Hyper-development, Waste, and Uneven Urban Spaces in Panama City
Thesis
Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts in the
Graduate School of The Ohio State University
By
Natasha Kimberly Sadoff, B.S.
Graduate Program in Geography
The Ohio State University
2015
Thesis Committee:
Kendra Mc Sweeny, Advisor
Ed Malecki
Becky Mansfield
Copyright by
Natasha K. Sadoff
2015
Abstract
Panama City is experiencing unprecedented urban development, particular in terms of
elite real estate and finance, growth associated with the widening of the canal, and illicit
activities such as money laundering. Not surprisingly, this hyper-growth is exacerbating
environmental hazards whose costs are unevenly borne by residents. A case in point is
the 2013 Cerro Patacón Landfill fire and subsequent air quality crisis. Cerro Patacón is a
landfill just outside the city where regional waste is delivered and stored. In March 2013,
a portion of the landfill caught on fire, releasing harmful toxins into the air for nearly two
weeks. While sooty air engulfed the entire city, it was poor residents who experienced the
greatest impacts of the fire in terms of respiratory and other health conditions. State
response to the fire has not been to address the fundamental question of waste
management or uneven exposure to waste-related hazards. Rather, the Panamanian
government—with international support —is promoting a neoliberal response and
emphasizing that when air quality in the city is poor, residents can ‘choose’ to modify
their behaviors to avoid health risks.
In my thesis, I use political ecology and social metabolism to conceptualize the city,
waste, and development as interdependent and foundationally co-constituting. Using
evidence from ethnographic field work, landscape analysis, participant observation and
other secondary data analysis, I argue that Cerro Patacón and its population are
externalized and vilified by city officials, contributing to and promoting the naturalization
of an unproblematic growth model that denies government accountability, wrongly
ii
blames certain populations, and justifies social exclusion. However resistance –
coordinated or diffuse – is either nonexistent or largely hidden. I argue that hyper-growth
and neoliberal governance have permeated Panama City’s social metabolism and produce
expressly neoliberal subjects, resulting in Panamanians internalizing and accepting what
one would otherwise see as injustice.
iii
Dedication
This thesis is dedicated to my family.
iv
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my advisor, Kendra McSweeney, and my committee
members, Becky Mansfield and Ed Malecki, for their support and academic assistance in
the preparation of this thesis. I would also like to thank my family, friends, and
colleagues in the Department of Geography for their support and encouragement. The
Center for Latin American Studies, the Conference of Latin Americanist Geographers,
and the Department of Geography at The Ohio State University provided financial
support, for which I am very grateful. I appreciate the helpful comments given by the
IRB. I also am thankful to my employer, Battelle, for providing tuition reimbursement for
my studies, allowing me to engage in this work. Finally, I wish to thank my collaborators
in Panama at the University of Panama and Guna Nega for their help in providing me a
glimpse of their lives and city.
v
Vita
2003................................................................New Albany High School
2007................................................................B.S. Environmental Studies, University of
Vermont
2009 to present ...............................................Researcher, Health and Analytics, Battelle
Fields of Study
Major Field: Geography
vi
Table of Contents
Abstract ............................................................................................................................... ii
Dedication .......................................................................................................................... iv
Acknowledgments............................................................................................................... v
Vita..................................................................................................................................... vi
List of Figures ..................................................................................................................... x
List of Tables .................................................................................................................... xii
Chapter 1: Introduction ....................................................................................................... 1
1.1 Introduction and Conceptual Framework ................................................................. 1
1.2 Methods and Evolving Research Questions .............................................................. 4
1.3 Study Objectives and Thesis Structure ..................................................................... 7
Chapter 2: The Political Ecology of Panama City and its Waste ..................................... 10
2.1 Urban Political Ecology .......................................................................................... 11
2.2 Panama City as a Cyborg Place of Flows ............................................................... 13
2.2.1 Social Metabolism ........................................................................................... 14
2.2.2 The Historical Underpinnings of Panama City’s Social Metabolism .............. 16
2.2.3 Global, Hybrid, Cyborg Cities ......................................................................... 23
2.3 Landfills as an Expression of Uneven, Hyper Growth ........................................... 29
vii
2.3.1 Waste in Panama City and Cerro Patacón ....................................................... 30
2.3.2 The Fire ............................................................................................................ 43
2.3.3 Political Ecology of Waste and Landfills ........................................................ 46
Chapter 3: The Logic of Externalization in Panama City ................................................. 50
3.1 Political Ecological Assumptions ........................................................................... 50
3.1 Unpacking the Logic: Neoliberal Governance Strategies ....................................... 53
3.1.1 Targeting Individuals and “Others” ................................................................. 53
3.1.2 Technocratic Solutions..................................................................................... 60
3.1.3 Non-metabolic Dualisms ................................................................................. 65
Chapter 4: A Different Discourse? Resistance and Subjectivities .................................... 72
4.1 Alternative Discourses ............................................................................................ 72
4.1.1 Contesting the Discourse of Externalization…................................................ 73
4.1.2 Through Neoliberal Means .............................................................................. 76
4.2 Resistance ............................................................................................................... 78
4.2.1 Panamanians as Neoliberal Subjects ................................................................ 79
Chapter 5: Conclusion: Social Metabolism and Subjectivities for an Urban Political
Ecology in Context ........................................................................................................... 84
5.1 Review of Main Arguments .................................................................................... 84
5.2 Outstanding Questions ............................................................................................ 86
5.3 Theoretical Implications and Contributions of the Study ....................................... 89
viii
References ......................................................................................................................... 94
Appendix A: Semi-Structured Interview Questions, in English and Spanish .................. 99
ix
List of Figures
Figure 1. Panama City’s downtown .................................................................................... 3
Figure 2. The President visits the Canal. .......................................................................... 18
Figure 3. The Canal Authority building. ........................................................................... 19
Figure 4. The Metro de Panama. ....................................................................................... 23
Figure 5. Government celebrates modernization. ............................................................. 24
Figure 6. The Panama Canal expansion. ........................................................................... 25
Figure 7. Albrook Mall in Panama City............................................................................ 26
Figure 8. Growing Markets ............................................................................................... 27
Figure 9. Map of Panama City .......................................................................................... 31
Figure 10. Cerro Patacón organization. ............................................................................ 32
Figure 11. Contaminated river near Cerro Patacón .......................................................... 34
Figure 12. Guna Nega health center. ................................................................................ 35
Figure 13. President’s plaque for the health center........................................................... 36
Figure 14. Government sign in Guna Nega. ..................................................................... 37
Figure 15. Community sign in Guna Nega ....................................................................... 37
Figure 16. Informal business in Guna Nega. .................................................................... 39
Figure 17. Homes in Guna Nega....................................................................................... 39
Figure 18. Homes near Guna Nega. .................................................................................. 40
Figure 19. Cerro Patacón, 2004 ........................................................................................ 41
x
Figure 20. Cerro Patacón, 2010. ....................................................................................... 42
Figure 21. Cerro Patacón, 2014. ....................................................................................... 43
Figure 22. Panama City during the fire ............................................................................. 44
Figure 23. Cerro Patacón during the fire. ......................................................................... 45
Figure 24. Urbalia outreach .............................................................................................. 56
Figure 25. Urbalia brochure. ............................................................................................. 57
Figure 26. Urbalia brochure. ............................................................................................. 58
Figure 27. Panama cartoon. .............................................................................................. 70
Figure 28. Government cartoon. ....................................................................................... 82
xi
List of Tables
Table 1. Interviews completed. ........................................................................................... 5
Table 2. Literatures in Political Ecology. ......................................................................... 10
Table 3. Key industries and institutions differ from Relational versus Global cities. ...... 28
xii
Chapter 1: Introduction
1.1 Introduction and Conceptual Framework
In the summer of 2014, through my day job at a research and development non-profit
organization (NGO), I was tasked with organizing logistics for a National Aeronautics
and Space Administration (NASA)-funded workshop on air quality communication.
Though the NASA grant focused on air quality issues throughout Latin America, Panama
was chosen as the site of the workshop due to a large landfill fire that had taken place in
March 2013 in the capital city. The Cerro Patacón landfill, just outside Panama City,
receives all city waste (with the exception of Canal-related waste). In March 2013, a
portion of the landfill caught on fire, releasing harmful toxins into the air for nearly two
weeks. According to many sources, while sooty air engulfed the entire city, it was poor
residents—unable to escape to air-conditioned indoors and living closest to the landfill—
who experienced the greatest impacts of the fire in terms of respiratory and other health
conditions (Vega Loo 2013). Further, many economically and socially disadvantaged
populations living near the site did not receive information about reducing their exposure.
Indeed, they were later described as responsible for the event itself and subsequently
blamed for their high risk and exposures. When the Panamanian government addressed
the fire, it was through promoting ‘air quality advisories’ and other individualized
responses to ensure that when air quality in the city is poor, residents can ‘choose’ to
modify their behaviors to avoid health risks.1
The workshop, however, did not address these issues. Rather, in keeping with NASA
expertise, the workshop approached Cerro Patacón as an apolitical, technical problem.
The workshop focused on topics like air quality monitoring, satellite data applications,
and public participation issues in light of the fire and the air quality impacts that it had on
the city. We worked hand-in-hand with the University of Panama’s Institute for
1
This was observed firsthand during a presentation by the Ministry of Health at the air quality
communication workshop in Panama City, October 2013.
1
Specialized Analysis (IEA), a research organization affiliated with the university
focusing on air quality monitoring and data analysis. We organized logistics like
reserving space, organizing catering, and finding a translator, and they organized the
agenda and invited participants from the media, government agencies, and other
organizations around Panama City. In October 2014 I arrived in Panama City with a few
colleagues for the workshop. We met our IEA collaborators, who informed us that only
half of the 60 invited participants had confirmed their attendance. Even fewer attended
and the workshop ended hours early as conversation waned. Needless to say, our
colleagues at IEA were disappointed that the workshop was so poorly attended. NASA
was sufficiently satisfied that the workshop even took place.
While I was not surprised that a NASA-funded workshop organized by an air quality
institute would focus on air quality monitoring or the use of satellite data in analysis, I
was struck by the fact that none of the participants: scientists, students, government
officials, or members of the media, raised any substantive questions or brought up
obvious development and planning-related issues such as landfill management, urban
development, and the politics of environmental governance. In fact, some of the
participants who left early expressed that the fire was no surprise and no big deal – fires
were a commonplace annual occurrence. I was amazed at this casual dismissal, and at the
overall lack of interest among presumably concerned bureaucrats.
At the same time, I was surprised by the extraordinary, modern landscape of Panama
City itself. Skyscrapers, including even a Trump tower shaped like a sailboat, created a
skyline that would rival Dubai’s. However, driving through the central highway, I also
realized how quickly the modern buildings give way to older, shorter buildings with
laundry hanging from the windows and doorways and both political graffiti and
propaganda covering the soot-stained walls. Since the traffic is also horrendous
(horrendous enough to have its own word in Spanish: tranke); I had time to also look in
the other direction, and inevitably noticed the dozens of gargantuan cargo ships dotting
the bay, waiting to enter into the Panama Canal. It’s a shocking urban landscape of
modernization and wealth but also of inequality and poverty.
In fact, Panama City is experiencing unprecedented urban development, particular in
terms of elite real estate and growth associated with the widening of the canal (Sigler
2
2013). It also has an expanding tourism industry (Velasquez Runk 2012) and has become
a regional hub for banking and finance, as well as illicit activities such as money
laundering (Warf 2002). These and other socio-metabolic flows have resulted in Panama
City’s “hyper-growth”— expanding at a rate faster than even that of Chinese cities.
Panama City seems to have been overtaken by a form of ‘neoliberalism on drugs’ –
literally!
Figure 1. Panama City’s downtown. Source: author, 2014.
The city’s growth has material social and environmental implications. Not
surprisingly, this hyper-growth is exacerbating environmental hazards whose costs are
unevenly borne by residents. Cerro Patacón represents just one instance of this. As in the
workshop, state response to the fire has not been to address the fundamental question of
waste disposal and uneven exposure to waste-related hazards, or broader questions of
planning and development. While the cause of the fire is unknown, the media and the
majority of officials with whom I spoke said illegal waste pickers and recyclers, or
pepenadores, had caused the fire. I began to use my knowledge of the fire to think
3
through what to me are important questions of geography, development, and justice,
specifically in terms of the links between hyper-urbanization, environmental justice, and
urban governance.
Drawing from political ecology, I argue that the crisis goes beyond illegal pickers.
The fire was more likely what Scott Prudham (2007) would call a “normal accident,”
caused by the combination of multiple factors, including mismanagement associated with
the haphazard, poorly planned, and hyper- development of the city. In other words, the
fire was the expected outcome of a particular type of urbanization and governance in
Panama City, one that prioritizes particular forms of growth and urban structure over
others (Prudham 2007).
Ultimately, then, I conceptualize the Cerro Patacón Landfill fire as a condition of the
specific array of processes and flows that make up the urbanization process in Panama
City. Moreover, I draw from Swyngedouw’s work on social metabolism to theorize the
flows of capital, people, and garbage through Panama City as socio-natural and
inherently political; Panama City is not simply an “urban” place. Socio-metabolic flows
transform the city and produce the urban landscape as a “continuously changing socioecological landscape” (Swyngedouw 2006; 20): a hybrid nature of human and nonhuman
socio-ecological processes that produce what we know as urban. In an urban setting,
these political environmental problems are dialectically produced through the city’s
social metabolism; socio-natural processes produce uneven urban spaces (Heynen 2014).
Therefore, the landfill is very much a part of the city; it is produced by the metabolism of
the city and it equally produces and constitutes the city. This lens allows for the
exploration of the socio-material basis of environmental problems such as fires or
otherwise contamination, accepting them as inherently political.
1.2 Methods and Evolving Research Questions
Inspired by this scholarship, my initial aim was to conceptualize the ways in which
the landfill and the geography and development of Panama were intimately connected;
my research questions focused on understanding the forms of development and
urbanization in Panama City, the ways in which those trajectories contributed to patterns
of inequality, and how the landfill was produced by these trajectories. With university
4
financial support,2 I spent a total of about one month in Panama City through visits in
October 2013, January 2014, and August 2014.
I used various qualitative methods using secondary data such as policy documents
and grey literature, as well as gathered and analyzed primary data collected in Panama. I
conducted fieldwork to obtain primary data through semi-structured interviews3,
landscape analysis, and participant observation. Table 1 shows the breadth of my
interviews.4 I also analyzed policy and media (secondary) sources to affirm or contest
what interviewees expressed.
Table 1. Interviews completed. Interviews were conducted with individuals from a variety of sectors in Panama
City.
Sector
Academia
Private Sector
Government Agencies
NGOs/Institutes
Private Individuals
Organization/Type
University of Panama, professor of Geography
University of Panama, professor of Natural Resources
Urbalia Panama
Environmental Authority (ANAM)
Ministry of Health (MINSA)
Ministry of Housing (MIVI)
Ministry of Social Development (MIDES)
Institute for Specialized Analysis (IEA)
CATHALAC
7 Guna Nega residents
Liz, my Panamanian guide
Pedro, my Panamanian driver
Other Panamanian students
Guna Nega police officer
Guna Nega health clinic worker
The set of questions that initially guided me were:

How can I conceptualize Panama City and Cerro Patacón to better understand this
issue and what it represents?
2
My research was supported by research grants: Ohio State University Department of Geography Rayner
travel grant, Ohio State University Latin American Studies Tinker travel grant, and a Conference of Latin
Americanists travel grant.
3
IRB approval was granted for this study, protocol number 2014B00254.
4
My interview questions were specific to the type of interviewee, whether they were a resident or
official. I had specific questions about the landfill as well. The list of questions can be seen in Appendix A.
5

How does the fire relate to uneven urban spaces and social/environmental
injustice?
I expected to flesh out my conceptual framework with empirical examples gleamed
from interviews with bureaucrats and government officials. I had assumed certain
conceptual framings of urban geography and similarly assumed that my interviews would
if not reflect this epistemology, then at least understand that there was indeed a ‘problem’
associated with hyper-growth, waste, and governance. However, I was unprepared for
what I found upon engaging in my fieldwork. Although I spoke with a wide variety of
stakeholders, it soon became clear that my research assumptions were not shared. In fact,
the responses generally favored dismissal, either subtle laughter or polite avoidance, or
explicitly through direct denial. My assumptions about the city as a political place and the
landfill as connected through the social metabolism of the city were obviously not the
assumptions held by my interviewees. In short, I found that despite the impacts that the
fire had on the city – and specifically the uneven impacts it had on its population – the
landfill and fire were seen as mundane and further, irrelevant, to a discussion about
Panama City and development.
I came to find that the event was not seen as a crisis, even for some of poorest
residents themselves, and was largely completely dismissed both discursively and
materially. In fact, the event was even seen by some government and NGO officials as
mundane, something not worthy of their attention. They seemed to externalize the landfill
from the city and from development; Cerro Patacón and the people who lived and worked
there – generally indigenous and migrant mestizo populations – were found to be liminal,
in-between spaces and people that did not fit within the city. This narrative was found to
be pervasive across multiple social groups, from the tightly-lipped Ministry of Health to
many citizens themselves.
Moreover, I sought to extend an environmental justice framework to better
understand how waste contributed to uneven impacts on populations based on class, race,
ethnicity, etc. However, considering the interview reactions and responses, I found
myself uncomfortable suggesting that the landfill fire raised issues of “justice.” While
some young students recognized issues of justice at hand, others did not. How could I
6
seek to explore matters of what I deemed to be environmental and social injustice when
no one – not even the so-called victims of this injustice – saw it that way? Understanding
the geography and social metabolism of Panama City was no less important, perhaps now
even more important; however how could I understand the pervasive logic that I found,
which rendered the landfill, and those living there, completely external from development
and urban governance?
Overall, it became clear that the fire and the city were not seen as connected, the fire
was not seen as a problem, and resistance to any perceived injustice was not obvious. I
was not at first confident in this surprising outcome. However, as I become more and
more confident as I found this to be a socially pervasive narrative, it caused a complete
reorientation of my research questions. Therefore, my previous questions, while not the
research object anymore, set the stage for a different understanding of the issues and new
questions were subsequently raised and added:

How did this response differ from the ways in which other landfills in Latin
America and elsewhere are seen by the city and by society?

What was the logic that seemed to be so pervasive, ranging from government
officials to individual citizens?

