Reuters A question of breeding

AS HER family has for generations past, Juana Vásquez gets up before dawn to move her herd of alpacas, now more than a thousand strong, from their pens to pasture on the high plains near Puno, some 4,400 metres (14,400 feet) above sea level in southern Peru. As it has been since Inca times, the shaggy alpaca, a South American cameloid with fine, long wool, is the economic mainstay of Ms Vásquez's village of Pinaya. But Ms Vásquez is not a typical alpaca herder. She attended a nearby university, and is trying to turn subsistence herding into a viable business.

That effort matters for Peru. The alpaca is a cultural symbol—its much-prized cousin, the vicuña, is on the country's national shield. It also holds the key to helping more than 150,000 of the poorest Peruvian families.

Peru has some 3.5m alpacas—80% of the world's total and, you might think, a dominant market position. Yet the country's Association of Exporters, a business lobby, backed by several congressmen, wants to ban export of live alpacas. As a result of such exports, there are now herds of around 60,000 alpacas in both Australia and the United States, with smaller ones elsewhere. Thanks to its ability to carry out genetic improvement, in 20 years Australia could overtake Peru as a producer of alpaca fibre, the association claims.

That is improbable. If true, it would be an indictment of the mismanagement of the industry in Peru. Ms Vásquez's grandmother tended alpaca herds for a near-feudal absentee landowner. In the 1970s, a military government expropriated Peru's large estates. Pinaya formed part of a vast co-operative, appropriately called La Gigante. That collapsed a decade ago, its herds and land split up among families.

Dozens of official reports, plans and national strategies, and promises of technical help, have failed to overcome a vicious circle: most herders are poor, have too few animals, and cannot afford the improvements in breeding, pasture management and shearing needed to raise fibre quality and yield. The National Council of South American Cameloids, a government body, claims that a herd of around 300 is needed to cover a family's basic needs. But the average herd numbers just 21 animals, yielding only $600 per year in fibre.

“No one is going to help us change this industry,” says Ms Vásquez. “If we want things to be better, we need to do it ourselves.” Her extended family have gathered their animals into a single, profitable herd. She is taking part in a government-backed pilot project to improve breeding. Several of her animals have produced wool as soft as that of the vicuña.

Her village has joined forces with others to sell in bulk to the three wool processing firms in the southern city of Arequipa, in an effort to expand their bargaining power. The firms, recognising that they have done little to help the herders, have set up an institute to deal directly with them, cutting out middlemen. Rather than banning live exports, perhaps Peru should work harder to make the most of its natural and cultural heritage.