Reconciliation in the Dust: Cynicism and Exclusion in Héctor Gálvez's Paraíso (2009)
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Reconciliation in the Dust: Cynicism and Exclusion in
Héctor Gálvez’s Paraíso (2009)
Pablo G. Celis-Castillo
Elon University
Abstract
A select corpus of cultural works about the Peruvian armed conflict wholeheartedly adopt the “reconciliation”
project advanced by the Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación (CVR): to seek the “truth” about the period of
violence in an effort to overcome the racism and contempt that characterize the country’s social dynamics to
foster a more inclusive society and to prevent future instances of violent turmoil. The film Paraíso (2009) does
not endorse reconciliation as uncritically as other cultural materials. Through the bleak portrayal of the lives
and the continuous failures of its protagonists, inhabitants of a slum in Lima, the film suggests that the recon-
ciliatory efforts inspired by the CVR thus far have fallen short in creating a more equitable society. Joaquín,
Antuanet, Lalo, Sara, and Mario dream of a bright future but know that their race and socioeconomic status are
impassable social barriers. They respond to this exclusion with cynicism, an understandable emotional and po-
litical response that illustrates the deep sense of disappointment that large segments of the Peruvian population
feel towards their country’s sociopolitical institutions.
Introduction
Longing is at the center of Héctor Gálvez’s 2009 film Paraíso. Joaquín, Antuanet, Sara, Mario,
and Lalo, the film’s protagonists, live in Jardines del Paraíso, an ironically named imaginary
slum in the margins of Lima. The five teenagers, sons and daughters of Andean immigrants,
yearn to become part of the society that inhabits the prosperous Peruvian capital that they are
able to see from afar but to which they know they do not belong. This longing is apparent in
several parts of the film, but one scene in particular highlights the characters’ frustrated desire
to be included in the thriving society that they can see on the horizon. In commemoration
of the death of their friend Che Loco, killed during a gang battle, the characters climb to the
mountain that overlooks their neighborhood. As they contemplate the landscape, the only
sounds that can be heard are the wind and the faint noise of traffic. The camera remains static.
Suddenly, the silence is interrupted and Joaquín yells: “¡por la concha de tu madre!” The other
characters join him and start shouting. Slowly, the camera pans left and the audience realizes
that the insults are aimed at the hazy horizon where the distant silhouettes of the “other” Lima
can be seen, the Lima that they so much desire but that remains distant and virtually inacces-
sible to them due to their marginal place of residence, their indigenous background, and their
low socioeconomic status.
Through these emotional manifestations, the protagonists of Paraíso, as representatives
of the segment of the Peruvian population that inhabit the country’s social and geographical
margins, inform us that they are aware of the clear separation between their life experiences
and those of the country’s rich and mostly white middle-upper classes; namely, those who also
1 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16live in Lima but who do not consider the inhabitants of slums like Jardines del Paraíso to be
their neighbors. As Víctor Vich explains, the characters are aware that “son los ‘restos’ del
sistema, aquella ‘parte sin parte’ que no tiene ningún futuro en la sociedad del mercado y de
la competencia,” namely in the rapidly growing Peruvian economy represented by the hazy
Lima they see from the mountaintop (154).
The behavior the characters display while commemorating Che Loco’s death, as well as
the longing, frustration, and anger this conduct implies, illustrates how Peru has failed to ad-
dress the contempt and indifference that the elites have historically felt towards the mestizo
and indigenous majorities of the country. These two sentiments, in addition to characterizing
the social dynamics in Peru, have played an important role in the country’s recent history. The
Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación del Perú (CVR), an independent ad hoc organization
that investigated the human rights abuses committed during the Peruvian armed conflict of
the 1980s and 1990s, found that those feelings allowed the violence to reach truly tragic lev-
els. The conflict, in which the Peruvian government forces fought the terrorist organization
known as the Shining Path, produced almost 70,000 victims. Salomón Lerner, the CVR’s Pres-
ident, indicates that three-quarters of which were Quechua-speaking peasants, a social group
that comprises a “sector de la población históricamente ignorado por el Estado y por la socie-
dad urbana” (13).
Lerner also notes that the CVR “tiene fundamentos para aseverar que estas dos décadas
de destrucción y muerte no habrían sido posibles sin el profundo desprecio a la población
más desposeída del país” (13-14). By attributing the social fragmentation that catalyzed the
conflict’s brutality to this “profundo desprecio,” the CVR thus implies that overcoming it is
the only way to prevent similar instances of violence in the future. The Commission defines
this goal as “reconciliation” because, through it, the Peruvian State would be able to find the
“truth” about the conflict and then it would be able to “‘reconcile’ with its citizens by (re)grant-
ing [them] rights and legal protections that historically ha[d] been denied” (Rojas-Perez 151).