How did this logic become naturalized? Was there any resistance? And finally,

What can we draw from this for environmental and social governance in practice?
1.3 Study Objectives and Thesis Structure
This study explores the implications of a narrative that promotes an externalization
of peripheral, liminal people and places, evident throughout multiple moments and actors
in Panama City, Panama. The thesis will ultimately unpack how peripheral environments
– such as landfills – and peripheral peoples – such as mestizo and often-homogenized
indigenous populations – are rendered external through this narrative, which ultimately
does not recognize the social metabolism of the city and therefore does not connect the
city’s hyper-development with environmental harm, such as landfill fires. The landfill
provides a unique lens through which to understand both the neoliberal urbanization
processes and the official and unofficial responses to it in Panama City. New insight is
7
given not only on the social metabolism of the city, but on the subjectivities of those who
live there. In other Latin American countries, including Guatemala, Nicaragua, Mexico,
and countless others, landfills become spaces of resistance (Moore 2008; Whitson 2011;
Hartmann 2012). While the same conditions exist in Panama – giant landfills, which
represent the utter speed and scale of development and modernization, surrounded and
permeated by impoverished waste pickers – resistance to uneven development and hypergrowth seems to either be silent, silenced, or not there at all. Similarly, while the
Panamanian government stands to risk its reputation on its poorly managed landfill, it
could be extending its neoliberal reach to urban waste management in ways that
Argentina, Brazil, and Nicaragua, among others, are.
Guided by these important conceptual underpinnings, I argue that liminal spaces and
people (and how/that they are seen as liminal) in Panama City have been rendered
external through a socially pervasive discourse produced and defined by the city’s
specific history and social metabolism, that disregards a structural analysis of the role of
neoliberal development in determining planning priorities and governance strategies.
Moreover, instead of the landfill being seen as a place of environmental and social
governance for the sake of development or taken up by society as a place of resistance, as
it often is, Cerro Patacón and its population are externalized and vilified, contributing to
and promoting the naturalization of an unproblematic growth model that denies
government accountability, wrongly blames certain populations, and justifies social
exclusion. But further, it is a form of injustice that seemingly goes unnoticed and
unquestioned.
The structure of the thesis is as follows. Chapter 2 will deal with conceptualizing
Panama City and Cerro Patacón, outlining the political ecological logic that binds
historical, economic, and social underpinnings of modern Panama City through the lens
of social metabolism. In this way, liminal spaces such as Cerro Patacón, and liminal
people like indigenous and mestizo populations, are tied to Panama City. My original
research questions guide this section. Guided by the revised questions, I will also explain
how the externalization of the landfill and those living and working there is unexpected
compared to other situations where landfills are sites of resistance and/or strategically and
deliberately internalized by city officials in the name of development or social control.
8
Acknowledging that I did not find what a political ecological analysis would lead me to
expect, Chapter 3 seeks to explain the logic that I did uncover. Chapter 4 outlines a
minority alternative discourse, which contested the socially pervasive logic of
externalization but ultimately through the same neoliberal governance strategies. In the
conclusion (Chapter 5), I propose various hypotheses as to how the logic become so
naturalized in Panamanian society. Finally, I suggest ways in which this study – and the
use of social metabolism and political ecology broadly – contributes to a better
understanding of environmental governance and neoliberal hyper-development.
9
Chapter 2: The Political Ecology of Panama City and its Waste
In conceptualizing the relationship between cities, waste, and justice, I use four
main literatures, which provide various entry points for understanding particular urban
processes that underlie these themes. A political ecological lens – and particularly urban
political ecological (UPE) lens – is used through which to understand, analyze, and
conceptualize Panama City as a place geographically and geopolitically, but also with
particular governing and urbanization-related conditions that have produced the landfill
and fire. UPE and environmental justice shed light on patterns, processes, and the
production of social and environmental inequality. In this chapter, I will draw from my
conceptual framework to interpret the relationships between Panama City, Cerro Patacón
landfill, and the 2013 fire in an attempt to contextualize the fire and establish the links
between the landfill and urbanization and development. Table 2 demonstrates the use of
various literatures to conceptualize Panama City as a cyborg place of flows and the
landfill and fire as an expression of uneven, hyper-growth. As noted in the table, these
literatures will be explored in the context of Panama City in various ways throughout this
chapter.
Table 2. Literatures in Political Ecology. To understand the landfill and the fire, I used an integrated framework
for conceptualizing and understanding urban processes and their resulting socio-environmental injustices.
Urban Political Ecolgy (2.1)
The landfill as an expression of uneven hyperPanama City as a Cyborg place of flows (2.2)
growth (2.3)
Social metabolism (2.2.1)
Waste in Panama City (2.3.1)
The Historical Underpinnings of Panama City’s
The Fire (2.3.2)
Social Metabolism (2.2.2)
Global, hybrid cyborg cities (2.2.3)
Political ecology of waste and landfills (2.3.3)
This chapter is laid out as follows. Section 2.1 provides on overview on political
ecology as a framework or lens through which to understand the political underpinnings
10
of environmental hazard associated with the landfill. Section 2.2 conceptualizes Panama
City as a cyborg¸ or hybrid socio-natural city made up of particular metabolic flows and
processes. The historical underpinnings of Panama’s social metabolism are also
investigated here (Section 2.2.2). Section 2.3 will connect Panama City’s social
metabolism to material injustices associated with hyper-growth, specifically seen through
the landfill (Section 2.3.1) and the fire (Section 2.3.2). Finally, I will outline how political
ecologies of waste and landfills, as well as environmental justice, provide further
reference to how landfills and waste have been traditionally conceptualized in the
literature discursively, as well as taken up materially as sites of extended governance or
political activism.
2.1 Urban Political Ecology
Political ecology provides a framework, lens, or means of understanding the
relationships between political, economic and social factors on environmental issues and
changes, with an understanding of unequal power relations. Robbins (2012) describes
political ecology as a community of practice utilizing specific methods and forms of
analysis to better understand environmental and social processes, power relations and
inequality, historicism, and the “Other” as subaltern populations. King (2009) describes
political ecology as a “loosely bounded geographic subfield that offers specific
theoretical and methodological contributions to research on human-environment
interactions (pg. 43). Similarly, Greenberg and Park (1994) write that political ecology is
a “historical outgrowth of the central questions asked by the social sciences about the
relations between human society, viewed in its bio-cultural-political complexity, and a
significantly humanized nature” (pg. 1). Political ecology has traditionally been focused
on rural environments in the developing world, but has recently been thrust into urban or
developed landscapes as well.
Within political ecology, scholars have argued for greater research attention to
particularly urban issues, highlighting the ways in which power, urbanization, and scale
comingle (Cook and Swyngedouw 2012). David Harvey starts his 1973 book on space,
social justice, and the city with the idea that the city is a “manifestly complicated thing,”
11
requiring a certain understanding of the spatial and temporal processes that are inherently
social and political (Harvey 1973; 22). UPE, largely drawing from Harvey and Marxist
notions of power and scale, in particular sought to address similar questions in urban
landscapes. UPE was arguably coined by Swyngedouw’s 1996 paper, “The City as a
hybrid: On nature, society and cyborg urbanization.” UPE highlights that power
relationships shape the socio-natural configurations of the urban environment, and it
illuminates the inevitable power relations and inequalities that result from extreme
urbanization. Further, UPE considers the political-economic processes “involved in
reworking the human-nonhuman assemblages and the production of socio-environmental
inequalities” (Cook and Swyngedouw 2012; 1965). Urban political ecology scholars
question and seek to understand the socio-material basis of environmental problems in
urban landscapes, accepting them as inherently political.
Swyngedouw relates Harvey’s and Neil Smith’s ideas about the production of
nature with dualisms between nature and society. Urban political ecology considers the
political-economic processes “involved in reworking the human-nonhuman assemblages
and the production of socio-environmental inequalities” (Cook and Swyngedouw 2012;
1965). While political ecology as a framework or field of reference could on its own
provide useful input the issues mentioned above in urban landscapes, Swyngedouw and
Heynen (2003) argued that a specifically urban political ecology would “untangle the
interconnected economic, political, social, and ecological processes that together go to
form highly uneven and deeply unjust urban landscapes” in a more coherent way (pg.
898). UPE provides an alternative frame of reference for understanding how this uneven
development has played out in Panama City regarding power relations, subaltern
populations, and uneven benefit, in a city truly constituted by its material flows and
processes of not only energy, materials, and information, but tourists, narco-capital,
finance, cargo, etc. More details on these flows and processes will be provided later in the
chapter.
UPE research is often inspired by the multiple and variegated ways in which
neoliberal governance impacts, shapes, and transforms spaces, places, and people
(Liverman and Vilas 2006; Prudham 2007; Springer 2008; Velasquez Runk 2012).
Neoliberalism is conceptualized differently in different literatures, however here I define
12
it as an economic system that prioritizes a global free market, private property rights, and
free trade, and extends the economy into all aspects of society through deregulation,
privatization, corporatization, and financialization (Peck et al. 2009; Harvey, 2005).
Neoliberalization of the environment has resulted in the privatization and
commodification of resources such as forests, water, or wildlife (Liverman and Vilas
2006), and neoliberal governance practices have resulted in the reshaping of social
relations for indigenous and other populations, including in Panama (Velasquez Runk
2012). Understanding the temporality of neoliberalism in Panama City is also important. I
argue later that neoliberalism cannot be periodized, as Harvey (2005) does, and instead
has existed in Panama for most of its history post-colonialism.
While policies do reflect neoliberal governance, neoliberalism in Panama City is
not limited to a policy package or practice, like a free trade agreement (though those do
exist and are important). Power – assigned through neoliberal strategies – in Panama City
seems to be crystallized in the state, but also in foreign influence in the form of capital,
both licit (e.g. goods through the Canal) and illicit (money laundering and drugs).
Therefore, power and neoliberal governance do not necessarily or only flow downward
from the state, but throughout multiple actors: an ensemble of institutions including
government agencies, builders, developers, banks, and others (Sternberg 2013).
Drawing from these literatures and underscored by a specific empirical understanding of
Panama City’s development context, I seek to understand how Panama City’s distinct
status as a global hub (and the processes that create, recreate, and reinforce its status)
produces its metabolism and associated environmental ills through an understanding of
the waste and fire. The following review, informed by particular political ecological
tenets, helps to contextualize this research.
2.2 Panama City as a Cyborg Place of Flows
A cyborg is a cybernetic organism, a hybrid of machine and organism, a
creature of social reality as well as a creature of fiction. (Haraway 1991)
The city and the urban are a network of interwoven processes that are
both human and natural, real and fictional, mechanical and organic.
There is nothing "purely" social or natural about the city, even less a13
social or a-natural; the city is both natural and social, real and fictional.
In the city, society and nature, representation and being, are inseparable,
integral to each other, infinitely bound up; yet, simultaneously, this hybrid
socio-natural "thing" called "the city" is full of contradictions, tensions
and conflicts.” (Swyngedouw 1996)
2.2.1 Social Metabolism
Metabolism, including geoeconomic flows and Panama City’s hybrid nature as a
socio-natural landscape, provide a nuanced way of understanding Panama’s economy and
its conceptualization as a nation-state with particular socio-environmental flows, and
social consequences. Urban metabolism is a framework traditionally used in industrial
ecology, energy, or engineering settings to analyze and theorize a city and the
interconnectedness of its economic, political, and social processes, much like an
ecosystem (Gandy 2004; Rapoport 2011). Energy, materials, and information, also make
up the flows and processes that constitute urban processes. Urban ecologists use
metabolism in working to make the urban landscape more efficient, working together like
organs of the human body.
However, metabolism has recently been applied to the explicitly social city as
well (Swyngedouw 1996, 2006, 2012; Cooke and Lewis 2010,5 also see Warf 2002;
Cowen and Smith, 2009; Sigler 2013). A particularly social metabolism considers
questions of power and justice in looking at these processes and the ways they shape
urban phenomena, but also the ways in which socio-natural dynamics constitute political
or economic processes. In an urban setting, a social metabolism framework posits that
environmental problems are dialectically produced through the city’s social metabolism;
socio-natural processes produce particularly uneven urban spaces (Heynen 2013). More
broadly, social metabolism emphasizes the ways in which socionatures produce a
particular urban landscape. Urban landscapes are more than just commodity flows and
metabolisms, they are historically specific social processes “with cultural practices
5
Cooke and Lewis (2010) provide one of the few specific case studies for how urban political ecology and
social metabolism work together in providing a more comprehensive understanding of urbanization.
However, their study focuses on Chicago, a Global city in a Global North setting. There are a number of
fundamental differences between applying these frameworks to a city in the Global South (see Moore,
2008).
14
through which everyday experiences of the urban and nature gain significance” (Grove
2009; 209).
Within the UPE literature, metabolic circulation, or social metabolism of a city, is
defined by Cook and Swyngedouw (2012) most clearly as “the socially mediated process
of environmental-technological transformations and transconfiguration, through which all
manner of actants are mobilized, attached, collectivized, and networked” (pg. 1968).
Social metabolism posits that “cities are constituted through dense networks of
interwoven, socio-ecological processes that are simultaneously human, physical,
discursive, cultural, material, and organic” (Swyngedouw 2006; 20). Geoeconomic flows
transform the city and produce the urban landscape as a “continuously changing socioecological landscape” (Swyngedouw 2006; 20). On a larger scale, urbanization can be
seen as a process of particular socio-environmental metabolisms; flows and processes
constitute urbanization and modernization in Panama City.
Swyngedouw offers social metabolism as a framework through which one can
view “the city as a metabolic circulatory process that materializes as an implosion of
socio-natural and socio-technical relations organized through socially articulated
networks and conduits whose origin, movement, and position is articulated through
complex political, social, economic, and cultural relations” (Swyngedouw 2006; 114).
Further, he writes that the “socio-environmental metabolisms produce a series of both
enabling and disabling social and environmental conditions” (Swyngedouw 2006; 118),
coming from within the city and from other linked places, through humans and nonhumans. In this way, he borrows from Haraway in that the city becomes a cyborg; a
hybrid nature of human and nonhuman socio-ecological processes that produce the urban.
Cyborgs are created through a process of “dirty mixing:” “heterogeneously constituted”
through metabolic processes (Swyngedouw 2006; 113). This is important because it
implies that urban environments are more than just hybrid socio-natural landscapes.
Flows in the cyborg are dynamic, power-laden, contested, and constantly rearrange the
human and nonhuman into new assemblages.
Investigating the ways in which urban processes are socio-natural and powerladen sheds new light on environmental hazards. Environmental ills and social inequality
in an urban setting can be better understood by understanding or analyzing other factors,
15
such as social issues (i.e. unemployment), global capital, geopolitical or geoeconomic
flows, local power struggles, and other socio-ecological conditions. Further, especially
appropriate for a city like Panama City, social metabolism draws attention to the socially
driven material processes, flows, and networks that take place in a city through resources,
both human and nonhuman, and consequently shape that city. Swyngedouw and Cook
(2012) argue that social metabolism is an important new and future direction for research
in socio-environmental systems in an urban setting, as well as urban political ecology.
Turning to Panama City more specifically, a contextualized history is necessary in
understanding modern development. What are the historical factors that have created the
conditions for the development processes and practices taking place today? This is
important because urban nature should be seen as a collage of past a present, that
understanding socio-spatial phenomena with a historical perspective provides an analytic
tool for understanding human-nature interaction. This section will provide an overview of
the historical and neoliberal urban development patterns in Panama in an effort to
understanding the modern socio-metabolic flows and processes at work. To understand
the landfill and fire as an expression of Panama City’s uneven development, Panama City
should be conceptualized as a specific type of place that can produce a specific type of
event or process of injustice.
2.2.2 The Historical Underpinnings of Panama City’s Social Metabolism
Panama has been shaped by hundreds of years of external control or influence due
to its unique geography as a thin isthmus and strategic location between oceans and
continents (Galeano 1997; Lindsay-Poland 2003). Panama is an especially interesting
place geographically because it exists as we know it today because of its global flows. Its
geographical shape as a narrow isthmus has shaped its history; it has served as a point of
transit for over 500 years. Panama’s history has been largely defined by the flows coming
into and out of the country since the Spanish colonial era in the 1500s, as a transit zone
mediating flows between and within Latin America and the rest of the world. Panama had
a strategic geographic position and functioned as a transit zone from where expansion
and conquest oriented (Galeano 1997). Panama quickly became a trade center for
16
shipping precious metals from the New World to Europe (Sigler, 2013). Mineral wealth
from South America, slaves, goods, people, and other materials flowed through Panama
on its way to Europe and later North America. According to the Museo del Canal
Interoceanico del Panama6, up to 12,000 pounds of silver went through Portobello (a
small town on the Caribbean coast) every year throughout the 1500s-1600s. In this period
and throughout Spanish colonial rule, more than 60% of all silver extracted from the
Americas was sent to Europe through Portobello, carried through the country via the
Camino Real (the land trail across the country that preceded the Canal, used famously by
long mule trains). Galeano (1997) firmly argued that “the metals taken from the new
colonial dominations [and transported through Panama] not only stimulated Europe’s
economic development; one may say that they made it possible” (pg. 23).
During and even after the colonial period, attention began to focus on Panama
more specifically as international powers such as the U.S. and Europe realized the
geopolitical and economic potential of the isthmus for providing a cheap means of
transporting modern goods between the Atlantic and the Pacific. The U.S. and Great
Britain began vying for control of the area in 1850, signing treaties to resolve rivalries.
The U.S. supported Panamanian independence from Spain in 1902 for geopolitical gain
and to ensure that they maintained control of the canal and surrounding area. Colombian
and Spanish troops were unable to maintain control over the territory, leaving the U.S. to
finish the canal project that France had started decades prior. The Canal was completed in
1914. From a U.S. government perspective, “the Panama Canal symbolized U.S.
technological prowess and economic power. Although U.S. control of the canal
eventually became an irritant to U.S.-Panamanian relations, at the time it was heralded as
a major foreign policy achievement” (U.S. Department of State 2015). As shown in
Figure 2, the importance of the canal to the U.S. – politically, economically, and
otherwise – is illustrated through the fact that the first U.S. presidential foreign trip while
in office was President Roosevelt’s trip to the Canal in 1906 (Library of Congress 2014)!
While the U.S. was making important national geopolitical gains through the canal,
66
I visited this museum in Panama City in January, 2014. Interestingly, the museum’s displays, photograph
captions, etc. – while extensive and very impressive, one of the best museums I’ve ever visited – were
only available in Spanish. I wondered if this was done intentionally, considering the fact that a main focus
of the museum was Panamanian national pride in the face of a history dominated by external presence
and power.
17
Lindsay-Poland (2003) writes a scathing history of the U.S. in Panama throughout the
1900s, including its military testing of bombs, chemical weapons, and other military
experiments.
Figure 2. The President visits the Canal. President Roosevelt traveled to Panama in 1906, the first international
trip for a U.S. president while in office. Source: United States Library of Congress.
The Canal Zone was established and controlled by the U.S., an area 5-10 miles on
either side of the Canal where American expatriates lived with their families. Public
services in the Canal Zone – specifically for Americans or civil and military families –
included hospitals, schools, communications, cultural activities, and other amenities. Elite
Panamanian military or government members and their families enjoyed special
treatment throughout the Canal Zone and city. Poor Panamanians were not allowed
inside, though American influence permeated the city. Customs, traditions, styles, and
even names, were influenced greatly by the U.S. presence. The main avenue downtown
was even named after the 4th of July, with elaborate fireworks display on that date in
honor of U.S. independence, and Panamanians celebrated American holidays like
18
Thanksgiving. Air fields, American style malls, and old warehouses still give the Canal
Zone a completely different feel than the rest of the city, though the U.S. built roads and
infrastructure projects throughout the country. To this day, the buildings in the Canal
Zone are reminiscent of Spanish colonial haciendas, with security gates and elaborate
gardens. The Panama Canal Authority, MINSA, ANAM, and countless other government
agencies now reside in the former U.S. military buildings and homes. Wealthy
Panamanians and expatriates now live on the grand hacienda-style mansions found
throughout the Canal Zone. Figure 3 depicts the colonial architecture, green space, and
gardens visible in Canal Zone communities, within eyesight from the downtown.
Figure 3. The Canal Authority Building. This grand-looking building, sitting atop a hill, was built by the U.S. in
the early 1900s and how houses the Canal Authority. Source: Canal Authority Official Facebook page, accessed
April 2015.
The differences between the Canal Zone and the rest of the country were drastic
and highly uneven, yet the Museo del Canal notes that the Canal has had tremendous
impacts on Panamanian society, especially urban growth and the formation of a sociocultural heritage in the Republic. Railroads, roads, and other infrastructure projects
followed the needs of the Canal, but also resulted in Panama City retaining the majority
19
of the development focus and financing. The construction of the Canal thrust Panama
City into a “new epoch in the geohistory of the country, one tied to a pole of diffusion
and exchange in the capital city with areas of marginalization beyond it” (Velasquez
Runk, 2012; 24). The city grew around the Canal and Panama City is still the country’s
only main metropolitan area, with a population of more than 1.7 million people in 2010,
more than half the total population in Panama (3.8 million). Colón, the Caribbean port
location of the Canal, grew similarly however is a much smaller, poorer, and less
developed, with a population of only 250,000. Considering the location of the Canal and
the Free Trade Zone, the development (or lack thereof) and geopolitical politics of Colón
is a topic appropriate for another thesis!
External influence continued well into the 20th century as the U.S. maintained
control of the Canal officially until 1999. Throughout the mid-1900s, the U.S. was
involved in Panamanian politics through support – both public and supposedly through
covert coups and assassinations – for various administrations. In 1964, a rebellion started
by Panamanian students, in protest of rules against Panamanian flags being displayed in
the Canal Zone, resulted in 21 dead and more than 300 injured as well as a change in U.S.
Panama relations. It was seen as a major diplomatic crisis and ultimately ended with the
Torrijos-Carter Treaty, signed in 1977, dictating that the U.S. would transfer the Canal
and 14 army bases to Panama by 1999 (however the U.S. was granted perpetual military
intervention rights as a means to preserve their assets in the country). The U.S. was also
involved with the infamous administration of dictator General Manuel Noriega, leading
to his in 1989. While of obvious importance, further detail on the history of Panama, the
Canal, and U.S. influence can be found through multiple popular, academic, and
government sources but will not be included here (see McCullough 1977; Galeano 1997;
Lindsay-Poland 2003).
Aside from controversial Panamanian politics, which included American
involvement in dictatorships and coups similar to other Latin American countries at the
time, the flows of money and goods through the Canal as well as continued external
influence and power shaped the development of the country. The U.S. presence at the
Canal in particular, supported by Panamanian commercial and governmental elite,
created an exploitative and precarious social structure that was only further ingrained by
20
the series of dictators put in power until the 1990s (Lindsay-Poland, 2003). Neoliberal
governance permeated society through the adoption of the U.S. dollar, economic treaties
with the U.S., and privatized services. This epoch has hardly changed since its inception
and various regulations and laws passed since the 1990s reflect this neoliberal
governance structure (See Velasquez Runk 2012 for a more detailed overview of
neoliberal governance in Panama).
Panama City turned to neoliberal governance at the end of the U.S. invasion in
1989, and the end of U.S. involvement in the Canal in 1999. With neoliberal reforms
came growth and modernization through further neoliberal reforms. This governance
dangerously “creates a veneer of multiculturalism that serves to preserve the status quo”
(Velasquez Runk 2012; 22). The U.S.-Panama Free Trade Agreement, signed in 2011,
fed into increased growth, with gross domestic product (GDP) averaging over 8% from
2006 to 2012 (World Bank). The country experienced high growth, political stability, a
newly dollarized economy, and increased investment, particularly infrastructure
development, lifestyle migration, and tourism. Other countries in Latin America also
pursued neoliberal economic reforms at this time, signifying a policy paradigm shift
toward free trade and internationalized finance (Keeling 2004). However, interestingly,
still other Latin American countries pursued an opposing economic and political future
through anti-Western sentiments and an embracing of post-neoliberal politics and
governance (Peck et al. 2009).
Even today, the Panama Canal is central to Panama’s history and subsequent
development. While most Latin American countries’ economies are based on agriculture,
mining, or manufacturing, Panama’s is based on trade and services, most notably, the
Canal (Sigler 2014). The Canal represents a significant portion of Panama’s GDP, having
transferred over one million ships from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic/Caribbean, and
vice versa since it opened in 1914. The Canal is managed by an autonomous government
institution, the Panama Canal Authority (PCA). Most ships come from the U.S. and
China; each can pay up to $400,000 per trip through the canal (PCA 2012). As a
government authority, the PCA works underneath and within the Panamanian
government; after covering its operating, investment, modernization and expansion costs,
surplus funds are awarded to the National Treasury. In 2012 alone, the PCA contributed
21
$950 million to the state through the National Treasury. Since 2000, the PCA has
contributed more than $9 billion (PCA, 2012). Currently, the PCA is undergoing a major
expansion, spending 10-15% of the country’s GDP to double the capacity of the Panama
Canal (the Panama Canal Expansion Program). According to the PCA, the expanded
route will “maintain the Canal as the route of choice for international trade,” continuing
to cement Panama’s status as a regional and increasingly global hub of trade and
finance.7
Despite the strong exogenous influence in the Panamanian government, it also has
