Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America (Latin American Societies) 3031339134, 9783031339134

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Adrian Albala Alejandro Natal   Editors

Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America

Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America

Adrian Albala  •  Alejandro Natal Editors

Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America

Editors Adrian Albala Institute of Political Science (IPOL) University of Brasília Brasilia, Brasília, Brazil

Alejandro Natal El Colegio Mexiquense Zinacantepec, Estado de México, Mexico

ISBN 978-3-031-33913-4    ISBN 978-3-031-33914-1 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface

The land of the cosmic race is in turmoil. Since the 1990s, a wave of indigenous movements have been acting to voice and being heard in Latin America, the melting pot of ethnic identities where miscegenation has created a peaceful pan-racial democracy. These movements avoided ethnic clashes, national claims, or attempts to redefine boundaries. Rather, their struggle was to pass from a cultural multiculturalism to a political one, i.e., to redefine the forms of interest intermediation and to claim an effective participation in decision-making and political representation within the existing Latin American nation-states. Thus, the whole region witnessed a wave of indigenous movements with no comparison in their history: Ecuador 1990, followed by challenges to the system in 1997 and 2000; Bolivia 1990 and up until the election of Evo Morales and constitutional changes; Mexico 1994, with the uprising of the EZLN; Guatemala 1991, with the Indigenous popular resistance of Mayan; Colombia 1990–1991, with the discussion of the indigenous rights in constituent assemblies; and similarly Ecuador in 1997–1998. In addition to creating echoes on countries such as Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Brazil and the Forums of Indigenous Resistance in 1992, this wave also had significant impact elsewhere, leading to the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People (1995–2004). Moreover, these were not conjunctural explosions of social unrest that could be contained, but they were rather political movements that raised to debate public policy and institutional design on issues that interested them and were even fueling political candidates in local and national elections, particularly in Ecuador, Bolivia, and Guatemala. This boom of movements challenged the commonly accepted idea that the ­relatively peaceful democratic environment in Latin America was the result of the liberal project with which the Latin American states were conformed. Latin America Nation projects, that in general privileged a set of defined political identities and provided incentives for actors to align with them by channeling attention to the resulting cleavages. In this manner, indigenous groups have adopted a civic identity vis-a-vis other actors and let the expressions of indigenous identity for private forums. This state of affairs seemed to have somewhat worked, with certain differences regarding the countries, until indigenous movements of the 1990s. v

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Many explanations were cast from the neocolonialist that see in these movements the cry against means of subordination and the exhaustion of a model of control; the failure of Latin Americans states in reaching and penetrating all regions and sectors of their societies evenly; the resilience of pre-national states existing forms of traditional governance; and a crisis of rurality and the liberalization policies, among many others. Without totally denying these explanations, which are true to certain extent in different Latin American countries, an alternative explanation that we want to follow is that the region historically exhibited an incapacity to achieve the ideals of liberalism, the pan-racial democracy based in equality and universality in which Latin American nation sates were created. Thus, the representation of indigenous people in the region was—in the best cases—weak and irrelevant. Therefore, it was not surprising that the wave of democratization and changes in the regimes of the 1980s and 1990s created a more open political associational space (Yashar, 2005) and further enriched by technologies of information and communication (TICs) and indigenous peoples’ own migration experiences (Natal, 2011). This new environment presented politicized indigenous identities and their enclaves of local autonomy, with a perfect window of political opportunity to make themselves heard. Thus, indigenous groups created first grassroots networks and gained force; then, they connected with other political actors and civil society organizations (that had paved public opinion with discussions on indigenous rights and democracy) and gained legitimacy. This fueled collective action and allowed indigenous people to voice out and being echoed in their long-held claims for effective political representation. This social effervescence and the resulting political processes have so far mostly being studied as a social uproar calling for the improvement of the quality of democracy and rarely as an issue of ethnic politics. Therefore, most authors have not been capable to pass from a question of improving existing mechanisms of representation to a discussion of a new social contract or “politics of recognition of ethnic diversity” (Taylor, 1992). Thus, the issue has been much reduced to a question of achieving nominal representation (percentage), rather than to matter or substantial representation, i.e., help marginalized groups to break out barriers of entrance and empower them vis-a-vis other groups. Other studies have gone through a multicultural analysis of cultural respect. In general, these scholars see in Western democracy (plural, contested, and competitive elections) a tsunami against indigenous traditions, usages, and observances; and foresee that political parties would destroy communities’ unity and heritage. Nonetheless the little evidence that has been produced so far seem to cast evidence in both directions and far more evidence needs to be systematized (Sonnleitner, 2001). These types of studies, though much needed, do not add much to the pressing discussion on how to structure representation mechanisms capable of politically integrating the ethnic diversity of Latin American countries in order to build an “ethnic citizenship” (De la Peña, 1994) or “multicultural citizenship” (Kymlicka, 1995). This is critical because, despite its importance, indigenous representation is a large understudied area in political analysis and a pending need to understand

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postliberal democracies; but it is also an urgent need because it is a procrastinated demand that can menace the stability of a number of Latin American nation-states.

