Among the many features of Panamanian society highlighted by the Pandemic — and this is true across the Americas — is the weak or even nonexistent culture of accountability at the highest levels of state power.
In the early days of the crisis, interagency press conferences served as the population's lifeline, providing a flow of information that helped ease collective anxiety. It seemed, at the time, that scientists were in communication with the government and the public, and had established their authority as decision-makers. It seemed, at the time, that the government was finally acting in accordance with the utopian dream of citizen participation.
That illusory moment was short lived. The lack of transparency that began with the limiting of questions at press conferences ended with the conferences’ cancellation and then later randomness. Government management of the crisis continued, but under increasing public scrutiny, as officials betrayed an uneasiness in the face of questions that pointed to failures, bad practices, and even alleged crimes against the wealth of the nation.
The first case to come to light involved the purchase of medical supplies for state hospitals. Respirators bought at abnormally high rates (a cost overrun of roughly 900 percent) raised questions. Then there was the construction of the new hospital, which raised even more questions. Then the National Assembly altered the pay and benefits of its deputies, as the Comptroller General remained conveniently silent. The situation seems to embody the popular saying, “throw the stone and hide the hand”—the confusion and political turbidity a result of corruption and incompetence.
This underhanded attitude was a feature not only of the government's management of the crisis, but of its approach to the enforcement of containment measures as well: those in power do not follow the rules, simply because they do not want to. Despite mandated restrictions, there were parties, meetings, birthday celebrations, TV commercials, barbecues.
The enraged response of the population dominated headlines. New and non-traditional media outlets led the charge against the shameless actions of officials and public figures. Despite the risk of contagion, youth and adults alike felt an urgent need to communicate their disapproval and took to the streets in protest.
The extraordinary loans totalling US$ 7 billion were celebrated at first, but these funds have not been equally distributed, and there is a persistent sense that they have financed the whims and desires of more than a few.
Crazy things were done with the national wealth, because party politics is understood as a gratuitous antagonism with no room for either science or conscience.
The pandemic amplified, suddenly and violently, what we had all been determined to ignore: we are governed by racist, classist, macho, homophobic, xenophobic and corrupt rulers. This year, each of these characteristics was in the headlines. International incidents of police brutality forced us to think about how we address the issue in Panama: badly, very badly.
The crisis caused by the outbreak of the virus made it clear that the administrators of collective wealth do not think in terms of the collective. Underlying crises—inequality, a weak justice system, public disorder—compounded the acute dangers of the October storms.
Which brings us to another highlight from 2020: In Panama, demagogy is as abundant as butterflies. (The name “Panamá” is said to mean “abundance of butterflies”). This is something we have in surplus. A historic year for abundant cartoons and memes, playing out a familiar tragedy. In the absence of voluntary, reliable, constant and real information, inconvenient truths can be told with adjectives or parables that poison public opinion. The circus of information secrecy goes on without end, degrading the character of the government and served up by social media like feed for the masses.
In sum, 2020 has shown that the relationship between rulers and the ruled remains firmly anchored in a colonial mindset: Those who govern see themselves as masters, feel that they have no need to justify what they do, and even consider it an affront when the downtrodden protest and question their power. The response is also a colonial one—a rebellion of Maroons, asserting claims to dignity and demanding justice and accountability.
2021 has the potential to be a better year for everyone, but if it is, it will be thanks to those who ask tough questions, and who refuse to settle for bread and circuses.
*Miroslava Herrera is a journalist and artist.
*Translated by Max Granger