a strong developmentalist philosophy, with a strong and active state and elite (Olds and
Yeung 2004). In concert with neoliberal American support, developmentalist legislation
throughout the 1990s provided the foundations for service industries to flourish,
including banking, insurance, logistics, ship registry, and legal services (Sigler 2013).
The State has remained a strong influence in Panama. Currently, local discourses of rosy
capitalist development and sustainability promoted by the government are also
significant, especially considering the uncertainties related to good governance, equity,
and corruption (The Economist 2011). Many even say the current government is plagued
by corruption, bowing to foreign influence instead of the needs of the people (Beaubien
2012). Nonetheless, neoliberal projects such as infrastructure expansion (e.g. the new
metro (Figure 4), Canal expansion, and highway around Casco Antiguo) are both heavily
advertised and applauded. Real estate booms in downtown (central) Panama City as well
as the suburban fringe has also grown dramatically since the 1990s (Sigler 2014).
Interestingly, out of 615 high rise towers, 148 have names in Spanish while 277 have
English names such as “Royal Palace;” another 200 have names mixing Spanish, English,
and even French (Sigler 2014). This is to say that these markets were facing international
consumers even more so than Panamanians themselves. Neoliberalism, Warf notes, ends
up taking shape as states surrender their authority to international corporate elites,
7
Ships twice the size of original Canal goers will be able to avoid land travel through the U.S. by going
through the Canal. The U.S. is already planning how to cope with the potential shipping loses; various
politicians are pursuing plans to deepen both East and West coast harbors to accommodate the ships that
might otherwise choose the Panama Canal instead. Both Republican and Democratic senators from
various costal states are pursuing legislation and appropriations for deepening projects both as a means
of accommodating ships that do pass through the Canal, as well as offering an alternative route through
the U.S. (http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0512/76224.html)
22
becoming ‘hyper-globalist’ in terms of international financial flows. Investigating the
social metabolism of the city, and conceptualizing it as a cyborg city, provides further
insight.
Figure 4. The Metro de Panama. The new metro in Panama City has attracted international attention and is a
source of pride for Panamanians. Source: Latino Fox News.
2.2.3 Global, Hybrid, Cyborg Cities
Panama has become a command point for the organization of the world economy
and can even be said to have become a global city through its relational, transnational
urban growth (Sigler 2013). Therefore, Panama City can be understood and
conceptualized as a relational city with global city aspirations, seeking to use its
geoeconomic flows to link to international markets and develop further (Sigler 2013;
Olds and Yeung 2004). How does a city aspire to be seen as a Global City? Olds and
Yeung (2004) argue that “it does so by using the powers and capacities of the nation-state
(in material and discursive senses) to transform society and space within the city, all in
the aim of embedding [the nation] within the evolving lattice of network relations that
propel the world economy. Existing space and social formations are purged, razed,
flattened, cleansed, restructured, re-engineered: in their place ‘world class’ infrastructure/
23
education/ legal/ financial/ healthcare systems are developed, maintained and constantly
refashioned” (pg. 491).
In Panama City, this is seen through the control of nature and history as well as
neoliberal governance strategies. The Panama Canal is the ultimate example of urban and
engineering triumphing over nature, but this even extends to the coast where debris from
the Canal’s dredging was used to extend the city into the bay. Figure 5, a photograph of a
poster in a government building, depicts old, decrepit-looking buildings being replaced
by what is seen as progress: a large ship and Panama’s most iconic buildings in the
background.
Figure 5. Government celebrates modernization. This propaganda poster shows how history and nature will give
way to progress through the Canal and other modernization projects. Source: photograph taken by the author.
The expansion of the Canal also brings global attention. As shown in Figure 6
below, the scale of the Canal expansion is staggering; gargantuan cargo ships and cruises
can be seen in the Gatun Lake at the top of the photo, dwarfed by the size of the new
Canal expansion.
24
Figure 6. The Panama Canal Expansion. The Canal expansion, a gigantic, multi-billion dollar project, will allow
much bigger cargo ships to traverse the Canal. Source: Canal Authority Official Facebook page, accessed April
2015.
Institutions and programs in Panama have indeed been privatized; similarly,
infrastructure has been prioritized through the expansion of the Canal and even a
highway around Casco Antiguo, a historic colonial town and UNESCO World Heritage
Site. This infrastructure project nearly cost the site its UNESCO status and is hardly used
by Panamanians, yet it – as a taxi driver explained to me – “makes the city looks modern
25
and new.” In the fight to protect the historical town, it was mostly wealthy elite
Panamanians, international investors, and tourists who rallied in their effort to prevent the
construction of the highway.
The biggest mall in Latin America, Albrook Mall, is also located in Panama City,
named according to a nearby former U.S. airbase (Figure 7). At over 300,000 square
meters in size, visiting Albrook Mall is a choice activity for the majority of Panama City
dwellers and the food court, containing mostly international brands like Subway,
McDonalds, Dunkin’ Donuts, and countless others, draws huge crowds for meals and
nights out. Interestingly, a number of important logistical points are also based at the
mall, including the central bus depot, Trans-oceanic train (connecting Panama City to
Colón), Marcos A. Galabert Airport (for domestic and regional flights), and city metro,
signifying the importance of the mall – and consumerism – in Panamanian society. When
given a choice of spending time at a park or at Casco Antiquo versus Albrook Mall, most
choose the latter, as evidenced by the crowds.
Figure 7. Albrook Mall in Panama City. Albrook Mall has over 700 stores; it is located in the Canal Zone,
shipping boxes and Canal-related shipping materials can even be seen in the top left of the photo. Source:
Albrook Mall Official Facebook page, accessed April 2015.
Panama also hosts a number of international conferences and political events,
including the recent Summit of the Americas, where U.S. President Obama famously
shook hands with Cuban President Raul Castro, making international headlines. Figure 8,
26
taken from a tourism website for Panama, depicts an increase in the number of
conventions held in Panama City (22 events in 7 days, for example!), tourism through
cruises, and hotel stays.
Figure 8. Growing Markets. This tourism website, available in English, boasts growing tourism and economic
markets in Panama. Source: www. visitpanama.com
Panama City’s emergence as a global city is also due to the ways in which its
geoeconomic flows – mediated by capitalism – connect it to global economic and social
systems. While some Global cities in the U.S. and Europe are understood according to
hierarchical and linear systems, Panama City is transformed by capitalism in another
way; it is “constituted through globally critical flows of capital, goods, and ideas, and
whose economies are dedicated to intermediary services such as offshore banking,
container- and bulk- shipping, and regional re-exportation” (Sigler, 2013; 612). Panama
City is not simply defined by capital, labor, and resources, but by flows and nodes
27
mediating those flows. Warf (2002) argues that Panama’s recent ascent into one of the
South’s Global cities can be attributed to its particular resources: a dollarized economy,
the Canal, and illicit activities such as money laundering. Table 3 outlines various
characteristics of a relational city versus a global city; however, Panama City sits
somewhere in between.
Table 3. Key industries and institutions differ from Relational versus Global cities (Sigler 2013).
Relational Cities
Global Cities
Key Industries
Wholesaling, warehousing, logistics,
offshore banking, real estate
Key Institutions
Sea port/airport, free trade zone,
offshore banking center
Finance, insurance, management
consulting, real estate, accountancy,
marketing, culture/arts
Stock exchange, central bank, global
governance, airport, immigration
Panama City is a key location for finance and specialized service firms. Elite-led
real estate and foreign investment has also boosted the Panamanian economy
significantly. Specifically, relational cities are known to have key industries such as
wholesaling, warehousing, logistics, offshore banking, and real estate, and key
institutions such as sea ports/airports, free trade zones, and offshore banking centers; all
of these key industries and institutions are present in force in Panama City (Sigler 2013).
More specifically, Panama’s economy is based largely on services (79%), including
operating the Panama Canal, logistics, banking, the Colon Free Zone, insurance,
container ports, flagship registry, and tourism (CIA Fact Book, 2015). Tourism has risen
over 15% in the last two years alone. Real estate has also blossomed, with 107 buildings
of at least 20 stories under construction in 2007; this number has continued to rise.
Panama even recently signed taxation treaties with other nations, ultimately achieving
removal from the Organization of Economic Development’s gray-list of tax havens (CIA
Fact Book, 2015). Foreign investment contributes around 10% of Panama’s GDP.
Currently, the expansion of the Panama Canal, expected to be completed in 2016 at a cost
of $5.3 billion (10-15% of current GDP), will double the Canal’s capacity.
28
Other human and nonhuman flows are also notable, such as drugs and drugrelated revenue. While the numbers are difficult to quantify, Panama is known to be a
major cocaine transshipment point and primary money-laundering center for narcotics
revenue (CIA Fact Book 2015). Informal conversations around Panama City show
Panamanians to be fully aware that money laundering is taking place, especially within
the elite real estate construction along Panama City’s coast. Finally, Panama has a
significant number of Latin American expatriates, including those escaping political strife
in Colombia and Venezuela. In 2012, there were over 15,000 documented Colombian
refugees in Panama (CIA Fact Book, 2015). One can only imagine that the number of
illegal refugees is much higher.
Certain metabolisms produce socio-environmental processes that, while “shaping
the choreography” of the capitalist urbanization process, also enable those in power and
disable those without power. Rapoport (2011) and Swyngedouw (2006) connect social
metabolism with notions of urban political ecology and environmental justice in not only
understanding patterns of urbanization, but also arguing for a more just urban
environment. More specifically, urban flows produce and reproduce inequality.
Neoliberalism creates economic dynamism in urban areas; however this usually equates
to profit from unregulated economic activities and severe social and environmental costs,
especially for those who are not among the economic and political elite. This is especially
obvious in Panama City, where despite the highest growth rate in Latin America, around
25% of the population lives in poverty, due in part to the second worst income
distribution in Latin America (CIA World Fact Book 2015).
2.3 Landfills as an Expression of Uneven, Hyper Growth
The Cerro Patacón Landfill and fire is used in this research as a lens through
which to better understand the broader processes of urbanization and governance in
Panama City. Socio-metabolic processes are never politically neutral. In uneven urban
settings, a metabolizing city usually experiences uneven distribution of environmental
and social benefits and damages. Infrastructure networks, or socio-metabolic flows and
processes, create and reproduce situations of environmental ills, inequality, and other
29
socio-economic issues (Rapoport 2011). A number of processes are occurring in Panama
City which are relevant to understanding greater questions of environmental harm,
justice, and inequality, that were mentioned earlier: global capital flows through the canal
and through banking and finance, geopolitical or geoeconomic tensions associated with
both the canal and with narco-capital and drugs, etc. A socio-metabolic understanding of
Panama City’s resource and infrastructure flows provides the foundations from which
inequality and environmental injustice stems. This is especially useful in understanding
Panama City and Cerro Patacón. In short, the landfill grows with the city and reflects the
hyper-development taking place there. In this section, I show how Cerro Patacón is not
only directly connected to the city and its hyper-growth, but they are mutually coconstituting.
2.3.1 Waste in Panama City and Cerro Patacón
The Panama City Metropolitan Waste Authority (DIMA) was created in 1984 to
collect, transport, and dispose of waste in municipal areas throughout Panama. However,
as encouraged by the International Monetary Fund, the landfill was privatized in 2003
due to a lack of funding and capacity by the city government to maintain the site (Magid
2003). The Cerro Patacón landfill was formerly located in the east of the city, but was
moved to its current location between 1984 and 1987 (sources differ on the date). The
former location is now filled in, with expensive homes built on top of the site. The
landfill is managed by a Colombian company, Urbalia (known in Panama as Urbalia
Panama). As shown in Figure 9, the landfill is quite close to the center of Panama City; it
takes only 15 minutes by taxi from the downtown to the landfill.
30
Figure 9. Map of Panama City. Cerro Patacón landfill, marked by the red flag, is within a 15 minute drive from
the city's modern downtown. Source: Google Earth 2015
Interestingly, the landfill is located within the official Canal Zone. While the
Canal Zone is infamous for its stricter land use regulations and development overall, the
landfill is nonetheless sprawling and largely unregulated. It is considered an ‘open
dump,’ where traditional waste management practices of soil coverings are not applied.
Waste is also often dumped illegally outside the official dump area so as to avoid paying
the fees associated with proper dumping. This has led to the sprawl of the rampant
garbage and contamination around the landfill area.
In the early 2000s, the landfill handled over 368,000 metric tons per year of
garbage; this has grown dramatically as the city has continued to grow and now over
2000 metric tons of waste are delivered and stored at Cerro Patacón every day.
Currently, mounds of garbage in Cerro Patacón reach over 80 feet high. According to the
Municipal Panama City government, all forms of waste from the city are collected and
transported to Cerro Patacón, including residential waste, construction waste, etc.; the
only waste not sent to Cerro Patacón is waste associated with the Canal, which is
separated, treated, and maintained on Canal Zone property. The image below (Figure 10),
31
taken from a 2007 presentation by ANAM, shows how the landfill grew through three
stages to over 130 hectares. The pink area, a new expansion, is currently in the works.
Figure 10. Cerro Patacón organization. Cerro Patacón has grown over the years as the city itself has grown, and
further growth is still planned. Source: ANAM, 2007.
While there is no official recycling program in the landfill, informal workers play
an important role in managing the waste of the landfill. Urbalia estimates that 500
pepenadores work in the landfill, though that number is likely to be much higher. While
they are currently establishing programs to formally employ recyclers, they currently
have only 300 employees. It is likely that informal recycling activities still take place,
32
especially since the number of official jobs is not sufficient for the number of
pepenadores that rely on the landfill for their livelihoods. While the Urbalia interviewee
and local police officer mentioned private security working at the landfill, its borders are
porous and people likely go in and out as they choose, whether to gather materials for
informal housing or to collect recyclables and other goods to sell. While not the subject
of this thesis, there is an extensive literature available on the ways in which informal
waste pickers (called different terms in Spanish depending on the local context) survive
as externalized in urban landscapes, self-organize, and advocate with the landscape of
local government, NGOs, and other organizations (Moore 2009; Whitson 2011; Moore
2012; Sternberg 2013; Hartmann 2013).
Even though it is the city’s largest and most important waste site, it was referred
to as simply an “attempt” at a landfill by Panama’s environmental authority, ANAM.8
The landfill is a source of multiple forms of pollution and contamination on a daily basis,
not including larger, more newsworthy events such as landfill fires. According to a
professor of watershed management in the University of Panama, the unmanaged waste
from Cerro Patacón contaminates both aquifers and rivers, such as the nearby Cardenas
River. As Guna interviewees described to me, nearby rivers were now too contaminated
to use for bathing, drinking, or washing, and wildlife had all but disappeared from the
area. However, while Guna do not use the rivers, others must use it for basic needs
(Figure 11).
8
http://www.prensa.com/impreso/panorama/patacon-es-un-%C2%B4intento%C2%B4-de-rellenosanitario-anam/172262
33
Figure 11. Contaminated river near Cerro Patacón. Though water is said to be contaminated, nearby residents
still rely on it for drinking, bathing, washing, and leisure. Source: photographed by the author, August 2014.
A number of communities border Cerro Patacón. These communities are made up
of both migrant Panamanian mestizo populations (Panamanians who have moved from
the interior of the country to find employment opportunities) and various indigenous
populations. Guna Nega, a community of the Guna indigenous group who traditionally
live along the Panamanian coast in their autonomous region, was formed in the area prior
to any landfill activity. Andrea Iglesias, one of the founders of Guna Nega, came to the
area in 1974 to allow her son to study in the city’s university. After she was evicted from
her home in a nearby village, she and other Guna rallied together to form Guna Nega in
1980. In the Guna language, Guna Nega means “house of the Guna,” while Gunayala –
the autonomous Guna territory near the coast – means “country of the Guna.”
The Guna are a famously well-organized people who have been traditionally very
assertive about their rights (Howe 2010; Velasquez Runk 2012). As they described to me
during interviews, they are largely responsible for the development of and services
available in Guna Nega. When government services were not available, Guna men
worked together to build schools, a health center (Figure 12), community centers, and
other amenities.
34
Figure 12. Guna Nega health center. The health center was built by the Guna to serve their community. Source:
photographed by the author, August 2014.
However, a sign in front of the health center, which read that (former) President
Martinelli had in fact supported the completion of the building, was seen by community
members with disdain (Figure 13). Many Guna were of the opinion that the government
simply paid lip service and rode the coattails of their hard work. According to community
members, the government did not help with construction but MINSA does send doctors
to the clinic a few times per week.
35
Figure 13. President’s plaque for the health center. A plaque, posted outside the health center, gives credit for
the building's construction to President Martinelli, though the Guna argue that they themselves deserve the
credit for its construction and maintenance. Source: photographed by the author, August 2014.
Figures 14 and 15 below depict two very different signs also seen in Guna Nega.
The government sign (Figure 14) describes the construction of a sports complex in Guna
Nega, dated 2011. According to community members, the complex was never built. The
sign instead seemed to mark garbage disposal, as a heap of litter sat at its base. Figure 15
is a sign seen inside the Guna community center, written in the Guna language. A Guna
college student described efforts by Guna elders to maintain traditions through a
community center. However, most Guna youth do not partake in traditional activities like
dress or language.
36
Figure 14. Government sign in Guna Nega. The most recent government project (evidenced through signage) in
Guna Nega was marked 2011. Source: photographed by the author, August 2014.
Figure 15. Community sign in Guna Nega. Guna elders try and maintain a community center, offering games
and an otherwise safe place for youth in the community, yet Guna culture is said to be rapidly fading. Source:
photographed by the author, August 2014.
37
Despite Guna Nega’s homogenous population of Guna people, other communities
near Cerro Patacón are made up of other populations and ethnicities. A Guna interviewee
noted that the indigenous populations of the area are often homogenized as all Guna,
while in fact each community is made up of differing indigenous and non-indigenous
populations. The Guna differentiate themselves from nearby populations in multiple
ways, including ethnicity, local economy, and the relationship to the dump. His own
homogenizing aside, a Guna elder argued that the Guna do not work in the landfill and
keep their communities cleaner and safer than other communities, resenting the ways in
which communities of indigenous people were jumbled together and homogenized by the
government, the media, and society in general. Indeed, multiple interviewees referred to
those living near Cerro Patacón solely as Guna, and many, including interviewees from
government agencies, mistakenly identified Guna is working as pepenadores, while they
claim they do not.
While there are pepenadores working in the landfill, indigenous groups largely do
not participate (as noted by Guna interviewees, Urbalia, and local police officers). While
the pepenadores are indeed difficult to homogenize, they are supposedly largely
Panamanian mestizo migrants from other areas of the country. One Guna interviewee
noted that many Panamanians move from their farms in the interior of the country to live
and work in the city; however when jobs and homes are difficult to come by, many resort
to informal waste picking, which can often be quite lucrative. Driving or walking through
Guna Nega, it was obvious that informal recycling operations are at work throughout the
area. I did not investigate who owned or operated these businesses or operations. Figure
16 depicts smoke rising from burning garbage at an informal sorting business. Figure 17
shows well-kept Guna homes while Figure 18 depicts an informal home, built from
materials scavenged from the landfill.
38
Figure 16. Informal business in Guna Nega. Smoke rises from burning garbage in an informal recycling
business. Source: photographed by the author, August 2014.
Figure 17. Homes in Guna Nega. Guna homes are built with cement and other permanent materials. Source:
photographed by the author, August 2014.
39
Figure 18. Homes near Guna Nega. Other homes belonging to more transient populations are built of materials
scavenged from the nearby landfill. Source: photographed by the author, August 2014.
I found disagreement among public officials regarding who settled in the area
first, communities or the landfill. According to Urbalia, the landfill was established in
1985, though other sources cite 1987 as the year of establishment. MINSA interviewees
also claimed that the landfill was established prior to communities. Regardless, Guna
Nega was established in 1980. In fact, Andrea suggested that the landfill was not there in
1993 (or perhaps more likely, it was not yet bordering Guna Nega so closely). In a recent
interview with Andrea published in Panama City’s main newspaper, she describes how
the government moved the landfill from an area across the city to Cerro Patacón, bringing
tons and tons of garbage to Guna Nega’s doorstep.9 As the years went on, the landfill
continued to expand. The image below, taken in May 2004, depicts the landfill in the
South West, with Guna Nega marked. There is still a forested barrier between the landfill
and the community.
9
http://laestrella.com.pa/panama/nacional/mujer-fundo-guna-nega/23847644
40
Figure 19. Cerro Patacón, 2004. In May 2004, nearby communities, including Guna Nega (marked as Kuna in
some places; spelling with G is more traditional according to the Guna themselves) can be seen in close
proximity to the growing landfill. Source: Google Earth 2015
The next satellite imagery, Figure 20, taken in January 2013, shows the diminishing
natural barrier between Cerro Patacón and Guna Nega. Cerro Patacón can be seen
extending more toward the North East, closer to Guna Nega. The photograph also shows
the growth of Guna Nega and of other nearby communities; however Guna Nega does not
extend any closer to the landfill.
41
Figure 20. Cerro Patacón, 2010. In January 2010, the landfill's growth is obvious, as the barriers between it and
the communities nearby continue to decrease in size. Source: Google Earth 2015.
In the most recent photograph, Figure 21, taken in March 2014, the growth of the landfill
is even more obvious. Guna Nega can now be seen surrounded on the entire Western
border by the landfill.
42
Figure 21. Cerro Patacón, 2014. While this image is somewhat distorted, it is still obvious that in March 2014,
the landfill had continued to grow even closer to Guna Nega. Source: Google Earth 2015.
In sum, whether or not communities preceded the landfill, both have grown into very
close proximity.
2.3.2 The Fire
The March 2013 landfill fire burned for almost two weeks with uneven impacts on
Panama City’s residents. The fire started on March 18 and though the government
establishes that it was put out by March 22, many state that it smoldered until April.
Since garbage in Cerro Patacón is not separated or treated, it is likely that the smoke held
toxins from burning metals, plastics, and other chemical substances. MINSA’s director of
environmental health noted that the smoke could sometimes be clear, making it
exceptionally hazardous to human health as it could not always be identified. Particulate
matter is often impossible to detect but still has detrimental health impacts. Though small
landfill fires are actually commonplace, smoke covered the entire city and was called the
worst fire in a decade (Vega Loo 2013).
43
Figure 22. Panama City during the fire. A "toxic cloud" engulfed the city during the Cerro Patacón landfill fire.
Source: Infobae America, 2013.
The satellite image below (Figure 23), taken from Google Earth and dated March
2013, clearly shows the smoke drifting from Cerro Patacón. Smoke is a different color
than clouds; it is a darker grey color, while the clouds are white. While a change in wind
direction supposedly helped, it took nearly 10 days, international assistance, and firecombatting chemical substances from the United States to finally put out the fire.
44
Figure 23. Cerro Patacón during the fire. Smoke (seen in darker grey) can be seen coming from the burning
landfill. Source: Google Earth 2015.
The official government response was to measure and monitor air quality and provide
information through MINSA. During the air quality workshop, a MINSA representative
noted that it was MINSA’s director’s responsibility to speak about the event and direct
action. MINSA took measurements of air quality officially; however, they largely
expected that the media disseminate the data and information to the public. Numerous
local residents noted that this message was not only selectively received, but inadequate
for residents who could not simply “stay inside” or get access to masks.10 While some
schools were canceled, others were not. Even if some Panamanians stayed indoors, a lack
of air conditioning prevented true protection from poor air quality. Most interesting
though, is that while some were emphatic in their assertion that the event was severe and
the impacts uneven and unjust, many Panamanians, including some Guna themselves,
thought it was mundane, commonplace, and/or handled appropriately. Instead of
residents, including those in Guna Nega and surrounding areas, organizing or protesting
10
This information is based on an informal conversation with an ANAM employee, October 2013.
45
the uneven government response, there seemed to be little response, organized or
otherwise.
2.3.3 Political Ecology of Waste and Landfills
Literature I read of political ecologies of waste and landfills predisposed me to see the
dump in a particular way. Landfills and waste have traditionally been seen in the
literature (academic and popular/technical) as well as in society in multiple ways, all
different than the ways in which Cerro Patacón is seen and conceptualized in Panama
City by city officials and others. This section outlines commonly held conceptualizations
and materialities of landfills and waste in academia but also in technical literature like
that of the UN, and the ways in which those differ from the findings in Panama City.
Landfills have been taken up as sites of political meaning for political activism by
residents and Geography scholars, both in terms of protesting poor environmental and
health conditions as well as access to waste as a resource for livelihoods. However
additionally, governments in Latin America have also recently begun to incorporate
landfills into urban governance and biopolitical projects.
In the literature and materially, landfills and waste can often take on broad political
meaning. This is inevitable, considering the number of people moving to and living in
urban areas, and the connected flows of commodities and goods and their associated
“flows of waste and remainders” (Moore 2012; 781). Because of this, waste has become a
lens through which to understand or explore environmental politics, urban history, social
behavior and movements, modernity, risk, and governance (Moore 2012). Solid waste
reflects urban politics and its political economy speaking to the “uneven quality of life
produced throughout urban environments” (Njeru 2006; 1048). Social metabolism
emphasizes the political, economic, and social forces that intertwine urban systems with
their outputs, including waste. Therefore, municipal waste sites are also “significant
nodes in the transformation of materials produced by urban landscapes” and intertwined
with the flows and processes that make up the metabolism (Hartmann 2012; 145). Within
these linkings of waste and waste sites and their role in urban politics and metabolism,
waste can be taken up and conceptualized as a hazard, object of management, a
46
commodity, resource, filth, risk, governable object, etc., but produced through urban
economies, vis-à-vis systems of political unevenness.
Whitson (2011) outlines how waste crises in Buenos Aires opened the possibilities for
the transformation of social relations through pursuing formalization of employment. She