Relevance of This Book This book is about big issues in small places. It chronicles the dynamics of indigenous people in their fight to defend their political rights. Far from a mere theoretical analysis or case study distant observation, the book searches to give voice to community activist by presenting views and analyses directly from interview data. However, the people presented in the book are not idealized portraits of the good savage but members of complex social and economic groups, which intelligently decide when to act on an individual or collective basis. We understand indigenous people as citizens living in a particularly complex world where their internal social relations and culture determine many of their choices and much of their behavior, but that are also framed by larger contexts of collective political marginalization, migration choices, and personal decisions on how to deal with poverty, among others. Therefore, this project will document the troubles experienced by indigenous people in their struggle to have an effective political representation, while at the same time having to deal with a hybrid world of globalization, market economy, and community traditions. These analyses, direct from the people studied, are rarely found in the existing literature on political science. Therefore, the book will also be approached as an ethnographic portrait of the political struggles of Latin American indigenous people to gain recognition within their nation sates. Through a detailed exploration of the political dynamics of indigenous groups and examples of mechanisms of political representation, the studies of this book reveal how power relations, cleavages, and indigenous civil society organizations are essential to our understanding of indigenous political participation. We do so by closely inspecting how collective action builds up at local level in grassroots organizations and how it then articulates or not with larger mechanisms of regional and national political representation. Thus, the book calls attention to main issues such as enclaves, intermediation of interests, and costs and barriers for an effective indigenous political representation. Therefore, we provide a more comprehensive and comparative assessment of why and when representation works and fails for indigenous people. With this approach, we also look at other issues examined by the literature such as competitive elections versus traditional structures; indigenous parties and multipardism; effective mechanisms of political grassroots empowerment; and articulation indigenous social capital and local civil society. Then, through an accurate and unbiased analysis, we compare these previous discussions and arguments with recent data and field evidence, particularly in terms of their effective indigenous representation outcomes. Thus, we aim to contribute to fill important gaps between the current knowledge of political representation and the reality faced by indigenous people. Accordingly,

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our interdisciplinary discussion enriches the line of inquiry into indigenous political representation in Latin America. Moreover, because indigenous endeavors analyzed in this study have some similarities with social processes elsewhere, the book may have important implications to theoretical and applied research in other regions. In many ways, the above issues should be sufficient justification for a book, as compared to academic discussion about these issues in the region is much needed and fairly forgotten. However, the book has a second and equally determined purpose. Through a detailed exploration of distinct forms of indigenous grassroots, civil society and political organizations, cleavages articulation, representation outcomes, and the examination of quantitative and original in-depth qualitative data, we will expose the dangers associated with not understanding the complexities of indigenous political representation. Therefore, this study will bring significant insights into the successes and failures of effective indigenous political representation in Latin America. This understanding will help us to better inform on the mechanisms, procedures, and circumstances that may lead to construct more effective regulations and structures to foster indigenous political representation in the future, what will have therefore, a number of significant policy implications. Thus, the book may be of much use to policy makers and politicians, by bringing them ideas on a variety of issues, such as how can we improve indigenous groups sub-representation in Congresses; in what way political parties or communities can propose indigenous leaders and empower them be more competitive. It may also be of great use for electoral policy makers, activists, and indigenous organizations on how to make electoral districts more representatives and coherent with local indigenous population, or different indigenous groups in the region, so as to avoid ethnic conflict. This type of work is also a pending academic methodological assignment. So far, some studies reinvigorate the image of the indigenous subject and their political resistance; others widely recognize the legitimacy of their political claims and of the importance of deepen democracy; and other groups revise indigenous movements as the avant-garde of civil society collective action in Latin America. We detach from radical primordialists blind to cultural change and framed in ideas that most indigenous people would hardly support. We also depart from simple rational and structuralist explanations that cannot anticipate behaviors or think out the poverty trap. We discuss these approaches based on the extensive evidence gathered in our project. In great lines, we use to follow a more poststructuralist approach in which individuals are understood as subjects with agency inserted in complex arenas, with plural and diffuse identities, socially constructed and dynamic, that can express conditions of poverty, authoritarian rule, or defense of cultural values, resources, or political rights. Since Indian is not a social category in Latin America, we will avoid identification difficulties by focusing on indigenous organizations and their efforts to gain representation, and by understanding ethnic groups as self-recognized as culturally different and so seen by others (Giddens, 2000). We intend that our methodology is an innovative design based on quantitative data but also in the giving of voice to

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communities, leaders, and activists. These data will be supplemented by archival research, content analysis, debates, and seminars of authors. Hence, this book fills a significant academic gap because no extensive previous work in the area had been comparatively undertaken. Our research also focus on detecting field problems and illuminating critical issues for politicians and congressmen in terms of how to bring about effective regulations that empower indigenous leaders; and to provide political parties with better information on how to make decisions when participating in elections within/involving indigenous communities. Accordingly, this book also concentrates on producing a research capable to inform activists in indigenous communities, grassroots organizations, and movements on obstacles and mechanisms that they can put forward to implement an effective representation of their interest.

Research Questions and General Content The book addresses three main topics, which have not been studied ensemble by previous works on the area, indigenous civil society organizations, ethnic cleavages, and representation outcomes throughout the region. First, we discuss how indigenous people started to mobilize beyond the local level and built up moderate to strong national and subnational organizations, neither always promoted by political parties nor by the state. The book shows how these indigenous organizations and movements were harbored by national civil society that provided them with organizational experience and a repertoire of collective action. Collective action was further fostered by increasing networking, facilitated by TIC and a more educated urban middle class, as well as indigenous social capital (inside communities and the one that has migrated). Moreover, as we discuss, civil society in general also helped indigenous groups by laying the groundwork with discussions on human and indigenous rights, as well as with debates on the environment, poverty alleviation, and democracy, thus paving the road with acceptance and legitimation. Furthermore, as our evidence indicates, in the absence of effective intermediation of political parties and strong indigenous cleavages, civil society worked as a second circle of representation for indigenous groups. This was the case of ECUARINARI (Ecuador Runancanapac Riccharimui, “Awakening of the Ecuadorian Indian”) and of the Andes CONFENAIE (Confederacion de Nacionalidades Indigenas de la Amazonia Ecuatoriana), consequently they both formed the CONAIE (Confedferacion de Nacionalidades Indigenas del Ecuador); the Kataristas, CIDOB (Confederacon Indigena del Oriente Chaco y Amazonia); the Guatemalan case, Majawil Qìj, CONIC (Coordinadora Nacional Indigena y Campesina), and COMG (Consejo de Organizaciones Mayas), which challenge predominantly the class-based discourse of popular movements; among many others in the region.

