The doctrine of privatization moves so swiftly across the underdeveloped world that there is rarely a chance to see what is actually going on. But when the government of Bolivia sold off the public water system of Cochabamba to foreign investors who then spiked the cost of water by $30 a month, town residents went into open revolt. PNS correspondent Jim Shultz, a resident of the town, reports from the eye of the hurricane on the water wars of Cochabamba. Shultz writes for The Democracy Center. His e-mail address is info@democractctr.org".

COCHABAMBA, BOLIVIA -- The term "tear gas" doesn't quite capture the real experience. Even from nearly a block away, the white smoke from the canister burns your eyes and throat and immediately empties your nose. At ground zero the gas makes you vomit and nearly lose consciousness.

Tear gas was the Bolivian government's official response to a huge popular revolt here over something very basic: water. One person died from a tear gas canister to the head, at least 35 were hospitalized. For two days in early February, it was like a war zone downtown. Tear gas from the center of town started to take effect blocks away. At night, fires burned on every block, there were at least a dozen fronts of confrontation between protesters trying to reach the central plaza and riot police trying to keep them out. POW, POW, rocks in one direction. BOOM, BOOM, tear gas rockets from the other.

In recent years "privatization" has become economic theology in Latin America, obeying a set of commandments written by the U.S. and the U.S.-dominated lenders, the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. The commandments are simple. Thou shalt sell public enterprises to private corporations and investors, almost always from abroad. Thou shalt allow those new owners to do what they will with prices, wages and products. In exchange, supposedly, those businesses receive a transfusion of foreign capital and the IMF and World Bank won't cut off international loans.

Bolivia's most recent governments have obeyed these commandments, selling off everything from the national airline to the telephone company -- and then, water. Last year, the Bolivian government sold Cochabamba's public water system to a British-led pool of investors who promised to pour millions of dollars into expansion and improvements. In January, the owners raised new signs ("Aguas de Tunari") on all their facilities and also raised water prices, in many cases by more than double. Our own monthly water bill, for example, leapt from $12 in December to nearly $30 in January. Similar increases hit almost everyone we know.

By U.S. standards, $30 may not be much, but for many Bolivian families who often earn as little as $100 per month, these increases were catastrophic. The Cochabambinos, who had paid scant attention to the deal when it was being worked out, went into shock and into action.

In mid-January, a four-day general strike over the water price hikes left the city at a total standstill -- no cars, no buses, no air flights or bus transport. This culminated in a mass march to the city's central plaza.

Thousands of angry water users, urban and rural, gathered and chanted just outside government offices where protest leaders and officials were negotiating. Some of those talking were reportedly worried that the crowd might break down the door if they didn't emerge with some acceptable agreement. In the end, they agreed to talk more.

February 5th was the deadline for those talks, and a peaceful mass march to the city's center was planned to mark the occasion. The Bolivian government responded by declaring the march illegal and sending more than 1,000 army and police in from outside Cochabamba.

One of the protest organizers, labor leader Oscar Olivera, publicly declared that the government's response was "an expression of fascism that reflects a total incapacity of the government to have a dialogue." The government's official retort was that the marchers were fringe troublemakers, not representative of the people, and that water price increases had really been minor. Officials also asserted that the show of force was aimed at protecting "the public," an odd claim since it is the public which is marching.

In the morning, thousands of protesters marched toward the police lines -- young and old, poor and middle class. I spotted a friend who works as an accountant at the university and another, a Catholic priest in his 70s, who walks slowly. Many walked from rural towns 10 miles and more away, despite government roadblocks. Anyone dismissing this as a crowd of unrepresentative rabble rousers wasn't paying very close attention.

The protesters were eloquent as reporters made their way through the gas clouds seeking interviews. And live TV newscasts showed an unarmed man being beaten by soldiers with a club and a long rubber whip.

During a calm in the conflict I spoke to some of the young riot police sent in from the capital, La Paz, armed with canisters, gas masks, shields and rifles. (Local police might have seen their own mothers or aunts in the protest crowds and may have been less obedient.) "I just follow orders," explained Angelo, 24, wearing full anti-riot gear.

"If you were ordered to kill me right now, you would kill me?"

"Claro [for sure]."

"Don't people here have a right to protest having the price of their water doubled."

"Yes, we all have rights. I'm following orders."

The question in Cochabamba is who initiating those orders. Is it a police captain sent here from out of town? Is it President Banzer? Or are those orders merely the natural consequence of an economic theology, developed from afar and run amok here, enough to send even old men and women into the streets facing tear gas and bullets just to keep having water they can afford?

Late on the fourth night, the government caved in, rolled back water prices to October rates, released the arrested. For a time, this city was utterly unified, utterly involved and totally angry. It was amazing.