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Search resuls for: "Maria Magdalena Arréllaga"


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Up the wooden gangplank in a single-file line, nearly an entire Indigenous village squeezed onto the Aquidaban’s front deck. The Tomárahos had taken the boat downriver to vote in Paraguay’s national elections, and then had slept outside for four days, waiting for the Aquidaban to take them home. Now, more than 200 of them squatted on overturned buckets, crowded on hammocks and sprawled on the floor. No one was quite sure how many life jackets were aboard, but just about everyone was sure the Tomárahos outnumbered them. “Ever since I was a kid, there was always the Aquidaban,” said Griselda Vera Velazquez, 33, a craftswoman in the Tomáraho village, where there is no road.
Persons: , , Griselda Vera Velazquez Locations: Tomáraho
The Espinillo Indigenous community is 13 miles from the nearest polling station — and no one in the village has a car. “We want to look after them,” he said, standing watch with six young men he called colleagues. Then, after dark, The Times found a distinctive type of vote-buying, developed over decades, on blatant display. Mr. Paredes, 65, and his colleagues gathered some of the Indigenous people and took down their identification numbers. The young men then walked the Indigenous people through a simulation of Paraguay’s voting machines on a phone, guiding them to vote for Colorado candidates.
They arrived just before midnight, carrying machetes and hoes, hammers and sickles, with plans to seize the land. When the 200 activists and farm workers got there, the ranch was vacant, overgrown with weeds, and the farm headquarters empty, except for a stray cow. On a recent Sunday, children rode bicycles on new dirt paths, women tilled soil for gardens and men pulled tarps onto shelters. The siblings who inherited the 370-acre ranch want the squatters gone. The new tenants say they aren’t going anywhere.
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