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As a matter of fact, beyond differences regarding country, economic, or political conditions, a key factor is the existence of vigorous social organizations backing indigenous movements, when this happens indigenous representation will be more likely substantive and not only nominal. Therefore, we focus to understand how indigenous grassroots organizations can be nurtured and how they may allow to appropriate more effectively and efficiently of existing or new mechanisms for political representation. Second, our study discusses how ethnic cleavages have radically transformed in the region. Though not a new phenomenon, for the larger part of the twentieth century, ethnic cleavages had been weak in Bolivia, Guatemala, Peru, Ecuador, and Mexico, tending to be more horizontal and focalized regionally with little integration with white/mestizo groups. As we discuss, its height was a consequence not only of the resilience of ethnic identities or of the realignment of individuals along ethnic lines for instrumental reasons, but particularly because of the growth of strong indigenous grassroots organizations and their self-identification as a part of civil society. These considerations deal with how ethnic cleavages have changed so as to respond to a new set of interests and certainly to a different identity of indigenous people, one that though responds to traditions has also reshaped itself within the context of globalization and has rearticulated with new societal and political actors. Third, this study analyzes a number of new electoral and participation laws and representation experiences that have been put forward but not yet thoroughly systematized and analyzed. We compare different systems to understand when they give adequate results. For instance, universal voting and therefore open, plural, contested elections in which indigenous participate are a novelty in some countries like Peru (1979–1980) and Bolivia (1962). While in other countries, such as Mexico, political rights have been recognized to all individuals regardless of their ethnic origins since their conformation as nation-states. However, in terms of effective indigenous representation, Bolivia presents far better results than Mexico, where indigenous groups still face non-regulated barriers to participate in political life. Similarly, in other countries, representation is merely nominal as candidates may not be linked to local needs or have connections with local authorities or traditional organizations, like Manu (Madre de Dios) or Quispicanchis in Peru (Tambopata y Espinar). We also compare and evaluate apparently successful cases of political parties linked to social organizations like in Bolivia (Túpac Katari); parties contesting with their own indigenous candidates like Pachakutik and MAS (Ecuador, Bolivia); and electoral coalitions like Ecuador 1996 or the coalition NUKUJ AJPOP in 1995 in Guatemala that have been very successful. In the same vein, we study political participation in pivotal issues of political life, such as the peace accord signed in Guatemala 1996 by several indigenous civil society organizations or the negotiation on autonomy rights, territorial autonomy, and land reform proposals of CIDOB (Confederacion indigena del Oriente Chaco y Amazonia), as perfect examples of effective indigenous representation.

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Similarly, we discuss how, while in some countries there is talk of how to redesign districts so as to have larger indigenous representation in Congress, with a liberal understanding of democracy; in others, there are traditional systems of governance formally recognized used instead to grant communities their own government. Nonetheless, both cases are reported as presenting faults in terms of effective representation though there is still not much compared assessment. Though today’s results are very mixed and opinions divided, the analysis of the different cases of study in this book will inform the discussion of what is needed to encourage political participation and foster effective representation mechanisms, while reducing negative externalities and barriers to the political empowerment of indigenous people. In order to do so, we have posed ourselves a number of research problems to be undertaken. First, we aim to better understand what means democracy for different indigenous groups, and then get into the discussion of whether democratic elections are the best form for indigenous representation or should we respect traditional forms of governance. Another particular interesting theme is how the local governance traditional structures articulate with the western forms of representation; and why and when, they can become modern forms of domination and authoritarianism, as reported for many cases in Mexico. With this, we can be better positioned to assess which are the most adequate mechanisms to ensure that indigenous representation does not open the door to caciquism, and authoritarianism hidden behind a false legitimation of tradition. Another hot issue is whether or not existing political parties do actually intermediate for communities’ interests, or if the electoral struggle creates new tensions alien to communities. We will also try to better understand to what extent indigenous parties integrate and transform modern and traditional forms of political organization and representation. By so doing, we will be better possittioned to comprehend what are the opportunities for indigenous people to constitute themselves in political parties of their own, and if so what challenges do they face compared to mestizo political parties and what are their troubles in the political associational space. To contribute to answer these questions is the aim of this book. We believe that focusing in these gray areas will allow us to better understand the political dynamism of indigenous cultures, their resistance mechanisms, and capacity to adapt to sociopolitical events in a rather contextualized manner that takes into account their complex needs of intermediation of interests in larger societies and democratic nation-sates. The quality of democracy urges to bring in indigenous groups and give them voice and representation to improve justice and equity in Latin American nation-­ states. The challenge is how to guarantee that modern Latin American democracies are open, receptive, and inclusive enough so as to allow that fresh schemes of indigenous representation fare, real, and equalitarian, as well as to coexist without clashes with the mestizo world. The quid of the question is to design forms of effective articulation between indigenous communities and national state, and forms that do guarantee respect to traditions and cultural heritage, but not by encapsulating diversity, pluralism, and dissidence in a false authoritarian tradition.