Paraíso, nevertheless, reflects upon the limitations of reconciliation and the profound disil-
lusionment that emerges in the wake of these failures by framing its protagonists’ cynicism as
an effective political response to the lack of action of the country’s ruling classes in addressing
the social shortcomings of the nation even after the CVR clearly diagnosed them. From this
point on, and drawing from Timothy Bewes’s and Peter Sloterdijk’s debate on the political op-
portunities afforded by cynicism, Ervin Goffman’s notion of “front,” as well as David Harvey’s
ruminations on neoliberalism and his description of the process of “accumulation by dispos-
session,” this article analyses how Paraíso uses the chronic lack of hope of the characters to ar-
ticulate a new sensibility towards the Peruvian armed conflict and its aftermath. In a political-
ly fragmented society that is still unable to come to terms with how to discuss the conflict and
its consequences, this sensibility detaches itself from both the total endorsement of the CVR’s
findings promoted by the left as well as from the attacks that the Commission receives from
the right. It does not, however, question the veracity of the facts uncovered by the CVR nor
the potential of the processes proposed by the Commission. Instead, this sensibility questions
the viability of reconciliation in a nation that is still affected by structural social problems that
actively marginalize a sizeable part of its population. This is not to say that this sensibility pro-
motes the perspective advanced by the country’s ruling elites, which holds that the only way to
achieve social integration is through the strengthening of the country’s economy through the
adoption of neoliberal reforms and extractive capitalism. Far from it, this
2 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16sensibility is, in reality, a direct and cynical response to the discourse of prosperity promoted
by these elites. The impossibility of inclusion experienced by the characters of the film serves,
in fact, as a sobering reminder that the neoliberal reforms adopted in Peru in the last two
decades have not improved the social conditions of the majority of its population. Instead,
they have confirmed the prediction Harvey makes while echoing Marx’s dialectical method:
“market liberalization —the credo of the liberals and the neo-liberals— will not produce a
harmonious state in which everyone is better off. It will instead produce ever greater levels of
social inequality” (144).
The Unfulfilled Potential of the CVR
The fall of the extensively corrupt administration of Alberto Fujimori in the early 2000s
generated a temporary shift in the priorities of the Peruvian political establishment in how to
deal with the memories and traumas left by the preceding two decades of political violence.
In addition to advancing the economic development of the country, the Peruvian leadership
that replaced Fujimori also promised to stimulate a political atmosphere where the country
would be able to “remember” the political violence of the 1980s and 1990s and, in that way,
redress the plight of the marginalized indigenous population during the armed conflict. This
propitious sociopolitical environment, coupled with the economic growth Peru experienced
since the early 2000s, created a sense of cautious enthusiasm about the future of the country
amongst its people, a future where remembering the conflict would shed some light into the
country’s many moral shortcomings that exacerbated the violence and would eventually in-
cite the social inclusion of those most affected by the fighting.
Although the CVR was able, as V. Vich indicates, to obtain certain political achievements
(12), it has had a limited impact in showing how systematic collective remembering can be
used as the first strategic step to achieve social inclusion. This can be seen in the irresoluble
impasse between the two main competing narratives that, according to Cynthia Milton, Peru-
vians have about the conflict: the “salvation memory” that presents the questionable actions
of the Peruvian Government as the price that had to be paid for the country’s pacification, and
the “human rights memory” which situates the conflict as a symptom of a long-standing social
disease brought up by the chronic racism and inequality experienced in the country (9-10).
Although the CVR’s Informe final, the most complete reference document about the conflict,
rejects most of the arguments put forward by the “salvation” narrative, the political elites that
endorse this position are unwilling to make any changes to their discourse. As a result, and as
V. Vich notes, the “debate sobre el significado de la violencia se encuentra realmente estanca-
do en rígidas posiciones que nunca ceden” (12).1
Despite the limited influence that the CVR had in the struggle between the two dominant
1 The political struggles that ensue within debates about the past such as the one mentioned by V. Vich
have been widely studied in Latin America and elsewhere. Elizabeth Jelin warns us, for instance, that political
slogans such as “ o esconde[n] lo que en realidad es una
oposición entre distintas memorias rivales (cada una de ellas con sus propios olvidos) [y] [son] en verdad ” (6). It is important to note as well that the political struggles regarding memory in
Peru do not only take place between the elites and the human rights organizations as Milton proposes. Kimberly
Theidon, for instance, mentions that within indigenous communities in Ayacucho, there is a “‘historia patriarcal’
que busca silenciar a los grupos potencialmente dirsuptivos: las mujeres, los niños y las niñas” (145).
3 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16“memories” of the conflict, the Commission’s findings and conclusions have had a significant
impact among “human rights organizations, victims associations, and independent artists
[that] have participated in the public sphere in an attempt to carry on [the CVR’s] mandate to
remember” (Saona 2). The cultural materials produced by these artists in particular, as V. Vich
argues,
deben ser entendidos como dispositivos culturales que sirven para transformar los
sentidos comunes existentes, pues gracias a las representaciones que difunden y al
impacto que causan (en niveles conscientes o inconscientes), van abriendo significati-
vos espacios de conciencia ciudadana y de memoria política. (14)
Paraíso is certainly part of this corpus of cultural pieces that are opening “espacios de concien-
cia ciudadana y de memoria política” regarding the conflict; the impact that the violence has
in the lives of some of its protagonists and the fact that Jardines del Paraíso was established
by Andean immigrants displaced by the conflict confirms this connection. The film, however,
does not share the wholehearted enthusiasm that other Peruvian cultural products display
in regard to reconciliation. Instead, and not directly attacking or explicitly distancing itself
from the Commission’s discourse, Galvez’s film aims to elucidate the limitations of social rec-
onciliation in Peru.2 The film accomplishes this goal by defying what it sees as the unsustain-
able hopefulness stimulated by the CVR’s labors through the bleak visual portrayal of its pro-
tagonists’ existences, their constant frustrated longing for inclusion in Peruvian society, and
the cynical attitudes they adopt due to the repeated failures they experience. Furthermore,
Paraíso positions the political efforts of the country’s progressive politicians and organizations,
the main supporters of the Commission, as insufficient forces in the pursuit of reconciliation.
