if they disable ¨location services¨ on their cellphone, they can´t turn off location tracking. It’s build into the wireless network.
Rodriguez says the surprise decree follows a global pattern of governments encroaching on their citizens’ digital privacy with limited debate.
The government, observed Miguel Morachimo, director of the Peruvian digital rights NGO Hiperderecho, tried to accomplish something similar three years ago in legislation that failed. Now it has achieved what it could not democratically: “To bypass all Peruvians’ right to privacy.” He’s thrown down the gauntlet in this post (Sp.).
Another digital rights legal expert, Erick Iriarte, considered the decree not very well thought out (Sp.). It lets judges retroactively declare inadmissible the geotracking information, which includes who you talked to, where you were, physically, the time and duration of the call. But what happens to the information collected. Can Peru’s police be trusted with it?
President Humala, his Cabinet chief and the ministers of interior and justice signed the decree. No debate in Congress. The same day, a different decree was issued creating the crime of ¨murder-for-hire” in Peru’s legal code.
Humala enters his last year in office as very much the lame duck and with crime worsening. His approval rating in last weekend’s GfK poll was 15 percent.
HUANTA, Peru (AP) — He slides two T-shirts, shorts, canned tuna, toasted corn and boiled potatoes into the rucksack atop 11 pounds of semi-refined cocaine. In a side pocket, a .38-caliber Chinese pistol.
Mardonio Borda is a 19-year-old native Quechua with broken Spanish and a sixth-grade education. But he has at least $125,000 worth of drugs on his back that he will carry out of Peru’s main coca-growing valley. He is among untold hundreds of cocaine backpackers who make the difficult and dangerous trek up Andean mountain paths first carved by their pre-Incan ancestors.
In this country that overtook Colombia in 2012 as the world’s No. 1 cocaine-producing nation, Borda regularly hikes within a few hours of the Machu Picchu tourist mecca, bound for Cuzco with drugs. Sixty percent of Peru’s cocaine comes from the remote Apurimac, Ene and Mantaro river valley, and the backpackers trek for three to five days to deliver cocaine to traffickers who move the drugs on for export. But it is not the lung-searing ascents to high altitudes that worry the young men. It is the armed gangs, crooked police, and rival backpacker groups who regularly rob cocaine’s beasts of burden on journeys that can extend 100 miles (160 kilometers) or more.
“It’s win or lose,” said Borda, “like casino gambling.”
Hauling cocaine out of the valley is about the only way to earn decent cash in this economically depressed region where a farmhand earns less than $10 a day. Beyond extinguishing young lives, the practice has packed Peru’s highland prisons with backpackers while their bosses evade incarceration.
It is a big business. Roughly one third of the 305 metric tons of cocaine that the U.S. government estimates Peru produces each year travels by foot.
This interview with John Markoff, the dean of technology journalism along with Steven Levy and Bruce Sterling, is long-winded but well worth a read. I like, especially, his skepticism on robotics and automation decimating the workforce.
“We’re at that stage, where our expectations have outrun the reality of the technology.”
I agree with him that augmented reality will likely be the next killer app. I think it will be driven by the military-industrial complex. Markoff says it The Next Big Thing may not come from Silicon Valley, which he thinks may have plateaued.
He also bemoans what the current tech bubble has done to northern California. Rents at $3,000 for a one-bedroom apartment. Foreigners buying up luxury condos as investments and leaving them empty. People commuting to work in Wi-Fi equipped buses owned by private companies while the public transportation system crumbles.
I have occupied myself with little else since we learned on Jan. 7 that a provincial prosecutor planned to ask a judge in Nazca to throw our photographer Rodrigo Abd in jail at the request Peru’s Ministry of Culture because he had covered Greenpeace’s Dec. 8 stunt at the Nazca lines.
The court hearing has twice been postponed. It is now set for Jan. 27. We have made our case publicly that Rodrigo and the Reuters videojournalist who also covered the action on assignment should not be jailed during the preliminary investigation. The Foreign Press Association of Peru and the Inter-American Press Association asked that all criminal proceedings be halted against the two journalists.