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Case Selection and Book Organization Our study of the whole region does not use any of our cases as exhaustive reason to individually explain the politicization and organization of indigenous representations. It is the comparative analysis and attention to variation across cases that make our proposal relevant. Cases are chosen therefore, because they exhibit different outcomes in terms of indigenous representation. We explain variation of representation outcomes in terms of when, where, and why they emerged. These chapters allow for a more in-depth analysis of representation across time, countries, and subnational units. We do situate these cases historically with a comparative mesolevel approach focusing on the role of parties and societies relationship and the politicization of ethnic cleavages. Therefore, the project is organized in eight case studies divided into three main groups. In the first group, we included cases with a more inclusive political environment, such as Bolivia, Ecuador, and Guatemala. In the second group, those cases with certain representation and/or active indigenous elite: Colombia, Mexico, and Paraguay. In the third group, we present outlier cases with potential indigenous issues: Peru and Chile. Finally, the last chapter brings together reflections on how mechanisms for effective political representation can be improved and how indigenous organizations can be fostered to appropriate them. Brasilia, Brazil Zinacantepec, Mexico

Adrián Albala Alejandro Natal

Contents

1

Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America: An Overview ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1 Hesaú Rômulo and Adrián Albala

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Bolivia and the Second Stage of Indigenous Emergence in Latin America: Advances and Challenges����������������������������������������   23 Clayton M. Cunha Filho

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Between Street and Institutions: The Dynamics and Political Strategies of the Indigenous Movement in Ecuador������   51 Jorge Resina

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 Indigenous Political Representation in Guatemala������������������������������   75 Mélany Barragán

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Indigenous Political-Electoral Representation in Colombia (1990s–2020s): Stakes and Outcomes in Three Decades of Practice������������������������������������������������������������������   93 Virginie Laurent

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Indigenous Political Representation in Mexico: Myths and Realities����������������������������������������������������������������������������������  129 Alejandro Natal

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Participation and Political Representation of Indigenous Peoples in Paraguay: Numerous Pending Challenges ��������������������������������������������������������������  167 Sara Mabel Villalba

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 Indigenous Representation in Chile ������������������������������������������������������  181 Victor Tricot

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Indigenous Political Participation in Peru: A History of Racism, Exclusion, and Violence��������������������������������������  201 Agustín Espinosa, Erika Janos, and Martín Mac Kay

10 Conclusion:  “The Indigenous Problem”������������������������������������������������  233 Alejandro Natal and Adrián Albala Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  253

Chapter 1

Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America: An Overview Hesaú Rômulo and Adrián Albala

The 1980s registered a major shift in the political history of Latin America, as almost every country in the region recovered democracy. However, because of the multiethnic nature of the region the arrival of democracy posed new challenges regarding the political inclusion and equality of indigenous groups. The way that these new or rediscovered democracies responded to these challenges constitutes the aim of this book. Hence the book contains four main focuses: (i) a discussion about how ethnic cleavages have transformed so as to respond to a new set of interests and to a different identity of indigenous people, and how they rearticulated with new societal and political actors; (ii) an analysis of new electoral and participation laws, as well as, representation experiences that have been put forward but not yet thoroughly systematized and analyzed; (iii) whether or not existing political parties do actually intermediate for communities’ interests, and if the electoral struggle creates new tensions alien to communities; and (iv) in the absence of effective intermediation of political parties or strong indigenous cleavages, civil society has worked as a second circle of representation for indigenous groups. It seems that, beyond differences among those countries, particularly regarding economic or political considerations, a key condition that shapes the indigenous political representation would be the existence of vigorous social organizations. That is, when there is a structured indigenous social organization, indigenous representation would more likely be substantive instead of merely nominal (Andolina, 1999; Puig, 2008). As a matter of fact, such movements used to play important roles in discussions about land reform, land uses, bi-cultural education, and other topics, succeeding in defending indigenous claims.

H. Rômulo Federal University of Tocantins, Estrada Parque das Nacoes, Brazil A. Albala (*) Institute of Political Science, University of Brasília, Brasilia, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_1

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Thus we intend to focus on explaining the emergency, the time, and the places when these processes are developed. Some guiding questions are essential to support the debate that we propose here, as well as to understand the relationship between democracy and ethnicity. One feature stands out when we compare the different political regimes on the continent: the institutionalization of the electoral system. The presence of the state in certain territories will directly impact on the type of relationship that ethnic groups will develop with institutions. The same goes for the degree of institutionalization of the electoral system, since one perceives a specific configuration between political representation and citizenship regimes. Yashar (2005) explains that citizenship regimes play a fundamental role in formally defining the links between national politics, political affiliation, and public identities. In practice, citizenship regimes have changed over time, shaping the rules of the game and the behavior of relevant political actors. The challenge, then, consists in mapping the indigenous movements’ relation to the state. As a matter of fact, the literature on political representation in Latin America has developed over the past decades a productive contribution dealing with the limits of democracy. Indeed, some countries have experienced political candidates (Ecuador, Bolivia, and Guatemala), discussed indigenous rights in constituent assemblies (Colombia and Ecuador), and experienced systematic social demands organized around a consistent ethnic agenda (Mexico, Bolivia, and Ecuador). National projects can produce fractured responses, as literature on indigenous movements points out (Albala, 2017; Cotler, 1970; Van Cott, 2002), because of this same reach of the state imposing success or failure of identities: whether they are legitimizing or multi-ethnic (of resistance). There is an unequal reach of the state mainly where local enclaves persist with structures of authority and political identities of resistance that challenge the limits of a central power (Gurr et  al., 1993; Glazer, 1987). We can perceive that these identities are triggered by factors that cross state boundaries, and take political regimes to a challenging horizon: both on the inclusion of new actors and on the electoral rules that contemplate a participation ignored in previous decades. Since the phenomenon of the politicization of ethnic divisions is rather an understudied topic in Latin America, one of the fundamental questions to be answered is: why do some identities and interests become important (and politicized) at some times and others not, and in some places and others not? One cannot think about the question of political representation without the politicization of public identities, this is so since both are interconnected phenomena. This starting point seems crucial to us to understand how institutional changes in the region lead to completely different outcomes, analyzing countries comparatively and understanding in a structured way how these identities behave in the face of new arrangements (Tricot, 2008; Soininen, 2010). Both spaces of political association and community networks operate as important markers in terms of the opportunity for organization and the broadening of the scale of one or more indigenous communities in relation to confrontation with the