This deficiency occurs because, as its characters’ disillusion confirms, the Peruvian State and
the country’s society are still influenced by the historical contempt and indifference felt by the
elites towards the indigenous and mestizo majorities
Paraíso’s position marks a significant change in how Peruvian cultural producers reflect
upon the process of reconciliation as outlined by the CVR. In Andean Truths, Anne Lambright
discusses how two of the most emblematic films thematically associated with the conflict,
Fabrizio Aguilar’s Paloma de papel (2003) and Claudia Llosa’s La teta asustada (2009), work “in
tandem with the Truth Commission (not always deliberately and not necessarily harmonious-
ly), [by] providing important insights into the place of Andean culture in dominant national
discourse and the role of contemporary indigenous-mestizo subjects in post-conflict national
reality” (60).3
2 Gálvez has, in fact, worked with the CVR. Lucanamarca (2008), a documentary he directed with Carlos
Cárdenas, lists the CVR as one of its sponsors. The film discusses a massacre committed during the conflict.
3 Paloma de papel narrates the harrowing story of Juan, a peasant child who is kidnapped and forced to
fight for the Shining Path and who, after serving several years in jail, is pardoned and returns to his hometown
to continue the life he was denied by the conflict. This film, according to Lambright, connects with the work
of the Commission because, “[i]n certain ways[,] … [it] appears as but one more testimony before the CVR by
survivors of the Shining Path period [because] … it gives visual images to the oft-repeated account of the horrors
experienced by the child soldier” (66). La teta asustada portrays how Fausta, a young indigenous woman living in
a slum in Lima, copes and overcomes the trauma transmitted to her from her mother who was sexually abused
by a group of Peruvian soldiers during the conflict. Lambright argues that, in La teta asustada, “Llosa imagines a
modern and ‘reconciled’ Peru that neither marginalizes nor idealizes its indigenous past or present but rather
understands itself as a conflictive, complicated, heterogeneous society” (77).
4 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16Gálvez’s film, despite also focusing on the conflict and on the role of Andean culture in Peru’s
national discourse, questions the work of the CVR and suggests that its focus on remember-
ing the conflict is insufficient in achieving true reconciliation. This insufficiency takes place
because, as its characters’ constant failures indicate, the survivors of the conflict and their de-
scendants not only remember the atrocities of the 1980s and 1990s, but are still enduring the
deeply rooted contempt that exhacerbated the violence.
Instead of presenting characters who are willing to remember and overcome the traumas
they carry from the period of political turmoil, Paraíso portrays a second generation of Andean
immigrants in Lima who, although intimately connected to the conflict, have little interest in
bringing the brutal memories of the years of violence to the present. The conflict, in fact, is
only explicitly mentioned a couple of times in the film and always in relation to Sara’s mother,
the only direct victim-survivor presented in Paraíso’s narrative action. Torpor, nonetheless, is
not the only feeling that drives the film’s protagonists to ignore the traumas of the conflict.
Their lack of hope for any real change, illustrated through their continuous failures to ad-
vance in society, is what truly motivates their disinterest. Joaquín, for example, is constantly
looking for work but is only able to find temporary employment. Antuanet, who dreams of
attending college in order to leave the precariousness of her home, becomes disenchanted
after her mother refuses to support her decision to study journalism and resigns herself to
setting up a food stand with Sara in the local market. Sara, in turn, wants to return to school
to finish her secondary education, which she had to put on hold to work in order to survive,
but is not able to do so. Mario, who is estranged from his father, is only able to secure unstable
and dangerous work at a recycling plant while he unsurely contemplates joining the Peruvian
Army. Lalo, the youngest of the group, avidly works on a project to build a swimming pool at
his school but is eventually expelled for forging his mother’s signature on his report card.
Through the portrayal of its protagonists’ failures and by proposing cynicism as a viable
political response to the ongoing social struggles afflicting Peru’s memories of the conflict,
Paraíso raises several unresolved questions regarding the reach that the process of “remem-
bering,” as proposed by the CVR, can have in an environment led by a State uninterested
in fostering memory-building strategies and unable to address the social shortcomings that
exacerbated the violence in the first place: Why is it necessary for the victims and survivors
to remember their traumas from the conflict? What could really change in Peruvian society if
they remember and share their memories with their descendants? If the State is to remain in-
tentionally idle in the implementation of policies that foster a respectful atmosphere towards
“remembering,” who is going to care about the victims and their traumas? If one considers
that the majority of the mostly indigenous and mestizo victims of the conflict and their fam-
ilies are still dealing with the unsettled social problems that catalyzed the violence, the an-
swers to these questions would, most likely, have a negative tone: “remembering,” by itself and
as prescribed by the CVR, appears to be an unimpactful enterprise towards reconciliation in a
society that is still unsure about how to negotiate the memories of its violent past and that con-
tinues to carry the racism inherited from colonial times. In such an environment, “cynicism,”
the dismissive attitude that appears as “the stance of people who realize that the times of na-
iveté are gone” (Sloterdijk 5), appears as a political response better suited to deal with the lack
of institutional and social support towards remembering and, consequently, reconciliation.