In a note delivered yesterday to the prosecutor , executive director Kumi Naidoo of Greenpeace International stressed that the journalists “were not involved in the planning, preparations, or execution” of the action, according to spokesman Mike Townsley.
In the note, Townsley told me via email, Naidoo explains Greenpeace’s press strategy/policy a bit.
“A large part of Greenpeace’s force for positive change comes from generating debate about public interest issues. As such, journalists are contacted to independently cover campaign activities. These journalists are always and necessarily independent from these activities. Their independence is derived from journalistic ethics and standards that demand, among other things, telling the story from an objective perspective. It is their independence that gives them their professional credibility. A clear distinction should be drawn between the people organising events and the journalists covering them. The rights of journalists to gather and report on news must be respected and protected.”
The note may sound self-serving, and indeed Greenpeace does cultivate the news media like any organization that seeks publicity. But do consider that Rodrigo’s visual documentation of the Nazca lines action provided people with independent information that helped them assess it and form their own opinions. That’s our role in a free society.
My speech, as delivered on Oct. 15, 2014 in Low Library at
Columbia University. I was one of four recipients of the
2014 Maria Moors Cabot award for excellence in coverage of Latin America.
I want to express my deep gratitude to Columbia University, to the Cabot
jury, to my editors and colleagues at the AP, to Claude Erbsen, who got
me to Bogota in 1996, and to my wife, Ceci. How she puts up with me and
my crazy work schedule is a mystery.
When I moved back to Bogota in 2006, some of my colleagues in New York
had an idea why I might be leaving the AP technology news department,
which I had pretty much built from scratch. A crack, loyal staff, they
knew, awaited me in Bogota, people who called me "jefe." I'll be honest.
I loved the trappings. I loved, most of all, that we had a large,
talented staff. We could be ambitious, comprehensive.
Then came the industry carnage.
Where once we were nine full-time AP English-language staffers in five
Andean countries, now we are three. And that's just English. We try to
adjust, but we cannot pretend to be pleased. Too much goes uncovered.
For all the noise on Twitter, for all the glut of information, U.S.
consumers of international news are simply less informed these days,
particularly from our beloved Americas. Every day, we front-line
journalists must make painful decisions about what we can't cover. Too
often, they are important stories that challenge powerful interests. In
Lima, my home since 2011, local established media tend to ignore such
So how do we ensure that such stories are told?
I'm pleased to report that I have come to know a group of talented,
tenacious and mostly young journalists who give me hope. They are my
colleagues in Peru's fledgling Hacks/Hackers group. They are serious,
idealistic. They are embracing data journalism. They are demanding that
Peru's freedom-of-information law be honored. They are scraping what
little public information is available to coax out news that matters.
And they are getting results.
Recently, some teamed with programmers and scoured the biographies of
the more than 100,000 candidates for the state and local elections that
Peru held this month. They cross-referenced the bios with public
databases. They found convicted embezzlers, deadbeat dads, rapists and
more than a dozen candidates convicted of drug-related crimes.
It was Peru's first big data journalism story. Authorities had no choice
but to react. Some candidates were disqualified. Peru's interior
minister compiled a list of 124 so-called "narco-candidates" under
investigation tried or sentenced for drug-related crimes. But it’s just
a start. Three of those candidates are now governors-elect.
I have great hopes for the young Latin American journalists doing such work.
They deserve our esteem, our attention _ and they deserve some serious
foundation money. It is an honor to shill for them.
And now to my pet peeve.
I am an insufferable geek, and a terrible nag when it comes to digital
security. Just ask my co-workers. If we journalists don't protect our
data we can lose sources in the worst ways. They can lose their jobs.
They can be killed. Not enough news organizations are taking this
seriously enough. We need to invest in solutions and educate staff.
Anyone covering a beat that is even remotely sensitive needs to be using
encrypted communications. And they need to lock down their data.
Editors, too. We must also equip our sources, and the provincial
journalists with whom we often deal. They can face the greatest dangers.
If we are to remain credible _ if we want people to trust us with
delicate data_ we must know how to protect its integrity. Otherwise, the
information war will be ours to lose.