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state. The consideration of those two factors added to the initial discussion turn possible a broader understanding of the topic. Some authors such as Gurr (2000) and Morley (1995) well outlined how material inequalities, exploitation, and unfavorable conditions would influence the issue of ethnic representation. Although there is no clear correlation between poverty rates and the emergence of indigenous forces with the capacity to mobilize, this is an element that cannot be underestimated. As a matter of fact, recent approaches have been concerned with explaining the phenomenon of political mobilization in ethnic communities and the politicization of these public identities (Bird et al., 2010). Hence, in the discussion of indigenous representation, the “Indian” cannot be taken as a natural category, as primordialism suggests. Instrumentalists also find it difficult to explain how ethnicity becomes a relevant issue in a community to the point of being a collective objective to be maximized. Once ethnicity becomes a tool to obtain resources, it needs to be seen and analyzed as such. Some studies have focused on seeing institutional changes within states, giving attention to citizenship regimes (Yashar, 2005), to ethnonationalism as a democratizing agenda in Latin regimes (Linz & Stepan, 1996), to social movements as previous and fundamental structures for the representation process (Van Cott, 2005), to political parties as mechanisms of representation for ethnic agendas (Alcantara, 2004; PUIG, 2008), and even works that investigate how civil society claims demands through protests due to challenges imposed by democratic instability such as the crisis of party representation in the region (Albala, 2017). We argue that the politicization of these ethnic divisions emerged from changes in time and space within Latin American countries, especially when the research focus is on analyzing permanent organizations in civil society, understood according to Yashar (2005), in three dimensions of strength of indigenous associations: strength of resistance, geographical or capillarity strength, and strength of mobilization. However, transnational comparisons contribute to better understand the variations of these interrelations. For instance, Peru, which shares with Bolivia and Ecuador several geographic, demographic, and corporate characteristics, and shares a history of civil war with Guatemala. However, Peru did not witness the emergence of a robust indigenous movement until the late twentieth century. We identify similarities in the emergence of indigenous political representation in countries like Ecuador, Bolivia, Guatemala, and Mexico. Indeed, the Ecuadorian indigenous movement managed to transform rural organization and shaped state policy at the end of the last century with agendas such as bilingual education, agrarian reform, and territorial autonomy.1 By the same token, when we look at the contemporary indigenous movement in Bolivia and its origins in the late 1960s and early 1970s, we can find that the leaderships began to demand autonomy in both peasant organizations and universities. With inspiration from Tupak Katari, they gained control of the Confederación

 Cotler (1970).

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Sindical de Trabajadores Campesinos de Bolivia (CSUTCB). Even without political unity, the impact of the movement was lasting and was reflected in the 1993 presidential elections, with the victory of Victor Hugo Cárdenas. This mobilization spread to the Amazonian territories of Bolivia, with the Indigenous Confederation of the East, Chaco, and Amazon), in the 1990s debating proposals for territorial autonomy, proposals for agrarian reform, and also launching candidates for local and national elections as the movement walked from amazon planicies to high lands in the Andes. Although it does not have the strength of the Ecuadorian and Bolivian movement, Guatemala has maintained significant mobilizing power and political impact for some time. Awakening with relevance in 1991 with the Second Meeting of Indigenous and Popular Resistance, several councils included the COMG (Council of Mayan Organizations of Guatemala). The results of indigenous mobilization were significant both at the end of Guatemala’s civil war and in the 1995 agreement on the Identities and Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Also, in Mexico, the Chiapas and the Zapatista army gain prominence in 1994, with the mobilization of forces to pressure the government to negotiate demands for local autonomy and agrarian reform. In 2001 the EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional) organized a march to the capital to demand compliance with the autonomy clauses of the San Andrés agreement. Unlike the other countries described above, Peru has not experienced sustained and widespread national mobilization. They lacked success around ethnic flags in the country and the peasant rounds did not systematize, so to speak, an indigenous movement characterized as such. As a matter of fact, the study of the inclusion of indigenous peoples into the cartae magnae regarding their civil and political rights is particularly challenging. The revindication of this inclusion has actually led to one of the most continuous conflicts over the region since the democratic transitions, resulting in a series of ethnic (physical and/or symbolic) violence with native populations throughout the continent. Both citizenship and ethnicity have not been included as first-order agenda in the formation of the new democracies. This absence triggered a series of institutional problems and material inequalities among vulnerable individuals.

 thnic Cleavages and Politicization of Identities: The Basis E of Indigenous Representation In order to locate the study on indigenous representation we focus on understanding two fundamental elements from the literature: (I) the ethnic cleavages and (II) the politicization of identities. In making this route, we come across studies on democratization that understand citizenship and public identities as pre-defined and as entities readily established in a non-peaceful dialogue between state and civil