Paraíso’s preference for cynicism does not signal that the existence of a politics of memory
5 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16(or remembering) is impossible within systems of exclusion as the one that afflicts Peru. In-
stead, it suggests that, in such environments, the process of remembering becomes a more
powerful political step towards reconciliation if it is accompanied by a cynical attitude, name-
ly by “the universally widespread way in which enlightened people [cynics] see to it that they
are not taken for suckers” (Sloterdijk 5). This attitude can be appreciated through certain vi-
sual and narrative components in the film that expose and reaffirm the geographic and social
isolation of Jardines del Paraíso and its inhabitants. From the film’s first image, where a soli-
tary and meager tree stands on a piece of dry land surrounded by trash and dust, the viewer
realizes that the narrative action of the film, like the tree, will feature a considerable sense of
seclusion. In addition to the tree, only the precarious houses of Jardines del Paraíso can be
seen through the dense cloud of dust that covers the barren land where it is planted. This dust
is a powerful metaphorical symbol in the film. In addition to acting as a referent to the precar-
iousness of the slum, it also serves as a visual marker of the social and political isolation and
neglect constantly experienced by the inhabitants of Jardines del Paraíso. Most of the streets
are unpaved and, since there is not any type of precipitation during the action of the film, the
characters produce small billows of dust after every step. This dust reminds the audience of
how unimportant this community is for the local authorities. Jardines del Paraíso is so insig-
nificant that no one in power thinks it is necessary for its roads to be paved. These roads, in
principle, should be able to connect and communicate the five protagonists of the film with
Lima and the opportunities the city represents. However, with the exception of a brief visit
Antuanet and Sara make to inquire about a scholarship, an opportunity that unsurprisingly
fails to materialize, none of the characters go or even attempt to go to the “other” Lima. The
roughness of the roads and the unwillingness of the characters to venture into the distant city
indicate, therefore, that the characters know that joining the Lima of opportunities is a diffi-
cult —in fact, virtually impossible— enterprise for them.
The Politics of Cynicism
Although all five protagonists of Paraíso display some type of cynical attitude within the
film’s narrative, the behavior of Joaquín, the character on which the movie anchors its plot,
is particularly illustrative of the sense of disillusionment and lack of hope —in sum, cyni-
cism— that permeates the film. When fired from a paltry restaurant job in which he has to
wear a chicken costume to attract potential customers, Joaquín asks his boss the reason for his
dismissal noting that he has never been late or absent. The boss ignores Joaquín’s words and
simply states, while addressing him constantly with the racial slur “cholito,” that he does not
want to pay anyone to wear the chicken costume.4 Despite not receiving a satisfactory answer
and being persistently insulted by his boss, Joaquín prefers not to confront him and keeps an
attitude that, at first glance appears to be calm and, to a certain extent, submissive. He even
4 “Cholito” is the diminutive of the term “cholo,” which, in turn, was one of the lowest racial classifications
in the region’s social hierarchy in colonial times. Today, the term is used mostly by non-indigenous Peruvians to
refer to individuals who could be considered “indígena[s] urbano[s]” (Nugent, 63). A lot has been written about
the term “cholo” and its derivatives (“choledad,” “cholificación,” etc.). For more information, see Anibal Quijano’s
Dominación y cultura: lo cholo y el conflicto cultural en el Perú (1980), and Guillermo Nugent’s El laberinto de la chole-
dad: páginas para entender la desigualdad (1992). The volumes De dónde venimos los cholos (2016) and No soy tu cholo
(2017) by journalist Marco Avilés could also be consulted to understand the social implications of the term.
6 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16asks the man who is firing him if he could stop by in the future to inquire about job oppor-
tunities, a request that his former employer hesitantly accepts. This apparent deference is
somewhat surprising, especially when one considers that the boss, who is white, continuously
uses the word “cholito” throughout the scene. When considering the massive inequality and
rampant racism that exist in the country, however, Joaquín’s calmness is emblematic of the
social performance expected in the country’s society from a marginalized subject. As Sergio
Miguel Huarcaya explains,
[i]n interethnic interactions [in the Andes], condescending non-indigenous behavior
went hand in hand with submissive indigenous behavior, which was performed in
many ways, including walking hunched over, giving way on sidewalks, whining in a
characteristic high pitch when asking for something, and lowering the gaze to avoid
eye contact. When harassed or beaten, most indígenas did not respond, even when the
harassers were children. (812) 5
Due to the colonial legacy that still thrives in Peru and in most of the Andes, indigenous or in-
digenous-mestizo individuals, those who are represented by Joaquín and who share an ethnic
and economic background with him, are expected to remain silent when subjected to injus-
tice or abuse. They know they are at the bottom of the social hierarchy and their protests and
grievances will not be heard or addressed. Furthermore, this position also prevents them from
obtaining any political power and subjects them to the possibility of reprisals such as being
blacklisted or blocked from economic activity. In simple terms, the apparent submissiveness
that Joaquín displays should not be understood as passiveness but as the strategic cynical
response of an “enlightened” social agent who is aware that he cannot win in a confrontation
against someone at a higher level of the country’s social structure and, thus, presents himself
in a way that, as Sloterdijk proposes, protects him from being taken as a pushover.