explains how “the cartoneros [the local equivalent to Panama’s pepenadores] and their
work moved from being clandestine and strongly stigmatized to being a ubiquitous,
hyper-public expression of individual need, community survival, and national crisis,”
leading to changes in policy and discourse toward social and political inclusion (Whitson
2011; pg. 145). The cartoneros were able to organize, pursuing policy changes that
formalized and legalized their work. However what is most notable is that “these laws not
only represent momentous changes in the policy that directs the management of urban
waste, but also signal a new state approach to those associated with informal garbage
collection; rather than being criminalized, they are re-envisioned as vital to the operation
of one of the city’s most central functions (Whitson 2011; pg. 145). In addition to the
example of landfill works organizing in Buenos Aires above, landfills have also served as
sites of political activism, where both residents and waste workers protest their
externalization or exploitation in many other Latin American cities. Moore (2009) argues
that garbage becomes “an effective political tool because it exploits the fraught
relationship between city managers and urban waste” (pg. 427). Garbage workers,
informal and formal, are able to use waste as a leveraging tool for gaining rights and
recognition. In a different way, Hartmann (2012) describes the ways in which informal
pickers in Managua, Nicaragua protested access to waste (as their means of employment
or livelihood support). However in both types of cases, waste becomes a tool for political
gain, and waste sites become important but unexpected sites of political activism.
Landfills have also commonly been sites of local and national governance and
extensions of development. The United Nations, in its 2010 technical report for policy
makers on waste in urban areas, writes that “the quality of waste management services is
a good indicator of a city’s governance. The way in which waste is produced and
discarded gives us a key insight into how people live. In fact if a city is dirty, the local
administration may be considered ineffective” (UN-HABITAT 2010; forward). The
report argues that waste management is a key responsibility of city government. They not
47
only argue that waste management falls under urban governance, but is even an
indication of successful urban governance. Waste processes, or a lack thereof, are
therefore a reflection of a city’s status, extending even into its ranking in the lists of
global cities. For this reason, it is ironic that Panama City – with its global city
aspirations – does not seem to recognize a need to govern its waste more closely and in
fact sees the landfill as external to city governance or urban development. Interestingly,
informal waste picking is seen in the report as key to the success of formal waste
management and recycling programs; in some cities, if informal recyclers were to
disappear, the city would suddenly be in charge (in other words, need to pay) for the
management of hundreds of additional tons of waste per year. With this reasoning, it
seems logical that Panama City officials may want to formalize recycling positions or
increase their capacity to access waste and facilitate recycling. This will be discussed
further below. In these ways – pursuing improved waste management in the name of
global city aspirations – one would expect Panama City to aggressively pursue improved
waste management and inclusion of the Cerro Patacón area.
Some cities have officially begun to enact programs of inclusion regarding municipal
waste sites. In Sao Paulo, Brazil, a city plagued by poverty and poor health in slum areas,
the government began programs in 2000 to improve conditions, partly for the sake of
protecting watersheds and environmental resources in the area (Gutberlet and Hunter
2008). In Nicaragua, Managua’s waste site has been brought under the reach of the local
and national government in an effort to improve health and well-being for its citizens,
similarly formalizing previously-informal recyclers (Hartmann 2013). Sternberg (2013)
similarly describes the ways in which neoliberal governance in Buenos Aires has
extended to previously peripheral people and spaces through urban waste management
policies. Cartoneros were granted formal positions, their livelihoods recognized by the
state, not as a means of providing them a voice in waste management, but to regulate and
discipline them into “legal and well behaved workers” (pg. 187). In fact, she writes about
the ways in which “recycling policy articulated with current and evolving neoliberal
urban governances’ goals and agendas, i.e. the drive to discipline and control cultural
forms, identities and physical spaces to make them acceptable, attractive and even
sellable to capital investment” (pg. 189). As implied by the UN-HABITAT report
48
mentioned above, local governments stand to save extensive amounts of money by using
“formalized” labor in recycling operations.
Besides the conceptualization of waste and landfills as sites in which to explore
particular (uneven) urban assemblages, landfills have often been seen as a site of
environmental injustice. Geographers and sociologists find rich examples of the ways in
which waste disproportionately threatens subaltern populations living and working
nearby, contributing to questions of environmental justice (Heiman 1996; Carruthers
2008). Environmental justice research is the nexus of race, class, and environment across
many contexts, including “challenges of indigenous community knowledge to dominant
power/knowledge frames of risk, community empowerment and self-determination vis-àvis larger pressures such as globalization and economic restructuring, and basic physical
questions, framed in terms of distributive justice, of the differences in pollution and land
use across built environments and, therefore, across human populations” (Schweitzer and
Stephenson, 2007; 321). Conceptualizing waste as a hazard implies the relevance of
environmental justice literature, which provides a more nuanced analysis regarding the
patterns and material effects of inequality on populations, as well as alternatives to those
ills. Environmental justice seeks to understand how waste becomes a hazard, and for
whom, in particular who has exposure or risk: for example, this includes the uneven inter
and international distributions of waste disposal, racial politics, pollution, etc. For this
reason, environmental justice literature is often situated in waste-oriented landscapes,
such as landfills.
Informed by this literature, I expected that conversations about waste in Panama City
would turn, almost naturally, to these issues. As I outline in the next chapter, they did not;
unlike what many have documented in other Latin American cities, the landfill of
Panama City, though ripe with the conditions for civil unrest or worker/resident
organization and seemingly calling for the extension of neoliberal governance in a city
seeking to make its claim as a global city, remains a place excluded from government or
public attention and without collective resistance.
49
Chapter 3: The Logic of Externalization in Panama City
3.1 Political Ecological Assumptions
Upon my arrival in Panama City for my last installment of fieldwork, my
collaborators at the University of Panama organized for a Panamanian student from the
university’s Geography program to help me, as my guide, translator, assistant, and
cultural broker. On my first morning, I had breakfast at my hotel, tied up my sneakers,
and packed a back-pack with sun screen, granola bars, water, and my research supplies
– note pads, camera, and voice recorder. I went downstairs, thinking and planning in my
head how the day might go. First, we’d go to Cerro Patacón and start preparing for my
interviews and participant observation. Maybe we’d organize meetings for the days
ahead. Maybe we’d have lunch in the village nearby the landfill, Guna Nega. I’d
probably be able to interview the café’s owner… As I turned the corner, I spotted Liz
sitting in a chair, legs crossed delicately, looking down at her phone. She wore a stylish,
perfectly coordinated outfit – pink high-heel sandals, studded watch, matching purse, and
diamond-looking earrings. I knew we were not going to Cerro Patacón in heels.
Liz explained that she was a Geography student but in the tourism and culture
program; she was in training to become a tour guide, learning both about Panama’s
culture and its biology so that she could lead tourists through Panama’s jungle.
Admittedly, she wasn’t really interested in the city and said her dream was to stay out in
the jungle all day. Nonetheless, I figured a Geographer is a Geographer, and I proceeded
to explain my project. I speak Spanish well enough to get by, but I found myself
struggling to explain my project. Liz’s expression of complete and utter confusion didn’t
help my confidence. She didn’t understand why my study, about urbanization and
development in Panama, would take any interest in inequality, and even less why it would
lead us to Cerro Patacón. As I explained my intent to learn about the structural processes
at work in the city that lead to such a disorganized and dangerous landfill as Cerro
Patacón, with people living so close as to not be able to escape smoke from the 2013
landfill fire, her expression gradually changed from confusion to tension. I immediately
took a different approach, and explained how inequality was present in the US, as well. I
tried to explain that inequality existed all over the world, but I wanted to know about it in
Panama.
She still didn’t understand, or seemed dismissive. It was frustrating, but I figured
I must not be explaining it correctly. She probably figured I had no idea what I was
talking about. She did comment that Guna Nega was very far away, and far too
dangerous for two females by themselves. She insisted that we would be robbed. I gently
explained how once I went to New Orleans, and the tourist guide insisted I stay in the
French Quarter and not drive to the 9th Ward. I explained to Liz how I went anyway, and
found it was just ugly (in trying to use simple terms), not dangerous: a reflection of the
worst of New Orleans, that that tourist guide immediately did not want me to see. I
50
thought of Liz and her hope to become a tourist guide, and I tried to show her that the
same thing can happen in Panama, and that I wasn’t trying to uncover some
embarrassing part of her country; I wanted to see the worst and I knew it was the worst.
Her demeanor eased a little. I quickly looked up a map of Guna Nega on my cell phone,
taking advantage of the Wi-Fi in the hotel lobby, and she still insisted that it must be
hours away. I didn’t know enough about the geography of the city to say otherwise. Guna
Nega is always in the news, she said, for negative reasons. I didn’t push; it’s only the first
day, I thought. My Spanish will get better and I’ll bring it up later.
I didn’t think much of this initial, awkward conversation. At the time, I simply
told myself that the confusion must stem from the language barrier; Liz didn’t speak
English and my Spanish was informal and conversational, only potentially sufficient for
research purposes. However, I include this anecdote here because it ended up
foreshadowing and mimicking what I would experience as I sought to understand the
links between urbanization and waste throughout my participant interviews. To my
surprise and dismay, I found similar confusion in each interview that I conducted across a
broad range of actors. As alluded to earlier, this was the moment in which I understood
that my political ecological assumptions of socio-natures and the connectedness of the
landfill and the city through social metabolism were not widely shared. Unlike Nicaragua
and other cases, the landfill was not seen as an extension of the city where urban
development and official policies extended their reach. If my interviewees did not see
these connections, how did they define Panama City, development, governance, etc., and
where did the landfill fall? In other words, what did I find instead, and what does this
finding say about environmental governance in Panama City?
Based on my semi-structured interviews in these Panamanian government agency
offices, the private sector, academia, NGOs, and even Guna individuals themselves, I
found that despite the impacts that the fire had on the city – and specifically the uneven
impacts it had on its population – the fire was seen as irrelevant, unconnected, and
immaterial to a discussion about Panama City and development. No one understood why
I would be asking about development in Panama and Cerro Patacón. When I asked about
the supposed plight of the Guna people, next to the landfill, I was told that they chose to
live near the landfill and that they likely started the fire themselves anyway. This
narrative seemed to be socially pervasive; I heard it from Liz, from the tightly-lipped
Ministry of health, and from some Guna individuals themselves. In each interview, the
51
participant would sit up in their chair, ready to go through what seemed to be a script
about the hyper-development of Panama City, however when I would insist that I wanted
to talk about inequality, and particularly how it was symbolized in the landfill, they
would sit back again, and similar to Liz, their demeanor would change. At worst, I was
laughed at in a polite but completely dismissive way – at best, the individual would
casually negate my questions and continue to speak about their agency. I learned that the
interviewees’ responses to my questions were not just evidence in what they said, but
how they said it and what they did not say became evidence as well.
While the previous section explored Panama City and the landfill, providing
theoretical assumptions for better conceptualizing the landscape and the fire event, this
section will use three themes to explore this ‘landfill-as-separate’ logic and how through
it, the landfill and fire were rendered external to development and urban governance.
These themes appear through key passage points and via a number of different actors,
where techniques of externalizations are reasserted over time and space. I argue that the
logic is characterized by the externalization of the landfill and its residents, where those
living there are not seen as citizens and governance is not necessary – save for during a
hazard, when those very populations become the villains and the site become an object
for regulation and fixing. Using evidence from interviews, policy and grey literature
analysis, and other sources, I will show how this happens discursively and materially
through specific techniques of externalization: 1) neoliberal governance strategies of
individualization and victim-blaming, and 2) technocratic, superficial responses based on
a discourse of monitoring and analysis, and finally, 3) promoting non-metabolic thinking
through dualisms such as “urban” versus “rural” or “non-urban.” Promoting these
techniques of externalization serves to render external Cerro Patacón and its population,
contributing to and promoting the naturalization of an unproblematic growth model that
denies government accountability, wrongly blames certain populations, and justifies
social exclusion.
52
3.1 Unpacking the Logic: Neoliberal Governance Strategies
3.1.1 Targeting Individuals and “Others”
Neoliberalism has influenced the ways in which city officials deal with
environmental hazards; individualized, ‘responsibilized’ citizens, who must take it upon
themselves to both protect themselves and respond to hazards, are created. In the same
way that individual had to take it upon themselves to adapt or protect themselves,
individuals could likewise be blamed for environmental hazards. In Panama City, an
individualized approach to protecting citizens and the generalized victims was chosen
over a society-wide response, such as legislation or sector-related regulation that sought
to limit or control growth (e.g. the structural root causes of the hazard). A healthcentered, individualized approach was taken to control the landfill and address those at
fault. Encouraging people to wear face masks, stay inside, etc., places responsibility for
adaptation and health on the individual. Social development-focused programs emphasize
‘fixing’ the people (the immediate problem), not the landfill (or root causes). Neoliberal
governance strategies therefore take shape in two ways: 1) individualizing the response
so that citizens must deal with the problem themselves and 2) placing blame on subaltern
populations, in this case indigenous and mestizo populations that live and/or work in or
around the landfill.
While the cause of the fire remains largely unknown, numerous possible sources
were cited by the media and by government officials: pickers working in the landfill
intentionally set the fire, pickers unintentionally set the fire while working, the landfill
simply caught on fire from years of mismanagement, or the landfill caught on fire due to
methane build-up (e.g. the fire was natural; methane buildup is a natural occurrence in
landfills). However, both during and after the fire took place, a discourse of blaming the
“other” was found consistently among government agencies, NGOs, academia, citizens,
media, and even some of the “others” themselves. Local populations living and working
in and around the landfill were homogenized into a population of “others” that did not
belong within the urban imaginary. While there was no consensus on whether the fire
was started intentionally or not, the majority of my interviewees suggested that
pepenadores started the fire. This is possible – and not the subject of this paper. The
likelihood is that the fire started from any or all of those reasons, however this will never
53
be known. Instead, unpacking the response to the fire sheds light on how the socially
pervasive narrative of non-socio-natural thinking extends into the far reaches of
government, health, and even adaptation.
A number of ministry officials exclaimed that individuals were at fault for their
own poverty or poor health, placing blame on people themselves. When I asked an
architect from MIVI about the conditions in Guna Nega, she remarked that if people are
poor, it’s because they don’t find jobs and they don’t work. “The poor want to stay poor
anyway,” I was told. Regardless, she insisted that if people found jobs, they could take
care of themselves, further excusing a lack of services available outside the city. She
continued that pepenadores put themselves at risk and should seek employment
elsewhere if they truly cared about their health and safety. The Urbalia seemed to agree
that multiple risks faced recyclers working in the landfill. However, she also emphasized
that the country is “blessed with prosperity and opportunity” and that those who do not
find jobs don’t want to work. She even quoted what she said was from the Bible: “if you
don’t work, you don’t eat!” She also noted that though the landfill does subject those
living nearby to a number of health risks, including exposure to gases and pollutants
leading to infection and respiratory issues, Urbalia offers vaccinations and other medical
care for exposure risk. However, she noted, people do not have time to go to the clinic
and do not use the services provided. The paradoxes are rife; communities who have been
on that land longer than the landfill, have been increasingly subject to health risks as the
landfill has grown, yet they must find access to adaptation and better health through the
very organization that put them at risk in the first place. Of course again, individuals bear
the brunt of the responsibility for their role in the hazard as well as for adapting,
regardless of the source of the risk or the adaptive solution.
Interviewees from both MINSA and Urbalia emphatically insisted interviews that
the Guna people chose to live in the dump. The Urbalia interviewee, while boasting
social and environmental programs offered to area residents (one of which will be
discussed later), argued that the Guna chose to settle in a contaminated area. MINSA
echoed this sentiment of blaming the Guna for moving to what was already “a
contaminated, unhealthy landfill.” However, it’s important to note that this is completely
inaccurate. Guna Nega was formed in 1980, while the landfill was established in the late
54
1980s, as mentioned previously. The Guna interviewees with whom I spoke confirmed
this. Again, this indicates either a conscious or subconscious denial of the history of the
region. The architect from MIVI said that Indigenous people (in an obvious
oversimplification and generalization) do not want to mix and integrate with the city and
do not want to accept city services. She said that they even refer to non-indigenous as
“Latinos,” signifying that that they see themselves as separate and different. With this she
implied that they do not want services from the government. Further, multiple
interviewees insisted that if the Guna feel they have no services, it’s their fault for settling
near Cerro Patacón. The MINSA interviewee laughed when I asked about the
effectiveness of the response. “Definitely,” she said. She emphatically noted that in her
opinion, it was the job of local people to find information and go to a health center if they
needed to. “Stay inside and don’t go to work if you want to stay safe and healthy” she
said, despite the obvious limitations that many had in heeding that advice.
Urbalia, while eager to tout their social benefits and sustainability programs, also
emphasized individualized approaches versus regulatory change. I was given a brochure
with bright pictures of planet Earth, recycling cartoons, and photos of the landfill before
and after their involvement. The brochure explained the Plan de Componente Social del
Relleno Sanitario de Cerro Patacón – a plan for formalizing employment in the landfill
so that the informal (and “illegal”) pickers could retain their “human dignity, health,
security, and the health of the environment.” A new social responsibility program
formalized over 150 workers, however left hundreds more informal and “illegal.”
Interestingly, while still an effort to target and formalize individuals (and ignoring
structural issues), Urbalia’s program connected environmental and social issues with
waste more so than government agencies did. The program included health services and
vaccinations, “celebrations of Christmas and New Year’s,” and other communitybuilding activities. The Urbalia interviewee even boasted about improving the lives of
nearby communities through offering job opportunities. The interviewee explained as
follows:
We know we have a social responsibility we need to help these people in
these communities. A lot of the recyclers belong to these communities. So
we give them a license to work in the landfill – for their own consumption
or to sell – we are contributing to the wellbeing of the families. We give
55
them vaccinations, licenses to extract materials; we try to give them job
positions if they have the capacity. If they’re good, we find them a job.
Like a company, we are helping them a lot just giving them the license. A
lot of them depend on the recycling activities. One of the biggest
contributions is our group of recyclers – a big group that work in the
company. We employ them like security guards, manual labors in the cars,
truck drivers, etc. We give them the opportunity to improve their lives
through their jobs. We don’t reject them from the area. We know they
depend on us. A lot of them have lived here their whole lives, so we give
them jobs and they can feed their families. We help the communities in the
construction of roads, water tanks, we want to do more, but we try for
kids’ days, mother’s days, we give them gifts for Christmas, extra money
during the holidays. Christmas parties and activities. We feel like we
contribute to improving their lives. They don’t feel like they’re part of the
waste or something like that. To make them feel like they’re accepted and
recognized – they’re doing a contribution to the environment! We try to
elevate their self-esteem, many of them were forgotten. We relocate some
people, where they lived in horrible conditions, to places where they have
bathrooms, roofs, with services, social areas, when before they were just
eating in the garbage.
The brochure included a workflow similar to the one below, which I have
translated:
"Ambito Social"
•Training in
human relations
•Improved
literacy
•Access to
dignified housing
•Communication
plans
"Economico"
"Salud"
• Economic
development
•Recycling
programs
• Funnel reclycing
jobs to those
who need them
• Mechanisms for
healthier lives
• Medicine
• Disease
prevention
Figure 24. Urbalia outreach. Urbalia emphasizes social and economic perspectives of health but in an effort to
further organize labor.
56
Urbalia’s discourse provides some connection from human/social relations to the
economy and to health. The Urbalia interview participant also spoke of programs related
to social development, improved operations, environmental sustainability, etc. Figure 25
below are photographs of the brochure, further touting their recycling programs and
commitments to cleaning up the landfill. The Urbalia official described the role of
Urbalia as a manager maintaining the landfill, while also helping the community by
providing formal jobs and improving the environment. She described Urbalia as
constantly considering development through their social outreach programs, operations,
and environmental sustainability.
Figure 25. Urbalia brochure. Photographs of an Urbalia brochure depicts new efforts to recycle and be more
sustainable.
57
However, Urbalia’s outreach programs and employee formalization programs,
while disguised otherwise, are still neoliberal governance strategies that target the
individual as the means of governance. These connections and programs are made in an
attempt to “fix” recyclers as if the environmental hazards associated with the landfill are
their fault.
Figure 26. Urbalia brochure. The Urbalia brochure advertises the benefits of employee formalization initiatives.
Both inside and outside the landfill, the Urbalia interviewee argued that
Panamanians do not have a culture of recycling, again placing blame for the poor
management of the landfill on individuals (along with other interviewees and
58
international consultants). In fact, she went as far as to blame the lack of organization and
mismanagement in the landfill on individuals who did not recycle. She said:
The big challenge for the company is that the people don’t have a good
management system for the waste. They throw the waste wherever they
can. There is no culture of recycling. Waste is money – the challenge is to
try to make Panamanians conscious. They need to separate waste from the
source, like in their houses. They’re the ones providing the garbage.
They’re generating their own garbage, their own challenge. It’s us. It’s
estimated in one study –written by a foundation –that each person
generates 5 pounds of garbage per day. I don’t remember the study. So we
don’t have a culture of recycling, so our landfill is going to be like this –
open – everyone can throw garbage here however they want. So there
won’t be good management, they’re just not conscious.
A Professor of Geography similarly blamed environmental problems in Panama
on individuals who do not recycle or contribute to a sustainable society. He said that
among Panamanians, “there is no interest” and the government should emphasize
environmental education more. ANAM shared this sentiment, blaming environmental
problems on a lack of education. The professor even named a few environmental and
sustainability-related NGOs as means through which environmental education could be
reached. However, the organizations he mentioned focus on issues such as rainforest
conservation or energy use, or more “natural” themes outside the city. The Urbalia
program and rhetoric of education fit into the neoliberal discourse of social responsibility
seen in many corporate and government operations, relying on blame and individual
change. In the case of Urbalia, the image of the company may improve however
management of the landfill does not change.
In conclusion, Urbalia and government agencies sought to identify a villain for
the fire, but also for landfill mismanagement altogether, instead of look to the structural
causes of environmental hazards or crises. That villain became the recyclers,
pepenadores, residents of nearby communities, and even the Panamanian people. That
said, the role of pepenadores in the fire is probable. They work informally and formally
in the landfill and maintain a major role in its management (or mismanagement) just by
being there. However, their role in the landfill fire, while not irrelevant, should not be the
focus. Why did interview participants focus on blaming pickers and those living nearby?
The ways in which they may be blamed for an environmental hazard or some form of
59
exploitative behavior is consistent with Robbins’ (2012) Degradation and
Marginalization theory, providing some explanation to make sense of this logic in the
narrative. In this argument, Robbins argues that blaming the “other” is largely simplistic
and should instead be seen as part of a wider geography of accidents (Robbins 2012).
This theorem argues that exploitative behavior is the result of “state development
intervention and/or increasing integration in regional and global markets…, leading to
increasing poverty and cyclically, increasing overexploitation” (pg. 159). Therefore
while pepenadores may indeed have played a role in the fire, it is simply a part of a larger
assemblage of activity that led to the fire. More importantly, their actions likely reflect a
history of marginalization through a lack of work, services, and support systems through
the government.
3.1.2 Technocratic Solutions
Another response to the fire centered on the bureaucratic or technocratic logic of
calculating, measuring, and reporting: creating state spaces of control and order. Here I
focus on two examples, or sites, where this logic of technocratic solutions was extended:
the air quality workshop and a report on waste in Panama commissioned by the
Panamanian government in 2006.
The workshop, organized by IEA and paid for by NASA, was an obvious example of
technocratic approach at an environmental hazard. Interestingly, the workshop was
planned so as to take advantage of funding left over in the NASA project. This further
shows how even for NASA, IEA, and international NGOs, the fire was another mundane
event, a reason sufficient enough for hosting a workshop. NASA simply stipulated that a
topic related to air quality be the focus, and the Cerro Patacón fire provided an example
for the organizations to use as a case study for air quality monitoring.
IEA is a very technical, scientific research organization. While funded by NASA, the
workshop was organized by IEA, including setting the agenda and inviting participants.
Over 60 participants were invited to what was thought would be a very well attended and
exciting workshop, however less than 30 participants came. Of those were participants
from ANAM, MINSA, SINAPROC (Emergency Management office), media, and IEA
60
representatives. IEA had ultimately hoped that the workshop would spur conversation on
how air quality (e.g. data and measurements) was relayed during and after the landfill
fire, and what roles the media and various ministries had. They expected presentations
with lively discussion and interaction. IEA designated the following agenda items:

An overview of particle pollution (PM10 and PM2.5),

Using the Air Quality Index (AQI) to communicate air quality conditions,

Ambient PM2.5 measurements during the Cerro Patacón fire,

Using aerosol satellite data to monitor and track particle pollution,

Government efforts to protect human health during the Cerro Patacón fire, and

Using public participation to improve air quality communication.
The first four topics are obviously quite technical, a nod to NASA as the workshop
funder. IEA’s representatives, as well as the American NGO collaborators, were
scientists, some with PhDs in meteorology and air quality chemistry. Their presentations
spoke to each other more than to anyone else, showcasing how satellite data or air quality
data was captured and utilized in measuring the air quality impacts of the landfill fire.
Complicated graphs and charts filled the PowerPoint slides. While many looked forward
to what MINSA’s presentation would include, theirs was noted as one of the least
beneficial in the workshop evaluations. Taken from the official workshop summary:
[The MINSA representative] presented efforts that her organization took
during the landfill fire to protect public health, which involved mobile
monitoring and evacuations of affected areas. She described collaborative
efforts between the Ministry, local governments, universities, and civil
protection authorities to monitor air quality conditions and disseminate
information to the public. [She] noted that the Minister of Health was the
only person authorized to tell the public to take specific actions regarding
the fire, which included directions to stay indoors and not exercise
outdoors during the fire’s duration. During a brief discussion after her
presentation, workshop participants questioned the effectiveness of the
role of the Ministry of Health in communicating the air quality hazards
during the event. For example, the Ministry claimed to have statistics
about the air quality effects and health impacts of the fire, but when
pressed, could not produce the statistics.
Workshop participants
encouraged all involved to learn from this experience and to communicate
accurate air quality information and health impacts more effectively in the
future.
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This was actually quite a diplomatic summary of the representative’s presentation. In
reality, she seemed completely detached and disinterested. During her presentation,
where she described the public engagement and outreach efforts put forth by MINSA
during and after the fire, three ANAM representatives in the back giggled and whispered
to each other, looks of disbelief and anger on their faces. The MINSA representative was
hesitant in answering questions and simply emphasized that she was not impacted
personally; and those who were impacted should have taken care of themselves. She left
the workshop soon after her presentation ended.
The 5th topic on government and human health in fact did not take place, as the
participant canceled their presentation at the last minute. The final presentation, how
government or media officials might use the US Environmental Protection Agency’s
(EPA) handbook on public participation, seemed to be lost on the participants. This may
have been useful if in fact they had data to disseminate, and means with which to
communicate. In a tense discussion after the presentation, it was noted that certain
neighborhoods received no notice whatsoever, while others didn’t know what to do with
the information regardless.
The second half of the workshop, meant for discussion about information
dissemination, turned into an argument between members of the media and MINSA
about whose responsibility it was to share information. Journalists described that that
they did not understand the technical reports. They emphasized the need for linking
scientists to the media, but ultimately still suggested ways in which the public could seek
out information themselves through increased education and awareness. Individualized
responses were emphasized again. The workshop concluded with the following list of
suggestions and closing remarks:

More seminars should be scheduled

The media and NGOs should participate more so that they can better relay
information to the public (though the public bears the brunt of the responsibility
for obtaining the information once published)