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society. This assumption makes invisible a very important umpire for the limits of democracy and corroborates what Yashar (2005) points out about indigenous peoples having been excluded from the third democratic wave. The boundaries of the exercise of identity and citizenship in a political regime are linked to the foundation of a community (Rubio-Marín, 2000). Every modern state has defined a particular set of rules to include/exclude people from its citizenship agreements. These frontiers, crucial to the support of any political community, are grounded and implicated in the public identities stimulated or repressed in general (Honig, 2001). Shklar (1991) defines citizenship from historical mechanisms in terms of those who have been excluded. This definition combined with the historical conformation of Latin American states, based on social and racial inequalities, set up a scenario of enormous adversity for indigenous populations. Indeed, the encouragement of European migration under the pretext of “improving” the countries’ racial composition, remained an unfulfilled thesis but had a lot of reverberation until the first half of the twentieth century. This led to citizenry policies of coercion or forced assimilation over native peoples; or the adoption of literacy requirements as to alienate ethnic groups. Literacy requirements as justification for the exercise of suffrage were widely used throughout the twentieth century, such as Guatemala (1945), Chile (1970), Ecuador (1979), Peru (1980), and Brazil (1985). As mentioned earlier, the third democratic wave, although it overturned some restrictive clauses of access to the political community by granting formal citizenship to indigenous peoples, did it so in precarious or reduced ways. An important aspect to analyze citizenship restricted to the ethnonational community is defined by the jus sanguinis principle, which is based on nineteenth and twentieth century ideals about the nation-state, giving support to the political group’s circumscription in descent or ethnic origin. The formation of this frontier is based on a claim to national origins that form individuals living in a specific territory. Germany is the prototypical model of jus sanguinis. This principle is certainly fragile in countries with multi-ethnic populations because it presupposes a primordial community, chronologically privileged in relation to its characteristics and for this very reason those who do not have such characteristics are not considered as citizens. Latin America, being a region of migrations (voluntary and forced), has ended up investing in the promotion of “inclusion policies” and ethnic assimilation on the part of the indigenous peoples. The pre-colonization culture gave way to a mestiza culture and the valorization of this culture was one of the several mechanisms for accommodating identities of resistance. In Brazil, for instance, the “northeastern culture” is seen as a fusion between cultural traits of blacks, indigenous, and whites, which manifests itself in mixed elements, in the sacrifice of indigenous culture by a regional identity, linked to the territory. Additionally to jus sanguinis, jus solis (territorial principle) is an important marker because it grants citizenship in lines of the territory. In this case, the bonds that sustain the community are defined by geography and civic connections.

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Indigenous peoples in Latin America question to what extent the liberal model can be effective in terms of including groups in which individuals (1) were born in the territory in question, (2) descend from generations before the territory was itself formed as a nation-state, and (3) have ethnic characteristics different from most individuals. These three aspects present themselves in any constitutional configuration in the countries studied and bring the debate of political representation to the overriding issue: the politicization of identities present in civil society strains ethnic cleavages to organize collectively and seek basic rights.

Ethnic Parties in Latin America As we move forward in research on the variation between the individual-state relationship in Latin American political regimes, a phenomenon becomes indispensable to compose a robust analysis that provides minimally satisfactory answers: the formation and success of ethnic parties in the region. It is worth reiterating that one of the most important contributions for comparative studies on political representation is the formation and success of participation mechanisms. As a matter of fact, how do collective interests translate from civil society to the spheres of representation? Going further, how do these social cleavages organize themselves to claim demands within the party system? The literature suggests that there may be a relationship between the decomposition of established party systems, associated with the decline of class identities and the emergence of new parties around an ethnic agenda (Horowitz, 1985) (Harmel & Robertson, 1985). In the face of a generalized deterioration of parties' linkages with the society (Albala, 2017), commonly associated with the jargon “crisis of representation of political parties,” indigenous peoples take advantage of their popular mobilization to strengthen agendas in the public sphere through the formation of competitive ethnic parties. Hence, following Van Cott (2002), ethnic parties are the articulating phenomenon that emerges as an expression of vibrant social movements, the result of political articulation among political actors who at all times tension the public agenda on an ethnic agenda, in favor of transformations and in the search for the reduction of political and social inequalities. The definition of an ethnic party includes entities that are called political movements, which include parties that have non-indigenous candidates, and electoral alliances with non-indigenous parties that include rights and public recognition of this ethnic platform, adding to this the fact that in these parties indigenous people must constitute at least half of the internal leadership positions. It is important to state that the Van Cott definition differs from the one proposed by Horowitz in an aspect that we consider fundamental: the fact that ethnic parties must serve the interests of a particular ethnic group, from which the enormous majority of the party’s composition stems.

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As a matter of fact, in Latin America, a considerable part of the ethnic party’s support may come from non-indigenous individuals who, seeing in indigenous candidates a possible outsider alternative to the electoral establishment, define preferences in these terms. Kanchan Chandra (2004) points out that the inclusion or exclusion of members and followers on the basis of ethnicity is a recurring problem when dealing with this topic. What is identified is that most Indigenous organizations avoid the rhetorical wear and tear of excluding members on this basis, precisely in order not to deal with internal disaggregations. There is another empirical element that supports this analysis: the fact that ethnic parties in LA do not represent only one homogeneous ethnic group, that is, more than one indigenous group (added to non-indigenous member groups) makes up the base of an ethnic party. The feature present in the region is that of an identity aggregated by distinct cultures. At first sight, the ethnic homogeneity of members may seem the only element sufficient to characterize an ethnic party, but while it is important, the emphasis on multicultural demands within the party is much more appropriate since they allow to compare their variation at different levels of the political system and also across regions. In any case, conventional explanations for the formation and performance of parties seem insufficient to understand this phenomenon, which is crossed by multiculturalism. But beforehand we can say that the formation of these parties is not solely attributed to the collapse of the party systems. Thus, we assume that a basic typology of ethnic parties can be understood as follows: (1) essentially ethnic parties; (2) multiethnic parties; and (3) parties that are predominantly indigenous but have incorporation of indigenous sympathizers. Chandra (2004) notes that the difficulty in distinguishing mono-ethnic parties from multi-ethnic parties stems from the identity components involved. For this, it becomes possible to understand that the ethnic party is seen as one that explicitly considers and represents a conglomerate of ethnic identities, enunciated here in plural, as opposed to so many other implicit identities. In addition, the defining characteristic is the identity of the party leaders and also the main message offered to their voters. Multiculturalism as an isolated approach appears insufficient to reach a minimal definition capable of accounting for the complexity of the formation, characteristics, and actions of these parties. To this end, multi-ethnic parties are those that encompass most ethnic groups and cleavages in society (Chandra, 2004; Horowitz, 1985), to begin to make distinctions. The adopted choice of collectively claiming public demands through political parties is observed throughout the countries studied in this book. This is so since indigenous political representation has assumed, in Latin America, a very peculiar configuration, sometimes associating itself with local and regional social movements, sometimes engendering itself in other parties of the political establishment. A more unaware look might assume that such ethnic demands would be easily assimilated by traditional political parties, thus not requiring the need for new parties. This topic deserves great attention, for it strains precisely the system of