The behavior that Joaquín displays, which has been and is repeated throughout genera-
tions in Peru, becomes, then, an example of what Ervin Goffman defines as a “front,” which
is “that part of the individual’s performance which regularly functions in a general and fixed
fashion to define the situation for those who observe the performance. Front, then is the ex-
pressive equipment of a standard kind intentionally or unwittingly employed by the individu-
al during his performance” (22). Joaquín’s behavior during his firing, thus, represents a contin-
uation of the “fixed” behavior that the marginalized sections of the Peruvian population have
to perform in order to survive in what is arguably an unfair and discriminatory environment.
These marginalized masses, for whom Joaquín functions as a stand-in, do not hold any type of
social capital and, consequently, prefer to remain silent to preserve the possibility of receiving
some type of benefit from the elites in the future. As performers, after all, they want to “convey
an impression [that] it is in [their] best interest to convey” (Goffman 4).
5 Huarcaya arrives to these conclusions from interviews he conducted with indigenous leaders in Ecua-
dor, not Peru. That withstanding, he notes that “[i]ndigenous submission to non-indígenas was widespread across
the Andes” (813). Furthermore, Huarcaya’s work highlights the fact that, through the political and cultural efforts
of several indigenous leaders and organizations, this type of behavior is no longer prevalent in Ecuador. He also
indicates that this has not been the case in the Peruvian Andes, where indigenous communities “still equate the
terms indio and indígena with socio-economic conditions and marginality expressed through the experience of
exclusion, poverty, and illiteracy” (2015, 829).
7 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16Joaquín’s behavior is somewhat contrary to the empowerment that truth and reconciliation
projected by the CVR, and thus, it should be considered cynical as it encapsulates the disillu-
sion of a sizeable part of the Peruvian population who does not have —or at least is unable to
assert—some of the rights to which they are entitled. Article 23 of the Peruvian Constitution
of 1993, for instance, dictates that “Ninguna relación puede limitar el ejercicio de los derechos
constitucionales, ni desconocer o rebajar la dignidad del trabajador” (emphasis added), a right that
is repeatedly violated every time Joaquín’s boss addresses him with the slur “cholito.”
Joaquín’s cynicism becomes even more evident in the scene that follows his firing from
the restaurant. While talking with Antuanet about his dismissal, he explains in a rather crass
manner that his former boss is not going to ever help him again: “No me va a conseguir ni
mierda ese tío.” This sentence indicates that he knows his former boss is not going to ever
give him a new job. The request he makes during the dismissal is, thus, a purely insignificant
formality, it is only a part of the “front” that the marginalized in Peru have to present when
interacting with people who have a higher status in society. Hence Paraíso suggests through
Joaquin’s performance that the poorest and most disfranchised Peruvians are aware their so-
cial situation as subalterns has remained intact despite the CVR and its recommendations to
achieve reconciliation.
Is it possible, however, to conceptualize the cynicism that Joaquín displays as something
more than an emotion? Could it be also considered a political strategy? Timothy Bewes’s defi-
nition of cynicism can guide us through this question:
a melancholic, self-pitying reaction to the apparent disintegration of political reality
(in the form of ‘grand narratives’ and ‘totalizing ideologies’), is the result of a process
which I have characterized as the ‘reification’ of postmodernity, where a series of ess-
entially metaphysical insights is taken to be a declaration of truth about the nature of
contemporary political reality. (7)
Although Paraíso does not dwell on how Joaquín becomes aware of the impenetrability of Pe-
ruvian society for someone with his socioeconomic status, the film indicates that his cynical
attitude is born from the knowledge of these unwritten social rules, which remain in effect
due to the indifference and lack of action of the country’s political class. The film, therefore,
suggests that Joaquín experienced, at some point, a process of “reification” that made him at-
tain the uncomfortable “metaphysical insight” that indicates that the discrimination and lack
of opportunities he endures are the direct result of the incompetence of the political system
that controls Peruvian society.
In addition to representing a personal attitude towards politics, as is the case with Joaquín,
cynicism can also be seen as a general shift in how populations approach politics. Sloterdijk
calls cynicism “enlightened false consciousness” (5) and establishes that its main characteris-
tic is “a constitution of consciousness afflicted with enlightenment that, having learned from
historical experience, refuses cheap optimism” (6). Paraíso, through the portrayal of Jardines
del Paraíso’s impecuniosity and Joaquín’s cynical performance, detaches itself from the wave
of political optimism that Fujimori’s demise brought to Peru (and that made the CVR possible)
and portrays a society in which most disfranchised Peruvians, those who were most affected
by the political violence of the 1980s and 1990s, are still lacking faith in the political establish-
8 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16ment that was responsible for their suffering.
How can cynicism, then, be articulated into a type of comprehensive political position? Be-
wes and Sloterdijk differ in this matter. Sloterdijk declares that cynicism calls for “[t]he critical
addiction to making things better […] to be given up – for the sake of the good” (xxxvii, emphasis
added). Bewes, on the other hand, believes that making things better “is reason itself, and ought
no more to be abandoned than eating and breathing” and that “[p]olitics reaches to the impos-
sible as a matter of principle, a gesture of faith in the realm of possibility that is couched within
the unknowable” (5). Considering both of these perspectives, as well as the fact that Joaquín is
aware of how impossible it would be for him to advance socially and financially in his current
environment, it would be accurate to say that the film subscribes to Sloterdijk’s conceptual-
ization of cynicism. Joaquín is not interested in making things better because he knows that
nothing can get better.