Establish procedures for communicating

Disseminate technical information and data through social media, brochures, etc.
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Truly, the workshop ended as it started. While increasing communication and using
alternate forms of communication may be beneficial, what is being communicated? Is it
helpful to publish data? The workshop ended without asking – what started the landfill in
the first place?
This workshop is just one example of the ways in which technical solutions,
measurement and reporting in particular, were applied superficially to the landfill fire,
without attention to any structural factors. However, it also shows how the landfill was
continued to be seen as something mundane, to which a discussion of reporting and
technicalities was sufficient. The workshop took place simply because of a need to use
funding. It became an example for discussing air quality communication, not discussing
how to prevent air quality hazards from starting in the first place. However, what’s more,
as mentioned earlier, no data or reports could be found! ANAM and MINSA, both offices
which claimed to have reports, were found to have none. An interactive website created
by CATHALAC, the technical research NGO interviewed and mentioned previously,
advertised GIS and satellite data layers of smoke and other impacts of the fire, but the site
was never found to work. So while technical solutions were tacked onto the landfill fire
response, voices suggest that there is more evidence than there really is; data and reports
are alive in the imaginary, but librarians in the ANAM and MINSA libraries would say
otherwise.
Another striking example of simplistic analysis and technocratic solutions can be
seen in a 2006 report commissioned by the Panamanian government. An American
market research consulting firm was hired to conduct a study on how government
officials in Panama City might address waste issues. Waste was seen as a growing
problem, but because of the impact that it was having on economic sectors of the city,
most notably urban development and the Panama Canal. The purpose of the report, as
included in the report abstract, was as follows:
The Panamanian Government wants to spur economic development along
the shores of the Panama Canal, but inadequate waste disposal
capabilities discourage substantial investment. Squatters and scavengers
now also live on the largest landfill in the area and their living conditions
pose serious public health risks to the entire region. Unchecked trash
disposal actually threatens the physical operation of the Panama Canal,
essential to the country's and world economy, because clogged rivers and
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streams prevent the flow of water required to move ships through this
passageway connecting Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. A governmental task
force is charged with addressing these problems and they have summoned
a team of American consultants to recommend an action plan for
modernizing and improving the waste management system of the entire
inter‐oceanic region.
A number of important observations can be made from the report. First, the report was
requested not because waste was impacting resources or human health, but because waste
was seen as impeding upon development. The report sought to provide the government
with suggestions as to how they might attract international investors to a “tropical
paradise,” despite improper, poor, or nonexistent waste management (Linowes and
Hupert 2006; 228). The report describes how in 1998, an American company wanted to
build an eco-resort in the Canal Zone which would have resulted in hundreds of
thousands of dollars in leasing fees for the Panamanian government. The project was
canceled because the developers deemed waste pick-up and disposal unreliable and
haphazard. Waste comes to the forefront of governance only when it threatens
development and economic profit. Waste is conceptualized here not as a risk for those
living around it or working in/with it, but as a risk and threat for the economy.
Further, the report demonizes those living and working around the landfill,
describing how “squatters and scavengers” built homes and communities near the landfill
so that they could work illegally within the landfill collecting recyclables and other
goods. The report states that “not only were these communities impeding development in
the area, but also their impoverished, unhealthy living conditions had been publicized in
the local media when [the government] tried to remove them to make way for
development” (Linowes and Hupert 2006; 227). It is obvious that those living in and near
Cerro Patacón are being homogenized into a single population of “squatters.” This is an
observation shared by many. There are a number of problems with this. First, as
established previously, many of the communities around Cerro Patacón were formed
before the landfill; therefore, calling these populations squatters is not only incorrect but
inflammatory. Worse, a supposed objective, unbiased research organization takes up
these terms. Second, the communities around Cerro Patacón are not homogenous but
vastly different populations of indigenous and non-indigenous communities, as described
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previously. Third and finally, through these statements, the risk to those populations is
again not identified as the problem; instead, the risk to the economy and reputation of the
government is at stake.
In conclusion, while data is useful for many applications, a strict reliance on
technical solutions fails to address the root, structural causes of environmental problems
and injustice and therefore does not fully contribute to the ultimate prevention of that
problem. In this case, there was no structural analysis that may have identified landfill
mismanagement or unplanned and unregulated growth as likely root cause(s) of the fire.
Even an international consulting firm – held at a high scientific standard – placed blame
on so-called “squatters and scavengers.” While not only harmful to the populations it
wrongly represents, this logic will result in failed policies and ultimately a continuation
of the same problems and injustices – which it already has. Important questions about
social metabolism and the links between waste and development go unasked and
unanswered by those in positions of power and intellectual esteem, from Panamanian
academics and bureaucrats to scientists and international consultants.
3.1.3 Non-metabolic Dualisms
As the previous sections showed, the city had a very specific, commonly-shared
system or discourse with which to deal with the fire. Seen throughout, however, is the
ways in which the landfill itself was not seen as a metabolic problem, and even less a
social metabolic one. I argue that underpinning this disconnect – and contributing to a
lack of substantive response mechanisms that address the fire through planning and
development questions – were a number of dualisms. The first was consensus that that
which is considered “urban” – meaning Panama City itself – is separate and apart from
everything else, including that which is considered “natural” or “rural.” For example,
Panama City is “urban” while the rest of the country is something else – “the interior.”
Second was the dualism between what is “natural” and “urban” or “not natural.” The
jungle or the beach is “natural.” The “environment” still remains fenced off in parks (e.g.
Parque Metropolitano, a Central Park-like destination in the urban core). In this way, Liz
was eager to work in the jungle but did not want to go to the landfill. She saw the landfill
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as something dirty, dangerous, and off-putting, something separate from the city and
separate from what she saw as Panama’s “nature” or “environment.” More broadly, the
landfill was not urban in that it was completely separated from the city discursively but
also materially. Interview participants dismissed questions relating development to waste
or the landfill in the same way. This non-metabolic thinking propagates dualistic thinking
and removes the social from the material of metabolism.
Drawing from political ecology’s socionatures theory, I argue that the logic
observed through multiple interviews, and the strategies seen in the sections above,
extends and promotes a dualism in not only “nature” and “urban” but in urban and rural,
and that this dualism promotes non-socio-metabolic thinking. Interviewees felt the city
was separate from the landfill; the dump is seen as alien to the city. It falls between
“urban” and “natural,” making it a liminal space of in-between-ness. Likewise, waste and
people associated with the waste are rendered external to the city and that which is
“urban.” Political ecologists argue that a dualism or binary wrongly exists between what
is natural and what is urban (Wachsmuth 2012; Robbins 2012). This dualistic logic posits
that there are natural places – like vast wildernesses – and urban places – like cities,
streets, and neighborhoods. This dualism is at its core what makes up the narrative or
discourse at work in Panama City. As is the problem with any binary, that that exists in
between is rendered invisible – or external to both categories. Places fall between what
our imaginary tells us is “natural” or not. Socionatures imply a breaking down of the
distinction or binary between what is nature or natural and what is social or urban, or the
idea that there is no pure nature.
Robbins’ 2012 work on the American lawn provided a useful example for
understanding socio-natural thinking, especially in terms of urban landscapes. He wrote
that “a growing body of urban history has come to emphasize the way cities are nothing
but nature – metals, glass, and water – flowing through political and economic conduits.
These previously free materials become “fixed” in the built environment but are very
much part of a social and political life of urban areas” (pg. 12). Robbins goes on to say
that an urban landscape – or lawn in his text – is really a “crystallized form of these raw
materials and ecological forces, tempered, constrained, and spread across” landscapes
(pg. 12). In addition, landscapes are actually particular assemblages or networks of
66
political, cultural, and historical conditions (Gabriel 2014). In this way, the dualism or
binary between society and nature is de-emphasized, with the realization that both
produce and constitute each other.
Similarly, Mansfield et al. (2014) argue that the environment is fundamentally
socioecological, versus a more traditional sense of environmentalism, dominated “by the
idea of nature as a domain external to human society, whether as wilderness of resource”
(pg. 2). Nature is actually inherently a political process, with environments actually
power-laden places. Certain people have access to the benefits while others experience
harm. Grove (2009) additionally notes that urban landscapes are constituted by socioecological relations, ultimately defining modern life. These literatures argue that the
landfill and the city are indeed all part of the same assemblage that is the urban
landscape.
Socio-economic processes are at work in any natural environment, and natural
processes are present in any urban landscape (Swyngedouw 2006). What is important
about the political ecological tenet of socio-natures is that the binary should be blurred. A
city landfill is neither urban nor natural; thinking in a dualistic way would exclude the
landfill from city planning, environmental protection, or perhaps even thought at all.
Likewise, indigenous populations who leave their idyllic, natural homes and move to the
city are also neither natural nor urban. They live and exist in the periphery. Socio-natural
thinking allows that people and places that would otherwise not qualify for one side or
the other of the binary suddenly become visible. Furthermore, a social metabolism would
entail a governance structure that relied on actors across networks. In this way, the
liminal spaces and people found in Cerro Patacón become a part of the conversation
about development in Panama City.
I found this distinction between the “natural” (or rural) and the “urban” to be
corroborated by my ANAM interviews; politics, society, and the environment seemed to
be specifically separated. One interviewee from ANAM refused to answer my questions
about the landfill because she was “not political.” She did not want to comment on
something to which her work did not apply; she also seemed to feel that it was not an
environmental issue. She felt entirely uncomfortable with the questions I asked and
simply told me to “talk to the boss” if we wanted to know more. Even though she and
67
other ANAM participants agreed that land use, pollution, and litter were challenges
facing Panama, this did not extend past the city limits – Cerro Patacón was a different
issue entirely, irrelevant to ANAM.
A professor from the University of Panama Geography Department was similarly
uncomfortable with questions about the landfill yet expressed frustration with
privatization in the government. When asked about the fire and its impacts, he said “I
don’t know, I don’t live there,” as if the impacts stayed within Cerro Patacón boundaries.
I interpreted this as dismissing the problem and its relevance to him, his life, and perhaps
his work as well. However, he noted that the landfill was incredibly disorganized, which
contributed to the event. While he did not explicitly connect waste to development, he
said that privatization – a characteristic of neoliberal governance – was partly at fault.
The concession of Cerro Patacón to Urbalia was part of the problem; he said, “That’s the
problem in Panama. The government does whatever it wants and does not respect the
citizens. They hire companies, these companies come and sign a contract, but in the long
run, they do whatever they want. Why? They don’t care about the risk. They just want to
get paid. That’s what’s happening.”
The landfill was seen as a liminal space in terms of policy and government
responsibility, as well; no government agency interviewee could identify whose
responsibility it was to govern the landfill, or environmental hazards that originated with
waste. The Geography professor simply stated that “no one pays attention to that place.”
When asked about the fire in the most general sense, an interviewee from MINSA noted
that ANAM took care of the fire since it was an environmental problem. She noted that
MINSA’s responsibility was to create health-related laws and to monitor things like
chemical usage or vaccinations, not to deal with environmental problems. The
interviewee proudly described the chemical conventions that MINSA has joined, and
their mission to protect the public’s health. However, she noted that MINSA is not really
concerned with Cerro Patacón because “many other organizations work there,” and their
job was only publish the reports. She did acknowledge that dealing with the fire was
difficult because of the logistical dilemmas related to regional versus state versus local
government authority, but overall she noted that “so many groups worked there after the
fire, there was no clear plan and no progress.” While this response hinted at the lack of
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responsibility, leadership, and planning in relation to the fire, she still emphasized that
MINSA’s job was imply to check for risk and then publish reports and protocols.
Contributing to a void in responsibility of the landfill, supposed reports and data
were commonly cited but never produced. When asked about the fire, an ANAM
interviewee simply told me to talk to the university group in charge of scientific analysis
(IEA, the group in charge of the air quality workshop mentioned previously), that they
would have the “air quality impacts I needed.” They noted that it was a spontaneous fire
and emergency management took care of it. Another official told me to check the online
statistics; he said he “could not provide opinions, but the internet should have what [I]
need anyway.” Though many said that ANAM published reports, an extensive search of
their library, assisted by their own librarians, found nothing. In total, 5 different ANAM
officials referred me to their library or online database of reports. In addition, “check
online” was a common phrase heard in interviews. Interviewees assumed I was looking
for statistics or reports containing air quality measurements, which they insisted were
online. However, like the ANAM library, searches online produced no results.
Despite MINSA’s claim that ANAM should know more about the landfill, when
visiting ANAM, three different interview participants, in three separate interviews,
continued to laugh at questions related to the landfill and the city. One interviewee, from
the Emergency Management sector, said that the analysis was done by IEA. She said
ANAM did not have the authority to act during the landfill. Interestingly, ANAM is not a
government ministry and therefore does indeed have less acting authority as other
organizations such as MINSA. Created in 1998, its focus is on pollution, natural
resources, wildlife, preservation of natural areas, conservation, forest protection,
biodiversity protection, etc.11 ANAM is therefore largely seen as a conservation and
natural resource-related agency. Questions of contamination due arise in its charter –
cargos por contaminación urbano o rural – anthropogenic contamination in urban and
rural areas. However, where does the landfill fall? It seems that through policy
documents as well, the landfill is rendered external and in-between what is seen by both
official and public discourses of “urban” versus “nonurban.”
11
http://www.anam.gob.pa/images/stories/normasambientales/Ley_general_del_ambiente_panama.pdf
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While a survey of Panamanians would have been of interest to better understand
additional mindsets, Figure 27 illustrates the extension of dualistic thinking into
Panamanian pop culture. The top right shows how Panamanians living in the capital see
the rest of the country – either just “the interior” or other derogatory names. Similarly,
even the world, as shown in the top left, sees Panama as either Canal (e.g. urban) or
forest.
Figure 27. Panama Cartoon. This cartoon expresses the following: top left: “How the world sees Panama –
jungle, canal, more jungle,” bottom left: “how Panamanians see Venezuelans and Colombians: Money!”, top
right: “How those from the capital see the rest of Panama: the interior, (other derogatory names), and
Dubai/Miami/New York as the capital”, and bottom right: “how someone from Northern Panama (i.e. Colón)
sees Panama: Switzerland, Indigenous and Black people, and Haiti.” Source: twicsy.com
In conclusion, various neoliberal responses and strategies categorized the actions
after the fire, ultimately contributing to and defining the externalization of the landfill and
those living and working there. This is compounded by Panama City’s history and
modern governance, which has and continues to emphasize modernization and hypergrowth at the sake of history and social services. The dualisms between “urban” and
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otherwise have therefore been a constant thread in Panama, characterizing Panamanian
environmental and social governance.
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Chapter 4: A Different Discourse? Resistance and Subjectivities
While I did not expect to find road blockages or strikes, as have taken place in
other cities, I did expect to encounter a discourse (among government workers especially)
that at least recognized that waste management was a problem in Panama City not just in
terms of inconvenience, but in terms of its uneven impacts on people through the landfill
and fire. What’s more, I expected to see an opposing discourse in Guna Nega especially
to what I saw as obvious technologies of externalization, which have led to the conditions
for injustice and social exclusion. However, as shown in Chapter 3, the majority of
interviewees – across multiple stakeholder types – did not share my view of waste as a
political and social problem, and instead shared a discourse that privileged neoliberal
governance strategies, technocratic solutions, and overall dualistic thinking in regards to
development and waste in Panama City. While there was indeed overall consensus
around the logic of externalization, I found this was a complicated issue. In this chapter, I
outline an alternative discourse uncovered (through only a few interviews), but how even
it was laced with neoliberal governance strategies. Drawing from the literature on
resistance and subjectivities, I will explore various hypotheses as to why I found so little
evidence of an alternative discourse and even less of resistance.
4.1 Alternative Discourses
Through a few interviews, I did uncover a sense of frustration through an
alternative discourse that did indeed recognize social and/or environmental justice.
However, while two college-aged Guna males expressed frustration at their sense of
externalization from the city, they still saw some of the problems in the community
through a neoliberal lens. Nonetheless, the two Guna students clearly had strong feelings
that differed from the casual contentment found among older Guna interviewees.
Professors at the University of Panama also expressed an alternative discourse however
similarly called upon neoliberal governance strategies in order to achieve them. In this
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section, I will outline what this alternative discourse was, and how despite its rhetoric, it
still called upon neoliberal governance in the end.
4.1.1 Contesting the Discourse of Externalization…
Some interviewees did implicitly highlight uneven development in Panama City
and Guna Nega. One Guna interviewee (called Juan here) said that he “sees development,
but not in the areas where we need it most. [The government] develops places where
people with more money live. Here in the town, there is no development because we have
violence, drug addiction, and alcoholism. We don’t see the development.” Another
interviewee [called Fernando here] expressed something similar: “we see development
and infrastructure in Panama, it seems excellent. It’s the best part of this country,
something distinct. But it’s not integrated; we miss a lot in the communities. The
development is concentrated in the city, for tourists. It’s centralized but not for those who
need it.” In this way, Juan and Fernando expressed that while the development of the city
is impressive – making Panama a comparatively good place to live and be proud of – they
do believe that the urbanization and modernization projects defining its development
trajectory are equally shared by all Panamanians.
A professor of Geography emphasized that there is little order in Panama City’s
development, leading to uneven benefit and unequal impact. He said the hyper-growth is
disorganized and profit-led; he noted that “there is no good planning; they’re only
thinking about getting rich – thinking about that the families benefiting from the building,
more than the families who will occupy them.” He argued that the government
prioritizes economic growth, infrastructure development, and construction. Fernando said
that the government prioritizes anything that has to do with influence and power, most
notably physical aspects of the city such as construction. Juan said he felt proud of
Panama City in part, but on the other hand, saw “a disconnect between the development
of the city versus development of areas and people where they need it most.”
Juan drew attention to a different, more critical perspective about Guna Nega
through the militarized police presence. He pointed out sarcastically that area policemen
were “watching” them. Interestingly, besides tourist attractions like Cinta Costera
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downtown where tourist police maintained a presence for the sake of “protecting” visitors
(or rather, making them feel safe), I had never seen police officers – in full riot gear save
the mask – milling about in a central residential plaza where there were no tourists. The
young man’s frustration seemed palpable. Indeed, when I spoke to one of the officers, he
spoke with disdain that the residents of the area were “cochinos,” or “pigs” who bathed in
the dirty rivers and threw garbage everywhere. Of course I didn’t mention that an open
landfill was within eyesight; how could that not be related to the litter. In addition, those
bathing in the river were not Guna but poorer mestizo migrants who lived and worked
informally. I had to wonder; why did the police monitor this area? To maintain peace and
prevent crime? According to the urban imaginary of Guna Nega as a dangerous place
where I would trip over bodies, one would assume that a police presence was necessary.
Juan mentioned that the Guna Nega organization kept crime in the immediate vicinity
very low, but bordering areas were not as lucky. I also wondered if it was not to stifle any
rebellious tendencies, if those thoughts were ever present.
Juan and Fernando also noted that the fire’s cause was broader than just pickers.
Fernando argued that “It started with the company that runs the landfill, Urbalia. Since
they’re taking care of the landfill, they should control who goes in, who comes out, and
how it’s run and managed. It starts with them. They have half the fault of what happened
there because they don’t care what happens there or what happens to the communities
nearby. They don’t care about the smell or the kids here. It was also the fault of the
government because they allow them to administer the landfill in that way where they do
whatever they way. If it was a government worried about the people, they would have put
limits on the company. Also, they could visit us, see how we feel, see how the landfill
impacts us, and visit Urbalia to see if the garbage is managed. So it’s both Urbalia and
the government.” While Urbalia boasted about corporate responsibility and employment
opportunities, Juan said that for them, “garbage is profit. They make money off the
landfill and that’s all they care about.”
Juan and Fernando described how the landfill fires are “a habit;” they happen
consistently but area residents have grown accustomed and adapted in their own way.
Juan noted that “when people say they aren’t affected, it’s only because they’re used to
it.” Fernando described that for his entire life, he’s lived with Cerro Patacón. He said
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“We’re used to this. Since the fire was so big and on TV – people got sick, but it’s always
the same. We’re accustomed, even to the sickness. No one knows the difference. Since it
was on TV, everyone found out about this situation. Now that the fire is finished, we still
live the same. Nothing changed. Nothing is different. We are still the same. Since the fire,
during the fire, but after the fire, it’s all still the same. People talk and talk about there is
never a change. I’m accustomed to living the same way.” The Geography professor –
who did not want to comment on his own experience and instead relied on stories seen
through the media – said that “it is not a finished issue, there are still little fires. They still
feel the consequences of the fire in the region.”
Juan led us around Guna Nega, describing the lack of opportunities and fading
culture, explaining how Cerro Patacón was expanding. He almost became emotional
talking about Guna Nega; “I remember when I was a kid – I used to walk around these
places, and [the landfill] was never here! We never saw it. It wasn’t like this. It was after
that they started to come. They moved it here. Before, Guna Nega was the only
neighborhood here. This was all forests, pure mountains. We were living in the middle of
the forest. So it’s a big lie that they said they were here first. We were here before them.”
Juan even suggested that developers want to build in Guna Nega – wealthy developments
are closing in on one side of the community while the landfill borders the other side – and
continues growing as well!
These voices also expressed pride in the community, describing how they build
Guna Nega themselves. Juan was surprised and seemingly taken aback when Liz casually
mentioned that she had never been to nor really understood Guna Nega. Though when he
became too cynical about Guna Nega, explaining how the Guna language is dying and
culture is being lost, an older community member scolded him for being negative. He
scoffed and said he was “only being honest, not criticizing.” Her intervention mirrored
what older Guna seemed to relay – a sense of pride in Panama City and similarly in Guna
Nega, and a sense of denial or dismissal of any injustice associated with the waste, the
landfill, or the development of the city.
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4.1.2 Through Neoliberal Means
Despite contestation of the discourse, neoliberal governance responses were still
implicit in many of the explanations given regarding environmental hazards and
externalization broadly. Even when rhetoric of vulnerability and social inclusion
permeated a government agency interviewee’s response, he still nonetheless expressed
implicitly the externalization of the landfill. This gentleman, from MIDES, spoke to me
for two hours about social inclusion despite government inefficiency. He explained that
previously, MIDES was combined with another ministry to form the Ministry of
Economy and Social Development; this was best for the country in that it fulfilled this
important notion of political economy, providing “economists with a better vision,” as he
argued. He then noted what his office does: provides responses and alternatives to
specific priority, vulnerable, and marginalized groups: children, youth, women,
indigenous populations, afro-descendants, and developmentally challenged. These
populations deal with challenges like a lack of jobs, lack of services, and a general lack of
“social guarantees” as he called them. He described that social exclusion is important –
government should consider the poor, vulnerable, marginalized, etc. He noted that
MINSA directs all that he does in his job, which include monitoring and evaluation
impacts of development, and generally trying to improve quality of life for certain
populations in need.
However, provide various explanations as to why the issues occurred and how
they might be resolved. He explained how ministries did not communicate and were
largely ineffective in programming due to the change in staff with every new government
administration. He noted the indigenous are the most poor and the most in need of
services. At this point, I asked about environmentally vulnerable groups of people, and
how he thought it related, such as those who did not have access to resources, or
alternatively, lived in dangerous or contaminated environments. He did not answer. In all,
despite his rhetoric of social development and inclusion, the projects he did boast focused
on employment and formalization and the conversation avoided Cerro Patacón and
structural causes of inequality entirely.
Many of the Guna interviewees who did acknowledge uneven development
impacts were not able to discuss responses without also blaming individuals. Juan
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explained how the Guna were very organized and had rallied together in the past, but it
was “just words.” He said that it was “the fault of the leaders. [Guna Nega] is the
principal community. There are others, but this has the most power because we’re so
organized. The other communities depend on this one. This one has been here longest and
has the most influence. If we don’t do anything, they don’t either. Since we didn’t do
anything, no one else did either. Everything stays the same.” In this way, he saw fault
with the community itself for the injustices he described. Nonetheless, he also saw fault
in the government: he said “it ended quickly so no one cared what happened. We only got
help during those few days.” He argued that campaigns or more information would have
helped, however, implying that this was the problem with the fire, and not the fire itself.
In this way, he also ignored the structural causes at play.
Fernando seemed to agree, noting that Guna Nega already has an organization for
dealing with community issues, but changes comes “little by little.” But Fernando also
resorted to the same “blame the victim” narrative as described above. He said
Panamanians “have a culture where we don’t take care of things. Parents don’t take time
to teach the kids. There is a lot of sicknesses and malnutrition because of society, they
don’t teach anyone how to eat better or live better. People don’t use their time wisely;
they eat whatever and live however. There are too many people in one place, it causes
sickness. It’s a lack of education. We need to change the culture and tell the leaders in the
government that they need to create groups to teach the people in the village how to live
better and do better in these ways.” In all, both Juan and Fernando – while seeming to
contest the dominant narrative in their understanding of development and exclusion –
relied on the same neoliberal responses.
Another Guna community member explained that he was looking to raise the
voices of Guna dissenters. He explained efforts to organize meetings between the Guna,
another nearby community, and representatives from Urbalia, MINSA, and ANAM, in
regards to the possible expansion of the landfill as well as the river contamination. He
hoped that through the meetings, Guna people could raise their voices. He said the
community needed to come together, but also needed means through which to elevate
their concerns. He said I could help by publishing reports or sharing photos. However,
participating in meetings with Urbalia could simply legitimize their effort to formalize
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employees, when as some said; this is superficial in light of their overall goal to profit
over commoditized landfill operations.
Interestingly, even the Urbalia interviewee expressed a hope that the pepenadores
would organize. She noted that in her travel to other landfills around Latin America for
her job, she found that recyclers were organized and even unionized. She said:
I always wanted the recyclers to get organized in a cooperative. We have
traveled to different countries in Latin America and South America, in
some places they’ve had the chance to get organized, do recycling in a
more formal way. Some of them here, they don’t want to organize. They
don’t have help from the government, either, to help them organize. So
last year, we had a meeting and chose a representative from the recycling
group so that they could get organized and improve their quality of life
and work, and to formalize the work. We wanted to tell the communities
what to do, how to work together, and what they would receive, how they
could get a better life. I wanted them to organize; I wanted them to have a
collection center. We don’t want the garbage coming here so mixed, like it
was before.
I found this incredibly ironic. Why would Urbalia want recyclers to organize? This brings
up an important distinction: organization for the facilitation of labor versus political
organization. Most likely, she meant organization simply for the sake of efficiency