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alliances that ethnic parties make in the political arena and, so to speak, in their effectiveness with the party system. Since traditional political parties are unable to respond to specific demands, the emergence of ethnic parties with a differentiated performance is strengthened in the public arena (Puig, 2008). The institutional aspect that deserves to be highlighted here is articulated by the fact that disadvantaged minority groups in Latin America have claimed autonomous political representation. Obviously, this process has not been unrelated, as we have tried to demonstrate, to the low level of institutionalization of the party systems. These are related aspects and the authors of the articles explore this thoroughly throughout the book. The recent collapse of the party systems in Peru and Venezuela and the intense fragmentations in Bolivia and Ecuador (Dietz & Myers, 2001) at the beginning of the twenty-first century are examples of how the institutional configuration of a political system, once fragmented, opens room for the inclusion of new actors in the party scene. Without leaving aside the aspect of party performance, Ecuador is the most successful electoral case in Latin America (Andolina, 1999), as it articulates a politicized civil society around an ethnic cleavage, a regionalized social movement with capillarity within the territory, and the articulation of a political representation with enough strength to impact the structure of public policies. Hence, the most successful parties, within the cases analyzed throughout the literature, are those that manage to clearly and objectively articulate the platforms of claims pertinent to the ethnic issue. Contrary to the recurrent explanations in the literature on the formation of political parties, it is understood here that ethnic parties are formed to represent internal dynamics of ethnic groups, composed of distinct communities and in reaction to other organized groups in civil society. It is at this point that public identities become relevant, whereas traditional parties prove unable to incorporate peculiar demands. The literature indicates that voters support ethnic parties by three primary aspects (Van Cott, 2005; Foweraker, 1995; McAdam, 1996), that is: (1) improving their access to material goods; (2) improving access to the state bureaucratic apparatus; and (3) improving the social status of their ethnic group. It is important to stress that the approach to the ethnic divide alone is insufficient to understand under what conditions political parties activate and politicize these grassroots mechanisms. As we have seen so far, the emergence of ethnic parties requires the politicization of an existing ethnic rift, which occurs more vehemently when there is access to public and private assets. In Latin America, the phenomenon of politicization of ethnic cleavages happened from the moment in which the indigenous social movements mobilized autonomously in relation to non-indigenous political actors, with an agenda focused on collective rights and with an organizational power that went beyond the local level. Therefore, one of the main issues addressed in the literature concerns the moment of transition from politicized social movements to political parties in the electoral

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arena. Van Cott (2005) argues that political institutions as well as power configurations within a party system may determine the likelihood of ethnic parties to form and achieve success. Thus one may understand that an open institutional environment with provisions for more permissive constitutional changes (on laws and electoral structuring rules) ultimately encourages the formation of ethnic parties. Three institutional changes are important to illustrate the permissiveness of an electoral system: (i) Decentralization, (ii) improved access to “ballots” for new parties, and (iii) the reservation of seats for ethnic minorities. We shall provide some comments about these three changes. While decentralization opens up spaces in the game for weak players at local and regional levels, new laws that facilitate the registration of new (ethnic) political parties encourage competition that has never been seen before. Reserving seats, in turn, promotes points of support in the political system and allows voters to be encouraged by indigenous movements to launch parties in non-indigenous districts. In this sense, indigenous community organizations, which since the European invasion had their own structure around leaderships, kinship ties, and common law, were able to stand out on the local scene so that, in some areas, supercommunity organizations remained or were formed to facilitate economic production and collective defense of the territory. Between the 1920s and 1950s, left-wing parties and movements formed dependent peasant organizations to co-opt and control indigenous voters and rural workers (Van Cott, 2005). This explanation by Van Cott collaborates a great deal in tracing the framework of the party strategies that the leftist parties adopted throughout much of the twentieth century in Latin America. In the case of indigenous and peasant organizations, this strategy subjugated several agendas of claims of these groups that could only emerge decades later, while the mounted party structures lost adherence to them. One of the direct consequences of this strategy was the adoption of Western forms of political organization, amidst the violent repressions suffered in the struggle for territory. Since several political regimes in Latin America became democratic throughout the twentieth century, national and international non-governmental organizations have increasingly expressed interest in the issue, with a substratum of human rights, environmental agenda, and natural habitat rights. As mentioned here, financial, logistical, and legal support has encouraged indigenous organizations to expand. The consequence observed years later was the response given to the liberal reforms of the 1980s that threatened the extension of collective rights over property, which reduced access to markets in the same way that it cut state subsidies to small farmers. In the aftermath of this process, a neoliberal opposition attracted non-indigenous supporters to form an inter-ethnic alliance in the region. An example contrary to this incorporation of rising elites happened in Bolivia in 2002, with Evo Morales. In refusing to dialogue with outside parties, the candidate ended the presidential race in second place. Kitschelt’s (2000) work on the emergence of left-wing libertarian parties in Europe in the 1970s and 1980s serves as the basis for some analyses of ethnic