Jardines del Paraíso’s pauperism and Joaquín’s cynical attitudes place Paraíso at direct odds
with the discourse of prosperity that has become prevalent among the Peruvian neoliberal
elites since the early 2000s. As noted by Cynthia Vich, the destitute situations in which the in-
habitants of the slum live place Jardines del Paraíso, “[e]n contraste al discurso dominante hoy
en día sobre el exitoso desarrollo de los llamados ‘conos’ limeños y la transformación de los
asentamientos humanos en dinámicos ejes de actividad comercial” (196). The development
of the “conos” and “asentamientos humanos”—euphemisms for the slums that surround
Lima—that C. Vich indicates, refers to the transformation into immense neighborhoods with
factories, workshops, and commercial establishments that some of these poor settlements
have experienced in the last two decades.6 These transformations, used by the Peruvian rul-
ing classes as evidence of their effective leadership, are attributed by the country’s elites to
the “combination of prudent macroeconomic policies, the ambitious structural reforms that
started in the 1990s, positive terms of trade, and large foreign direct investment” (Genoni and
Salazar 269), namely to the adoption of neoliberalism. Paraíso, nonetheless, denounces this
fallacy by arguing that although Jardines del Paraíso complies with all the demographic and
geographic requirements to be or to become one of these economic engines, the precarious-
ness of the slum is the rule and not the exception. Moreover, the film indicates that the inhabi-
tants of places like Jardines del Paraíso are not always benefited by the commercial enterprises
that appear near their neighborhood. A referent to this separation is Joaquín’s temporary job
at the restaurant. While dressed as a chicken, Joaquín dances awkwardly in a crowded street to
persuade people to patronize the establishment. While he dances, several people walk around
him. Most of these men and women are carrying briefcases, backpacks, and other objects
(such as building supplies) that suggest they are on their way to work. Although he is working
during this scene, the audience soon finds out that Joaquín will not be able to keep this job
and that he will be effectively excluded from the working population that surrounds him.
It is important to note here that the neoliberal context in Peru is not historically divergent
from the work of the CVR or from its project of reconciliation because, as Fernando Rosen-
berg reminds us, “human rights and neoliberal common sense share common ground that
neither exhaust the emancipatory possibilities of human rights nor exempts neoliberal poli-
6 Miriam Chion explains this phenomenon using the example of Gamarra, a traditionally poor neigh-
borhood in Lima that has transformed itself into an economic engine thanks to the business acumen of the pro-
prietors of its many textile companies who have been able to successfully navigate foreign markets without help
from the elites (80).
9 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16tics of blatantly ignoring basic rights” (1). The existence of this “common ground” (which
Rosenberg bases on the shared political ideals connected to justice and democracy), on the
other hand, should not prevent a critical approach to neoliberalism. David Harvey, for in-
stance, explains that several neoliberal reforms, such as the ones implemented in Peru, can
cause an overaccumulation of capital that produces a significant release of assets at very low
costs in order to obtain profits. The seizure of these assets, which were previously not part of
the market, usually dispossesses specific segments of society and incites them to take part in
the market economy (149). This process, which he defines as “accumulation by dispossession,”
proves true in Peru, where an asset like labor power fosters the creation of a disenfranchised
and underpaid labor force that, as illustrated by Joaquín’s lack of work, galvanizes social in-
equality.
Education and Pain
The social exclusion experienced by Joaquín is only one of the ways the film questions and
challenges the role of capitalism in Peru. The insidious influence of neoliberalism can also
be appreciated in Antuanet, the most studious member of the group. Instead of being driv-
en by “unreasonable” dreams like Lalo’s access to a swimming pool or Joaquín’s longing for
permanent, well-paying, manual employment, Antuanet indicates the sway that open market
doctrines have in her by stating that her only hope of leaving Jardines del Paraíso is through
education. As she admonishes Joaquín during a conversation, she believes that they have to
“estudiar para ser profesionales, para poder salir de acá,” adding that she is already thinking
about this potential future because she wants to “estudiar mínimo dos carreras.”
This perspective is the only thing that keeps Antuanet afloat in Jardines del Paraíso, even
when the conditions around her indicate that, most likely, it will be impossible for her to at-
tain her professional goals. The confirmation of this impossibility appears through a tense
conversation that she has with her mother. In this exchange, Antuanet explains that she wants
to study journalism and that there is a good possibility that she would be able to obtain a par-
tial scholarship due to her excellent grades in high school. When her mother tersely inquires
about how she is thinking of covering the remaining tuition, Antuanet reminds her that her
father said he would pay for her education. The mother, who does not approve of Antuanet’s
desire to become a journalist, replies that her father “va a hacer el esfuerzo por algo que val-
ga la pena [porque] la plata no está para botarla.” She adds that, in her opinion, journalism
“es una carrera para gente que tiene plata, que tiene vara” and that it would be better if she
attended college to become a schoolteacher.7 This statement outrages Antuanet who, before
storming out of the house, loudly screams to her mother: “¡Pero yo no quiero! ¡No me gusta!
¿No entiendes? ¡Yo no quiero estudiar eso!”