regarding work. This organization is perhaps similar to the type of organization that the
Guna experience: social organization that facilitates communication or social relations,
but not political organization. Through the social – but NOT political – organization of
pickers, Urbalia can continue to formalize and “fix” pepenadores, placing further blame
and now responsibility on workers. She may see pepenadores and the surrounding
communities as key to improving the landfill and developing the area further. Regardless,
she sees the individuals as needing to respond and take responsibility. In her mind,
Urbalia has done its part and the pepenadores should organize for the sake of improved
work, as they seemingly have in other cities.
4.2 Resistance
The discursive contestation discussed in the previous section raises the question;
is this resistance? Was there resistance? Why or why not? But first, what is resistance?
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Resistance can take many forms at various scales but is broadly the notion that people
will ‘push back’ against perceived injustice (Sparke 2008). For some, it can be
coordinated and outright, like revolution and confrontations such as protests, riots, or
marches, but overall acts that resist primitive accumulation and displacement (Harvey
2005; Crossa 2009). Others would argue that everyday resistance can be diffuse,
localized, and ubiquitous (Picket 1996; Crossa 2009). Nonetheless, while landfills are
often the site of organized resistance throughout Latin America, my fieldwork did not
uncover resistance. Why did my fieldwork – while limited still a total of one month – not
uncover any outright forms of resistance? Here I will outline various hypotheses as to
why the unusual urban politics in Panama may be contributing to a continuation of the
status quo, or a lack of collective resistance and internalization of dominant discourse.
Further, I argue that the ‘status quo’ has actually produced neoliberal subjects, where
political ecology would – perhaps wrongly and quite problematically in this case –
otherwise assume subaltern subjects.
4.2.1 Panamanians as Neoliberal Subjects
Foucault (2005) wrote about the subject – the being with unique consciousness
and personal experiences – and the ways that subjectivities can be formed “fostered
through the positive, catalytic qualities of spaces, places, and environments” (Crampton
and Stuart 2012; 195). Through particular environments and power relations, subjects can
take up or internalize what is around them, their subjectivities defined through reflexivity
of the self (Foucault 2005; Grove 2009; Crampton and Stuart 2012). Subjectivities are
then a reflection of the discourses and power relations at work around (and through)
them. Subjectivity becomes wrapped up in a new identity and new ways of understand
one’s self according to processes, conditions, objects, or other forms of meaning (Grove
2009). Hardt and Negri (2009) describe the ways in which power (e.g. state or corporate
power, mediate through neoliberalism) can biopolitically reach down into the “ganglia of
the social structure and its processes of development” (pg. 24). This quotation powerfully
describes the ways in which a subject can be produced to the very essence of their being.
In this way, subjectivities are produced by the particular social, economic, and political
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conditions in particular ways and at particular points in time. These conditions – or
system, what Hardt and Negri actually call the “capitalist imperial machine” – creates
subjects who feel and act in particular ways. They explain that “what appear as local
identities are not autonomous or self-determining but actually feed into and support the
development of the [system]” (pg. 45). Subjects are therefore not sovereign and do not
have autonomous agency over their consciousness (Foucault 2005).
Drawing from this literature and that of political ecology, UPE would assume that
the Othered, externalized populations in Panama would be made up of subaltern subjects
but with subaltern subjectivities. While they may indeed be subaltern subjects –
individuals who are subaltern by definition – I argue that Panama City – through its
political ecology and social metabolism – produces specifically neoliberal subjectivities.
They see themselves in particular ways, mediated through their surroundings. This
becomes especially important for the question of resistance because individuals or
citizens of a society, mediated through their subjectivities, are the critical component (and
actor) in resistance efforts. Therefore, in order to understand resistance, or a lack thereof,
one must understand the Panamanian subject.12
Antonio Gramsci (1971) referred to subaltern populations (and hence subjects) as
social groups who were socially, politically, and geographically excluded from
hegemonic power structures. As excluded, subaltern populations were seen as having no
voice in society and lacking representation. Political ecology was largely founded as a
means of understanding environmental change and injustice in a way that does not
demonize or wrongly blame subaltern populations (see Chapter 2) and therefore
necessarily imposes subaltern subjectivities on assumed (and likely) subaltern
populations. In this way, political ecology is concerned with the assumed subaltern
subject – the subject whom has internalized, naturalized, and taken up their subaltern
nature. The subaltern subject must also then desire change through resistance, whether
coordinated or diffuse. However, as I’ve shown, the assumed subaltern populations in
Panama City largely do not seem to contest their externalization. I argue that this is
because they are not actually subaltern subjects but neoliberal ones. I now propose a few
12
I write about “Panamanian subjects” with Spivak’s critique in mind about the danger of homogenizing
entire populations (1988). I engage with this idea strictly as an experimental, hypothetical, analytical
exercise.
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hypotheses as to why and how this has occurred in light of the specific Panamanian
context – most notably the ways in which its geography, history, and social metabolism
have produced neoliberal subjectivities.
The neoliberal discourses associated with hyper-growth, modernization, and
Western influence may have produced Panamanians’ subjectivities in such a way as to
internalize and accept otherwise obvious forms of injustice or harm. The state’s
consistent emphasis on hyper-growth may have reached so far down into society that it
has become a part of the Panamanian psyche; Panamanians may internalize hypergrowth, it sculpting their subjectivities for pro-hyper-growth sentiments. Panamanians
may then feel proud of infrastructure and real estate booms in their country, despite the
fact that they don’t benefit them. Previously, Western influence may have been so
paternalistic for so long, that Panamanians stopped caring about political issues that felt
out of their control. It’s possible that the neoliberal, externally-focused development
trajectory further produces subjectivities.
The history and social metabolism of Panama may have been internalized over
decades of particular political and economic events. Dictatorships and corruption may
have continued to suppress any feelings of activism or political interest. Many
interviewees expressed a fear or hesitation of protesting or speaking out against the
government for fear of retaliation or loss of their job. In fact, I spoke to one ANAM
employee at the air quality workshop who was the first person to tell me about Guna
Nega and the injustice that she believed to have taken place there. Her politics were much
more critical than the other government officials with whom I spoke. She was ultimately
let go from her job at ANAM when a new administration came into the presidency.
Considering her PhD in water resources and fluency in Spanish, English, and German,
it’s difficult to believe that this was due to technical failings. While admittedly I do not
know the intricacies of her case, perhaps she was out of favor with the government or
perhaps her more critical stance put her into sticky situations. It does potentially
contribute to the idea that Panamanians are careful about their speech. Further, I was
unable to record interviews with government agencies. Interviewees told me that they did
not want their opinions recorded in case the recording was used against them in the
future. MINSA interviewees were honest with their fear of retaliation should they say
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something about which MINSA did not approve. I also found that government
interviewees constantly prefaced their statements with phrases like “this is just my
opinion” or “this does not reflect my organization.” Figure 28, a cartoon from a local
media site, further depicts the potential fear of speaking out or potentially uncovering
political issues.
Figure 28. Government cartoon. This cartoon depicts soldiers, on behalf of the government, chasing journalists
away. Source: Vamaganews Blog, 2013.
In addition to fear of speaking out for political retaliation, Panama is notorious for
illicit drug-related activities, including money laundering and drug-related activities
(Sigler 2014), contributing to a potential fear of speaking out at all. General (and
President) Noriega was said to have been involved in money laundering and drug
activities, allowing Colombian cartels to have free reign in both cities and Panama’s
jungles (Youngers and Rosin 2005). Confidentiality in the context of illicit activities was
of high importance as Panama served as an offshore banking center for illicit capital
(Sigler 2014). Panama still serves as a regional ‘safe haven’ for capital, both licit and
illicit, though quantifying these numbers is difficult (Sigler 2014). Indeed, when asked
about illicit capital in Panama City, I was never able to obtain even an opinion, from
government agencies to locals. A ‘drug-culture’ of sorts may have been adopted, such as
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a “don’t-ask, don’t-tell” mentality that further suppresses political interest and activism.
This has perhaps resulted in the externalization of certain sectors on the part of the
Panamanian government materially, but perhaps in the minds of Panamanians
discursively as well.
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Chapter 5: Conclusion: Social Metabolism and Subjectivities for an
Urban Political Ecology in Context
5.1 Review of Main Arguments
Like many rapidly growing cities, Panama City is faced inequality, environmental
degradation, and the inevitably uneven impacts of development. What is uncommon
about Panama City, however, in addition to its physical geography, is its hyperdeveloping economy, produced by a particular history and at play with issues of
governance and uneven development impacts: broadly, its social metabolism. A central
argument to this research is that Panama City is a very unique place; a modern, (aspiring)
Global City, with a unique geography and social metabolism that has defined its history
since the earliest moments of human involvement. Understanding that history, including
its turn to hyper-development and neoliberalism, is critical to understanding development
and urbanization but also social justice and resistance. Panama City has prioritized
particular forms of governance and combined with its social metabolism, has produced
particular subjectivities.
Ultimately, guided by important conceptual underpinnings through the UPE
literature, I have argued that liminal spaces and people (and how/that they are seen as
liminal) in Panama City have been rendered external through a socially pervasive
discourse produced and defined by the city’s specific history and social metabolism, that
disregards a structural analysis of the role of neoliberal development in determining
planning priorities and governance strategies. But further, it is a form of injustice that
seemingly goes unnoticed and unquestioned. I argued this as follows.
In Chapter 2, using concepts in UPE such as social metabolism and socio-natures,
I reviewed the history of Panama City and the ways in which the Cerro Patacón landfill –
and the environmental and social problems associated with it – is an assemblage of
geography, political economy, subjectivities, and other social metabolic processes
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associated with the city historically, economically, politically, and socially. The fire was,
as Prudham (2007) and Robbins (2012) called, a “normal accident” or geography of
accidents produced by certain conditions but also producing poverty, environmental
degradation, etc.
Further, I argued that the Cerro Patacón landfill is deeply and foundationally
connected to the development of the city. As the city grew in uneven and haphazard
ways, so did the landfill, ultimately leading up to the culmination of uneven, neoliberal,
hyper-growth: the fire. The fire, therefore, is an expression of the uneven distribution of
development and the dangers of neoliberal, hyper-growth. I also reviewed the ways in
which landfills have been taken up both by governments and by populations for means of
extended governance and resistance, respectively.
In Chapter 3 I reviewed the specific technologies that were used in the name of
the socially pervasive logic of externalization. Cerro Patacón and its population are
externalized and vilified, contributing to and promoting the naturalization of an
unproblematic growth model that denies government accountability, wrongly blames
certain populations, and justifies social exclusion. In the moment of burning – the
‘becoming visible’ of the landfill, a source of temporary anxiety – the landfill suddenly
and temporarily becomes the object of fixing and environmental governance and
regulation. It is suddenly forced into sight, rendered visible by smoke. In this moment,
the fire was temporarily addressed but in neoliberal ways, further externalizing the
landfill through a discourse of technocratic solutions (that fails to truly uncover the cause
of the fire) yet a lack of published reports, encouraging the public to adapt yet failing to
ensure that the message was received, and seeing the fire simply as a result of
wrongdoing on the part of the Other. Discursively and materially, the landfill was seen as
external to the city, in-between urban/social and rural/natural, in terms of governance as
well as in imaginaries held by the public and officials. Officials charged with developing
the city in a representative and even way, took the “social” out of social metabolism.
However, as I discussed in Chapter 4, I found resistance – both coordinated and
diffuse – to be either largely nonexistent or hidden. Instead of the landfill being taken up
by society as a place of resistance, as it often is, even the minority voices of contestation
called on neoliberal explanations and recommendations for the existence of and solutions
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to environmental hazards. Even in quiet moments of contestation, the same technologies
of externalization and neoliberal governance arose as means of adaptation To explain
why, I provided various hypotheses as to how neoliberalism and the ways in which
hyper-growth, modernization, and other metabolic characteristics have produced certain
subjectivities. Hyper-growth and neoliberalism have permeated Panama City’s social
metabolism and produced expressly neoliberal subjectivities, resulting in Panamanians
internalizing and accepting what I would otherwise see as injustice, instead of contesting
it as subaltern subjects might.
Issues of development, governance, and environmental and social justice can be
uniquely understood through the lens of the Cerro Patacón landfill and the 2013 fire.
Uneven governance in Panama City has manifested itself in a logic of externalization and
therefore a lack of governance. I have argued that this narrative renders the landfill and
those working and living there external to the purview of urban governance and
development through a socially pervasive discourse produced and defined by the city’s
specific history and social metabolism, that disregards a structural analysis of the role of
neoliberal development in determining planning priorities and governance strategies,
contributing to and promoting the naturalization of an unproblematic growth model that
denies government accountability, wrongly blames certain populations, and justifies
social exclusion.
5.2 Outstanding Questions
This study relied on thorough yet limited fieldwork, both uncovering exciting and
interesting findings but also presenting many questions. This research has left me with
outstanding questions that might be relevant for future research.
The first and perhaps biggest remaining question deals with resistance, but
inversely why so many Panamanians, both official and nonofficial, seemed to fall in line
with a neoliberal subjectivity. Though I have presented various hypotheses as to why
there is not coordinated resistance or even more obvious examples of everyday
resistance, additional research could focus on this question further. Something else is at
work in Panama City rendering my hypotheses plausible yet incomplete. For example,
86
Colombia is also a country that has experienced significant U.S. involvement through the
U.S.-led Drug War, yet vocal and internationally-recognized workers movements have
originated there, such as Via Campesina. Therefore, the influence of the U.S. is relevant
yet not the only factor to consider. What is it about Panama in particular that has
produced the kind of externalization that I viewed there?
Sigler (2014) provides an explanation, guided by globalization and the
incorporation of other global, regional, and local forces; however he still sees
neoliberalism as undermining its growth and he does not consider the implications of
governance (and how its produced by Panama City). His narrative does not address how
certain sectors are externalized, including how and why governance is what it is. He
argues that Panama is “neither a Global City, nor a ‘Singapore for Central America’” (pg.
15), however conceptualizing Panama City seems to necessitate another explanation of its
governance. While I have argued here that neoliberal governance is at the heart of the
logic of externalization, perhaps it is not only externalization driven by a produced
neoliberal subjectivity; perhaps a kind of outlaw capitalism – a complete lack governance
– is actually driving externalization. It’s possible that it is not neoliberalism in Panama
City at all, but nonneoliberalism that in fact does not externalize through a certain
governance structure, but does not govern at all. If it were neoliberalism, the landfill and
people living and working there would be enveloped into the realm of governance.
However this question can be further investigated by looking at the formerly
unquestioned flows that also constitute Panama City’s social metabolism: shady and even
invisible flows of off-share banking, laundered money, and other illicit capital flows.
Other cities around the world have previously served as off-shore banking havens,
however recent crack-downs on their legality has left a void in the market. Panama has
provided a new alternative for off-shore banking and other suspicious financial activities
due to its lax regulations. Money laundering similarly brings unknown sums of money in
the capital with no paper trail and little formality. How have these flows contributed to a
different type of capitalism, as I have suggested: nonneoliberalism or outlaw capitalism?
Perhaps it is not neoliberal subjectivities produced by Panama’s social
metabolism, then, but a completely different type of subjectivity that naturalizes in
government the mentality of looking away, turning one’s back, and otherwise ignoring
87
otherwise illegal or even external activity. In this way, it is no surprise that some sectors
of society go ungoverned, not just externalized. Further research into the true governance
of Panama City – neoliberal, nonneoliberal, or otherwise, would therefore shed light on
not only governance, but on society and injustice through produced subjectivities.
Resistance can also take shape through mobility, “constructing new alliances to
gain leverage” (Crossa 2009; 55). The Guna activist coordinating between communities
to meet with Urbalia, ANAM, and MINSA may achieve different results since multiple
populations are now participating in the conversation. Indigenous populations in Panama
are known to have autonomy in their own regions throughout the country, though no or
few rights when they migrate elsewhere (McSweeney and Arps 2005; Velazquez Runk
2012). The Guna are no different, enjoying self-governance and full rights in Gunayala
but not outside, including Guna Nega. If the surrounding communities, made up of other
indigenous and non-indigenous populations, consider the Guna as a leader in the area, as
a Guna interviewee suggested, perhaps mobilizing alliances will precipitate change or at
least attention. However, changing demographics of indigenous populations throughout
the region will continue to keep these questions in flux (McSweeney and Arps 2005).
Further, perhaps it is more than just one means through which subjectivities can be
produced or co-opted in the first place, but multiple. This question demands further
intensive ethnographic, archival, and/or discourse analysis. Additionally, this issue is
multi-scalar and concerns a number of different populations. Further research might focus
on the perspectives and lived experiences of pepenadores, the Guna in more detail,
mestizo or other indigenous populations, as well as non-indigenous Panamanians living
in Panama City.
Though collective resistance was not uncovered through my limited yet thorough
fieldwork, the conditions seem ripe for political activity for multiple reasons. As Urbalia
continues with programs to formalize employment, preventing access to some informal
pickers, will Panama City be faced with similar activity as Managua, Nicaragua, where
waste pickers organized in protest to the lack of access to resources that made up their
livelihoods? As contamination worsens, will the Canal Authority, in an attempt to protect
the watershed in the Canal Zone, get involved? What will happen to communities living
in the area then? Further, will the Panamanian government take seriously the idea that
88
improper or poor waste management could threaten economic growth? If so, the landfill
and surrounding communities may be incorporated into city governance with potentially
violent implications. For example, would communities near the landfill be demolished?
Would informal workers be further excluded from the landfill? Finally, various routes are
threatening business through the Canal. In an era of climate change, the Canal might be
threatened by new shipping lanes opening up in the North Pole. With Chinese support, a
new Canal through Nicaragua might also attract business away from Panama. Changes to
this critical pillar of the Panamanian economy will have important reverberating impacts
on the Panamanian economy and society, including therefore questions of justice and
resistance.
These questions can direct further research in multiple ways. Foucault argued
against the idea of a single site of resistance (Foucault 2005); perhaps resistance in
Panama (and Guna Nega more specifically) is so diffuse that one month of field work
would never uncover it. There may be any number of forms of everyday resistance that
my fieldwork did not uncover. Hardt and Negri (2009) argue that “what needs to be
addressed… is the production of locality, that is, the social machines that create and
recreate the identities and differences that are understood as the local.” While social
metabolism and UPE helps conceptualize a place for a more comprehensive
understanding of the geography, development, and subsequent uneven power relations at
play there, it reaches only a particular scale that may not fully inspect subjectivities or
locality. Therefore further study on these questions, in this scale, may be warranted.
5.3 Theoretical Implications and Contributions of the Study
This project has highlighted the complicated ways in which urbanization;
development, history, injustice, and resistance relate to and even constitute each other.
Development history and trajectory (including and defined by social metabolism)
produce uneven impacts, all the while working within specific governance mechanisms,
all the while being contested or not (officially and/or publically) depending on the
subjectivities produced by the particular social metabolism. In order to truly understand
an urban landscape, each of these components requires a unique conceptualization. In
89
Panama City and even more broadly, this ‘system,’ while theorized by a number of
Geographers referenced here, is so far still inadequately understood. My study, while still
in need of further research, provides unique contributions especially to the study and
understanding of Panama City as a unique place, but also for other urban landscapes.
Using social metabolism as a framework and waste as a lens through which to
understand Panama City and the fire that took place in 2013, I uncovered that the landfill
is externalized through various technologies, seen at different scales and through various
actors, despite Panama’s efforts to be seen as a global city and the ways in which other
states have used landfills as spaces of extended governance and development.
Theoretically, these findings have multiple implications for understanding urban
landscapes as assemblages of socio-natural forces. Social metabolism, geographies of
waste, environmental justice, and other UPE literatures are not new and have already
been utilized in multiple ways. However, they still provide relevant and timely ways in
which to understand governance and environmental hazards, especially as the world
becomes more urban, as cities grow spatially and in population, and as globalization and
neoliberalism takes further hold. In addition, using these literatures, my study unpacks
the especially unusual urban politics in one of the fastest growing cities in the world,
Panama City. Nonetheless, considering the questions already raised by this study, my
research provides important theoretical implications for both urban governance more
practically and both urban studies and UPE theoretically.
First, at the urban scale, this study addresses the gap in research on hyperdevelopment and inequality in cities and how they connect to larger geographic and
socio-metabolic processes. Sigler (2013) notes that academics and international
institutions alike challenge simplistic views of cities as unaffected by larger-scale
processes or operating in a vacuum. Acknowledging this requires a more “nuanced
treatment of how cities can be conceptualized within a global economy” (Sigler, 2013;
416), and how metabolized cities produce inequality. Even though Panama City is the
fastest growing economy in the Western Hemisphere, there is little research on the nature
of its development, and even less research connecting to environmental or social
inequality. This work provides a much needed case study in support of using sociometabolic transformations as an entry point to better understanding urban political
90
ecology and urban environmental justice, especially in the Global South and in a unique
city geographically and metabolically (Zimmer 2010). Social metabolism can be utilized
by urban planners (i.e. practitioners) and theorists alike, considering the ways in which it
explores the inner workings of urban landscapes in light of power and the uneven impacts
of development and urbanization. In fact, practitioners would do well to utilize social
metabolism to better understand the impacts of policies and programs in urban spaces.
Scientists and otherwise data-focused practitioners might also incorporate a sociometabolic framework into their understanding of data in order to obtain a more complete
picture of the landscape in which they are conducting their analyses.
In addition, opening the possibilities for just development depends on a thorough
understanding of the particular urban processes at work, as Hardt and Negri (2009)
argued; therefore the research will provide a foundation for a more just urban
development process based on the intricacies of local conditions. The crash of
urbanization and environment is becoming more obvious and important as Panama is
further thrust into the Global market. As globalization and other issues hasten
urbanization throughout the region, waste and landfills in particular will also continue to
provide an interesting lens through which to understand these issues, considering the role
of waste in an urban ecology or social metabolism.
This study also provides an important bridge between economic geography and
political ecology, showing that both are critical ways in which to understand cities. Many
city planners and Economic Geographers attend to the spatial changes occurring in cities,
with particular socio-economic and political implications such as inequality,
representation, and environmental contamination (Taylor and Lang 2004; Shatkin 2007).
They argue for a particular form of understanding and analyzing global and world cities,
such as through actors, institutions, partnerships, economic function, etc., and
categorizing them accordingly. However, these kinds of quantitative data points and
rankings may not truly reflect the politics and metabolism at play in any given urban
landscape. Therefore, those scholars and practitioners who may not be fully engaged with
UPE and related literatures can learn that while their analysis inputs are important, they
make up only parts of a social metabolism which provides important contextual links to
human and nonhuman flows, with an eye toward power relations. Since metabolic
91
processes link directly to inequality and uneven impact, planners and geographers should
be concerned with these processes; social metabolism can provide a more comprehensive
and holistic way of understanding cities and the ways in which social inequality and
uneven development take place. Understanding cities requires a very broad research
framework that includes the types of questions uncovered through a social metabolism
framework; anything less would leave important processes unquestioned.
Likewise, Panama City shows that political ecology and social metabolism can
also be insufficient for understand urban landscapes. Social metabolism must be
underwritten by the important characteristics that economic geography and World Cities
literature contributes. While social metabolism provides critical perspectives on the
necessarily uneven impacts that development (i.e. flows and processes) has on
populations and spaces, economic geography and urban studies provide a foundation of
markets, flows, processes, etc., upon and with which power and capital act. Therefore in
this way, this study shows that each framework is alone insufficient, but together, provide
a comprehensive understanding of both Global cities and the environmental and social
implications of the uneven development that comes with hyper-growth.
Lastly, this study also shows that micro-scale context matters. Conceptually, my
findings suggest that Panama City troubles a number of implicit assertions within
political ecology. First, this study troubles the assumption of subaltern subjects in
political ecological studies, especially as political ecology ventures into urban landscapes
and in particular hyper-developing ones through UPE. But second, it troubles political
ecology’s implicit discursive production of an environmental or social ‘problem’ (and
hence the subaltern subject) and the assertions of the inevitability of resistance and
contestation of what it perceives as injustice. It questions injustice but also opens the
possibility that neoliberal governance has extended so deeply that it has rendered socalled subaltern subjects unable to see the conditions of their supposed subjugation.
Spivak (1988) famously challenged post-structural thinkers such as Foucault and
other political activists and academics who not only homogenized subaltern populations
but sought to speak for them. She saw this as an imperial effort that defines subaltern
subjects through the “orchestrated, far-flung, and heterogeneous project to constitute the
colonial subject as Other” and speak for them (Spivak 1988; 24-25). Political ecology
92
necessarily imposes subaltern subjectivities on assumed (and likely) subaltern
populations. In this case, I extend this to political ecology in its assumption an “Other”
and further, that that Other is a subaltern subject. Political ecology seems to also speak
for subaltern populations in their supposed quest for justice. In addition, political
ecologists base their work on the assumption that their analyses will “enhance the
democratic content of socioenvironmental construction by identifying the strategies
through which a more equitable distribution of social power and a more inclusive mode
of environmental production can be achieved.” (Swyngedouw and Heynen 2003; 898).
While noble and often entirely politically appropriate, these notions of equity and justice
seem to fall flat in Panama City. Therefore, in light of Spivak’s critique, this study also
challenges the broad ways in which political ecology not only assumes a homogenized
population of subaltern Others but also assumes their subaltern subjectivities and desire
for social change through resistance. A political ecology more in tune with subjectivities
and the individual ways in which people grapple with their urban landscape seems
necessary.
The lack of coordinated resistance begs the question: is this environmental
injustice? Do residents of Guna Nega believe they are the “subaltern” populations on
which UPE and political ecology more broadly focuses? How can political ecologists,
academics, researchers, or practitioners seek to understand and enact just development (if
such a thing exists) if perceived injustice goes uncontested? In this way, the findings
suggest that UPE, specifically social metabolism, is an important framework with which
to understand the power relations and economic and social flows that constitute urban
landscapes: a worthwhile way to study and understand cities. However, a look at the
subjectivities actually taken up by populations, as produced by a city’s social metabolism
(versus the supposed (or imposed) ‘subaltern subject’), may reveal that these frameworks
are incomplete for understanding injustice and therefore resistance in particular places.
93
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Appendix A: Semi-Structured Interview Questions, in English and
Spanish
Questions for Residents about Panama City’s development - to learn about the ways in
which Panama City’s aggressive neoliberal growth discourse has been taken up,
contested, or not contested at all. How do official discourse and street discourse differ?
Is there resistance? What form does it take?
PREGUNTAS PARA LOS RESIDENTES ACERCA DEL DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD
DE PANAMA-PARA APRENDER ACERCA LAS DISTINTAS FORMAS EN QUE EL
AGRESIVO CRECIMIENTO DEL CAPITALISMO EN LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA SE HA
TOMADO LA GENTE,LA GENTE ESTA A FAVOR O EN CONTRA DEL
ARGUMENTO?O SE IGNORA.COMO SE DIFERENCIAN EL ARGUMENTO
POLITICO DE LA OPINION PUBLICA? HAY RESISTENCIA? QUE TIPO DE
RESISTENCIA ES? Y COMO SE PERCIBE?