Besides causing visible frustration in Antuanet, her mother’s statement contributes to the
atmosphere of cynicism that surrounds the characters of Paraíso, an atmosphere where Sloter-
dijk’s call to give up the “critical addition to making things better” (xxxvii) has triumphed. The
concern that Antuanet’s mother displays when addressing her daughter’s interest in journal-
ism, although perhaps justifiable in Peru’s context of inequality, is based on the socially accep-
7 The idiomatic expression “tener vara” indicates the existence of personal connections that could influence,
mostly unfairly, the outcome of an enterprise such as job applications, bureaucratic processes, etc.
10 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16ted belief that people who inhabit neighborhoods like Jardines del Paraíso cannot pursue
their dreams and aspirations, even if they have the academic and mental capacity to do so.
By establishing that journalism is a profession only for affluent people, Antuanet’s mother is
really telling her that the promise of education (which is directly related to the discourse of
prosperity and thus neoliberalism) is not real, at least not for someone like her.
Her mother’s statement suggests, thus, that someone like Antuanet, a member of the Pe-
ruvian lower classes, does not have the same type of freedom as a person from a higher social
standing when contemplating his or her career goals.8 This obstacle is particularly significant
given that it directly conflicts with the principle of competition held by the neoliberal ideol-
ogy that supposedly sparked an “economic boom” in Peru and that nurtured the discourse of
prosperity of the “conos.” Antuanet cannot be what she wants; she can only be what society
allows her to be. She, then, cannot compete with others who may have similar goals. Her aca-
demic achievements and determination suggest that she could be a successful college student
and, perhaps, a good journalist but her mother’s cynicism, displayed through the denial of her
support, prevents the teenager from even trying to accomplish her goals.
Joaquín’s and Antuanet’s unpromising futures are powerful manifestations of how flawed
and insufficient the efforts for achieving reconciliation have been in post-conflict Peru. The
situation in which Mario and Sara find themselves at the end of the film, however, illustrates
the complexity of the social fragmentation that this very reconciliation seeks to overcome. In
different moments of the film, there are references to how Sara’s father was killed by the Shin-
ing Path when she was still very young. Not having known her father causes curiosity in Sara
but her mother, the only one who is able to give her some answers, is uninterested in sharing
many details about the past. Furthermore, she appears to believe that even discussing or re-
membering this tragic past will bring it back. During a brief conversation about her deceased
husband, the mother exhorts Sara not to share too much information about the family’s past
before their arrival to Lima. She tells her, “Cuidadito con estar contando de más, ¡ah! ¿No has
escuchado que los terrucos están regresando? Están averiguando, preguntando. Y como tu
papito ha sido autoridad, hay que tener mucho cuidado. Uno nunca sabe lo que esos malditos
terrucos pueden hacer.”9
Beyond the frustration that this lack of information produces in Sara, not knowing this
truth also has repercussions in her life and in her future because it incites her to make deci-
sions that symbolically repeat and perpetuate the social fragmentation of the country. In sev-
eral conversations, Sara pushes Mario, her boyfriend, to look into the possibility of joining the
Peruvian Army. In her mind, being part of the military is one of the few opportunities avail-
able for him. Mario does not go to school, and does not have a permanent job, or a welcoming
family structure. His father is constantly kicking him out of the house and he frequently tells
Joaquín how lucky he is to have a mother who actually cares for him. Mario survives thanks to
the support that Joaquín provides him, occasional and backbreaking work at a recycling plant,
8 This is an interesting declaration when considering that the character’s name could be an ironic and
almost laughable reference to Queen Marie Antoinette of France. As with the monarch, Antuanet’s desires to
attain (or maintain) social grandiosity are fostered in an environment of ignorance of social and economic condi-
tions.
9 “Terruco” is a slang term used to refer to the terrorist of the Shining Path. It was first used in the high-
lands of Ayacucho, the epicenter of the conflict, and it was later adopted as a nationwide idiom.
11 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16and the spontaneous muggings and robberies he commits.10 Despite the conversations that
the characters have about the risks and unpleasant situations that becoming a soldier imply
(including serving in the areas where the Shining Path is still active), Sara perceives in the
military an opportunity for Mario to find some form of stability and, at least, a steady income.
This perception is shattered, nonetheless, when Sara learns the truth about her origins. Af-
ter an event celebrating the anniversary of Jardines del Paraíso, Sara takes her drunken moth-
er home. Once in bed, the older woman starts sobbing and narrates how Peruvian soldiers
raped her during the conflict. Moreover, she states that she became pregnant due to this rape
and that she was afraid her child was going to be a monster. Sara, who up to this point believes
that the Shining Path killed her father, shockingly realizes that she is the product of this crime.
Still in pain, she goes to see Mario the next day. She looks desperate and it is obvious she
wants to share with him what she has found out. When Mario opens the door of his rickety
house, however, Sara is not able to say anything. She only cries softly. The shock her mother’s
confession produced is now enhanced by Mario’s appearance because, instead of sporting his
regular clothes, he is wearing an Army uniform, a physical change that symbolically connects
him to the men who violently raped her mother.11 Mario does not understand why Sara is cry-
ing and repeatedly asks her “¿Qué pasa?” Instead of answering with the truth, explaining why
this uniform causes her sadness, Sara simply hugs him and whispers “Nada.”
This brief encounter between Mario and Sara implies that Peruvian society is still not
ready to deal with the traumas of the recent past. Sara is not willing or able to open up to her
loved one. She already lives in desperate conditions and admitting she is a product of the
conflict will only add an additional level of illegitimacy to her already precarious existence.
Moreover, by having Sara —the product of a rape committed by members of the Peruvian mil-
itary— embrace someone dressed as one of the men who abused her mother and refuse to tell
him why the uniform causes her pain, Paraíso suggests that its characters, as the segments of
the Peruvian population they represent, do not have any possibility of obtaining a harmonious
and promising future. V. Vich comments on this unfeasibility by stating that,
juntar a Sara con un futuro militar, vale decir, con un personaje que quiere pertenecer
a la institución de aquellos que violaron a su madre, surge entonces como el signo más
potente de una cultura que ya no controla su propia negatividad, vale decir, que ya no
es capaz de hacer nada frente a una violencia que se repite y reproduce constante
mente. (156-157)
Although this essay subscribes to V. Vich’s interpretation of the encounter, violence is not the
only social issue that constantly reappears in Paraíso or, as a matter of fact, in Peruvian society.
10 For additional information about the crimes that Mario (and sometimes Joaquín) commits during the
film, please see V. Vich (2015) and Bedoya (2013).
11 One of the most in-depth discussions about the role that gender violence played in the Peruvian armed
conflict is Sexual Violence during War and Peace: Gender, Power, and Post-Conflict Justice in Peru by Jelke Boesten
(2014). Boesten’s main argument is that the lack of interest put into solving and adjudicating cases of sexual vio-
lence that took place during the conflict “is a result of mainstream societal ideas about violence against women
in general, and sexual violence in particular” (5). Furthermore, Boesten also points out that “dismissing [the]
experiences [of women who were raped and, in several cases bear children from these rapes,] from a perspective
of women’s ‘natural’ role as mothers only emphasizes the gender binary, and in doing so, perpetuates inequality
and the possibility of violence” (5).
12 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16The failure to foster a social and political environment where rights are reaffirmed and uni-
formly granted to all citizens is also a recurrent element in Peru’s history. Every national trag-
edy throughout the almost two hundred years of the republic sheds light on the intrinsically
flawed social structure of the country. Whether it is a natural disaster, armed conflict, or a
territorial dispute, in each of these scenarios, the people who tend to suffer the most are the
indigenous and mestizo majorities, those who are not part of the “legitimate” society of the
country, those who the elites see with indifference and contempt due to their place of origin,
their socioeconomic status, or the color of their skin.
Conclusion: Marginalization in Peru
The use of these features as instruments of discrimination is certainly not unique to
Peruvian society, yet their powerful influence in the social dynamics of a country where the
majority of its population suffers such discrimination is tellingly problematic. This mar-
ginalizing strategy is even more questionable when one considers that, during the last two
decades, there have been constant institutional efforts to identify and resolve these structural
flaws. The insufficiency of these endeavors, illustrated by the limits of the CVR’s process of
reconciliation, have created a sense of generalized disillusionment among the segments of
the population that endured most of the discrimination in the country.
Peru is not, by any means, the only country in Latin America that has been burdened by
the historical marginalization of its indigenous and mestizo populations nor the only one that
has suffered national traumas such as the armed conflict of the 1980s and 1990s. It is, however,
one of the few nations in the region where the advance of political forces powered by specific
and well-developed indigenous identities has not received public attention or recognition. In
countries like Ecuador or, more visibly, Bolivia, the 2000s were the decade of political empow-
erment for indigenous groups.12 New or revamped forms of government were presented as via-
ble political strategies for marginalized communities throughout the region. When discussing
Álvaro García Linera’s political writings, for example, Bruno Bosteels argues that the Bolivian
former Vice-president’s sweeping political and ideological ruminations on how to develop a
new brand of socialism in the country through the action of the State, meant a “complete shift
in perspective, or a radical ideological turnabout, as a result of which capitalism no longer ap-
pears as the only game in town and we no longer have to be ashamed to set our expecting and
desiring eyes here and now on a different organization of social relationships” (223).
Although Bolivia still struggles with many political and social difficulties and flaws, the rise
of figures like García Linera, albeit temporarily, has allowed the creation of a certain amount
of space for the political empowerment of their indigenous populations. The Peruvian po-
litical system, on the other hand, has been unwilling to create such spaces and has blind-
ly adopted the neoliberal mantra. Culture, consequently, has appeared as a venue for these
alternative political postures. Paraíso, despite its pessimistic tone and its bleak approach to
Peruvian society, for instance, allows its characters to articulate a specific political message
through cynicism.
This cynicism is visceral and absolute, but also somewhat understandable. The CVR de-
manded truth and, later reconciliation. Every administration has promised the socially and
economically excluded opportunities and ways out of poverty. Although the CVR initiat-
12 See Huarcaya 2015.
13 - Hispanic Studies Review - Vol. 5, No. 2 (2021): 1-16ed conversations about the motivations of the conflict and the country has experienced an
economic surge that has brought many people out of poverty, the discrimination and mar-
ginalization of the poorest Peruvians continues. The slums in Lima are still growing and the
country remains controlled by social norms based on outdated racial hierarchies. Further-
more, the indigenous and mestizo majorities are still marginalized and abused, and the po-
litical elites who are responsible for part of the violence of the 1980s and 1990s and for the
adoption of neoliberal policies that have galvanized the inequality among its people, remain
influential and powerful.
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