What do you think about Panama City’s modernization and development during
the past 5 years? QUE OPINAS ACERCA DE LA MODERNIZACION Y
DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA DURANTE LOS ULTIMOS 5
ANOS?
What does the government seem to prioritize? A QUE LE DA PRIORIDAD EL
GOBIERNO DE PANAMA EN SU PERSPECTIVA? EN QUE CAMPOS SE
PUEDE NOTAR UNA MAYOR AYUDA DEL GOBIERNO.
Are you proud of the city’s rapid-pace development? SE SIENTE ORGULLOSO
DE EL RAPIDO DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA? PORQUE?
EN QUE ASPECTOS?
Do you have issue with the city’s rapid-pace development? TIENE UD ALGUN
PROBLEMA CON EL RAPIDO DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD? EN QUE
LO AFECTA? O EN QUE O BENEFICIA?
Do you feel that you benefit from the development, or more specifically the
profits made in various industries (e.g. Canal, banking, finance)? SIENTE UD
ALGUN TIPO DE BENEFICIO DEL DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD O MAS
ESPECIFICAMENTE DE LAS GANANCIAS CAPTADAS POR LAS
INDUSTRIAS LOCALES ( EJEMPLO CANAL DE PANAMA,
BANCOS,GRUPOS FINANCIEROS,SECTOR DE LA CONSTRUCTION)
Do you perceive any kind of public health, social, economic, or environmental
problems in Panama City? VE UD ALGUN PROBLEMA SOCIAL CON LA
SALUD, LA ECONOMIA O ALGUN PROBLEMA AMBIENTAL EN LA
CIUDAD DE PANAMA?
99
Questions for City Officials – to learn about the priorities in both the discourse and in
practice related to Panama City’s development. Do these interviews reflect a
developmentalist, neoliberal ideology? Are the responses out of touch with street voices?
PREGUNTAS PARA LOS OFICIALES DE LA CIUDAD: PARA APRENDER ACERCA
DE LAS PRIORIDADES EN AMBOS CAMPOS, EL DISCURSO (TEORIA) Y LA
PRACTICA EN LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA.SON ESTAS ENTREVISTAS UN REFLEJO
DE LA IDEOLOGIA CAPITALISTA? SON LAS RESPUESTAS DIFERENTES A LO QUE
LA GENTE PIENSA EN LAS CALLES?






What are some of the goals of the agency for which you work? CUALES SON
LOS OBJETIVOS DE LA AGENCIA PARA LA QUE UD TRABAJA?
What do you do in your job? QUE HACE UD EN UN DIA NORMAL DE
TRABAJO O QUE ROLE DESEMPENA UD EN SU TRABAJO PARA LA
CIUDAD DE PANAMA?
What kinds of activities are associated with your job day to day? QUE CLASE
DE ACTIVIDADES ESTAN ASOCIADAS CON SU TRABAJO DIARIO?
What are the biggest challenges facing Panama today? CUALES SON LOS
RETOS MAS GRANDES QUE TIENE LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA AL DIA
DE HOY?
What is the role in your organization in the modernization of Panama City?
CUAL ES EL ROL EN SU ORGANIZACION Y QUE CONTRIBUCCIONES
SON HECHAS AL DESARROLLO DE LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA?
What challenges does the city face? How do you personally feel about these
issues? QUE PROBLEMAS PRESENTA LA CIUDAD? Y COMO SE SIENTE
UD EN LO PERSONAL ACERCA DE ESTOS PROBLEMAS?
Questions about the Cerro Patacón Landfill – to connect the discourse to practice and
understand why resistance is not obvious in Panama City.
PREGUNTAS ACERCA DEL EL RELLENO SANITARIO DE EL CERRO
PATACON.PARA CONECTAR EL DISCURSO A LA PRACTICA Y ENTENDER
PORQUE LA RESISTENCIA NO ES MAS AGRESIVA EN PANAMA.
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How has this landfill come to be? COMO HA SIDO EL DESARROLLO DE
ESTE RELLENO SANITARIO DESDE SUS ORIGENES? COMO FUE
CREADO Y PORQUE LO CREARON? PORQUE EN ESTE LUGAR?
Why do you think the landfill is so big? What have you heard about it? PORQUE
PIENSA QUE EL RELLENO SANITARIO ES ASI DE GRANDE? QUE SABE
UD ACERCA DEL RELLENO SANITARIO? QUE HA ESCUCHADO UD AL
RESPECTO?
How is the landfill managed? COMO ES EL RELLENO SANITARAIO
DIRIGIDO ? QUIENES LO DIRIGEN? QUE GESTION HACEN? BUENA O
MALA?
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How is the landfill spoken about? QUE PIENSAN LA GENTE DE ESTE
RELLENO SANITARIO?
How has the area nearby changed? COMO CREE UD QUE HAN CAMBIADO
LOS ALREDEDORES DEL RELLENO SANITARIO?
Is anyone making money from the landfill? Are there subsidies or payments to
those living nearby? ES ALGUIEN HACIENDO DINERO CON ESTE
RELLENO SANITARIO? SABE UD SI EL RELLENO SANITARIO PAGA
ALGUN TIPO DE SUBSIDIO O RENTA A AQUELLAS PERSONAS QUE
VIVEN CERCA?
Do people work and live illegally in the landfill? What do you think of them?
SABE UD SI LA GENTE TRABAJA Y VIVE ILEGALMENTE AQUI EN EL
RELENO SANITARIO? QUE CLASE DE GENTE VIVEN EN LOS
ALREDEDORES? QUE PIENSA LA GENTE DE LAS CONDICIONES DE
VIDA DE LOS ALREDEDORES DEL RELLENO SANITARIO?
What health risks exist due to the landfill, if any? Are there any resources to help
with these risks? QUE RIESGOS Y ENFERMEDADES EXISTE DEBIDO AL
RELLENO SANITARIO? MENCIONE ALGUNAS ENFERMEDADES O QUE
RIESGOS HAY? EXISTE ALGUNA ENTIDAD QUE AYUDE O
PROPORCIONE RECURSOS PARA DISMINUIR RIESGOS Y
ENFERMEDADES?
What were the circumstances around the March 2013 fire? EN QUE
CIRCUNSTANCIAS SE PRESENTO EL INCENDIO EN MARZO DEL 2013?
o How did you respond after the landfill fire? QUE HIZO UD DURANTE
Y DESPUES DEL INCENDIO DEL RELLENO SANITARIO?
o Was it a big problem for you? Did it have an impact on your life? FUE
ESTE INCENDIO UN GRAN PROBLEMA PARA UD? TUVO ALGUN
IMPACTO EN SU VIDA?
o Did you feel the city’s response was adequate? CREE UD QUE LA
RESPUESTA INMEDIATE DE LA CIUDAD FUE OPORTUNA Y
ADECUADA.
o Who’s fault was the fire? POR CULPA DE QUIEN O QUE SE
OCASIONO EL INCENDIO?
o How was the fire put out? Who put it out? QUIEN COLABORO PARA
EXTINGUIR EL INCENDIO ? COMO LO HICIERON?
Questions for other voices: the media, unions, churches, activists – to understand
Panama City and social issues from a different perspective: how space is governed,
policed, etc. around Cerro Patacón
PREGUTNAS PARA OTROS MEDIOS: LAS NOTICIAS,ASOCIACIONES , IGLESIAS
,ACTIVISTAS-PARA ENTENDER LA CIUDAD DE PANAMA Y LOS PROBLEMAS
SOCIALES DESDE DIFERENTES PERSPECTIVAS: POR EJEMPLO COMO EL
TERRITORIO ES GOBERNADO Y CONTROLADO POR LA POLICIA..ETC
ESPECIALMENTE EN EL RELLENO SANITARIO DEL CERRO PATACON.
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Zoning - LEYES ACERCA DE LA GEOGRAFICA DE LAS AREAS.
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Taxes - IMPUESTOS
Conflicts and scandals - CONFLICTOS
Policing - POLICIA
Resistance-RESISTENCIA
Spatialization of the police, the wealthy, the poor - DISTRIBUCION DE LA
POLICIA,LOS RICOS, LOS POBRES,INDIGENEAS EN EL TERRITORIO
PANAMENO
How is the city run? QUIEN GOBIERNA LA CIUDAD Y COMO?
Who has healthcare? A QUIENES SE LES BRINDA BENEFICIOS DE SALUD
Security and crime SEGURIDAD Y CRIMEN
Health – e.g. asthma records near the landfill? SALUD..ENFERMEDADES DE
LOS ALREDEDORES DEL RELLENO SANITARIO.
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