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parties in Latin America.2 They were formed from diverse coalitions of social movements that sought not only change in politics, but a profound change in the substance of politics as a whole, aiming at a more participatory, decentralized, and egalitarian political model. Hence following Kitschelt (2000) findings, one can observe that (i) political opportunities allied to (ii) a capacity of social movement actors to mobilize a sufficient amount of human (but also organizational) resources, may constitute a sufficient configuration as to participate to the emergence and success ethnic parties. The emergence of this phenomenon is related to the lack of response to the demands of new groups at the same time that the political conjuncture becomes favorable to the creation of new parties in the political arena such as in Brazil (PT), and the appearance of electoral alliances (Chilean Concertación). This historical background matters because it was from the 1990s onwards that the indigenous groups that rejected this agreement stressed their own platform for political demands. The distinction is fundamental because we cannot consider the analysis of the formation of ethnic parties to be interpreted by the same explanatory keys that are used to interpret traditional parties. In the case of interest of this work, the unique constitution of ethnic parties reflects a different movement within civil society, and the social movements that operate in support of this phenomenon. Thus, parties less likely to win elections may be formed to draw attention to a narrow political problem, or even to provide a visibility platform for some leadership. Hug (2001) notes that a foray into party-building requires, as a rule, two distinct projects: the first views party formation and the second views party performance.3 From this theoretical framework the literature identifies some countries where the presence and success of ethnic parties has occurred, such as Bolivia, Ecuador, and Nicaragua. Consequently, it also makes it possible to identify the lack of success, like in Guatemala, Mexico, and Peru (Puig, 2008). Puig (2008) states that four lines of analysis underlie the literature that studies Social Movements and provide us with interpretation tools to understand the phenomenon of ethnic party formation, especially in Latin America. One needs to understand each of them, in their particularities, because, as ventured earlier, the genesis of ethnic parties cannot be understood in the same way as traditional political parties. The first line studies the structure of political opportunities, the second line analyzes the repertoires of collective action developed by political actors, the third line

 When we speak of ethnic elites, we refer to an organized minority group that understands identity as descriptive and, once captured, sufficient to sustain support in the medium term. 3  Party performance is viewed as an ordinal variable with three possible values. (1) not electorally viable; (2) electorally viable; (3) successful. Going further, electoral viability is understood to mean obtaining a sufficient level of consolidation and electoral support to continue running in elections. A successful party meets the electoral viability criteria and regularly elects candidates to national offices. In this model, it is possible to list the dependent variable, i.e., the one to be explained, as “electoral success”. Electoral system” being the independent variable. 2

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analyzes the cognitive structures generated by the discourses of political actors, and the last and fourth line analyzes the structures of connection that these organizations have. Before verticalizing our discussion on the four lines of the analysis, we first need to emphasize the premise of a dichotomous variable pertinent to a proper understanding of the phenomenon: here is dealt with in terms of the variable “policy relevance,” that is, whether it exists or not. A politically relevant ethnic party is capable of influencing, conditioning some public agenda or even having weight in the formation of some coalition of government forces. One must consider that this relevance may be national (when it is a matter of influence in institutions of the national executive and legislative power) or it may be regional (when it occurs at the sub-national level). On the other hand, an ethnic party is understood as politically irrelevant when these characteristics described above are not observed (Puig, 2008).

Ethnic Parties and the Institutional Environment The institutional environment available for the formation of ethnic parties seems, thus, to follow a political opportunity structure (POS) in which the “when” explains the “why” and the “how” (Tarrow, 1997; McAdam et  al., 1999). In other words, systemic elements open up opportunities for eventual changes in the rules of the political system, thus enabling the ability of new political actors to enter the arena. As a matter of fact, Puig (2008) lists three phenomena of change along these lines that developed into political opportunities under which indigenous mobilizations gained prominence in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. First, multicultural constitutions guaranteeing collective rights and some level of democratic freedom. Second, reforms of the respective electoral systems that make it possible for new political formations to join, at less cost. Third, changes in territorial organization, especially with regard to the decentralization of the political system, with the chance to create representative spaces at the local level. It is required to examine closely each of these three phenomena, since they seem to be closely connected with the literature on the conformation of ethnic parties in Latin America. Acting as dichotomous variables, it is understood that it is from them that an elaboration of indicators leads to causal explanations about the scenario in each country. By closely examining the conjuncture of the political debate in constituent assemblies that, verifying the participation or exclusion of indigenous representatives, we arrive at the conceptualization of “cultural constitutionalism” (Van Cott, 2000) based on some indispensable premises. The first aspect is the formal recognition of a multicultural society, that is, of the existence of indigenous peoples as subnational collectives distinct from the national society as a whole. Next, the recognition of indigenous customary law as legitimate and considered public law. Third, the recognition of property rights, as well as the

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formalization of restrictions on any kind of alienation and/or division of common or collective use lands. Another aspect present is the recognition of the official status of indigenous languages (in the respective territories and also in the spaces where these peoples are located). Still on the language issue, the recognition of bilingual education as a consummate right is a factor in which the presence of cultural constitutionalism is analyzed. Finally, the recognition of the right to create autonomous territorial spaces, beyond the disposed and already existing configuration of national society. The second aspect deals, as said before, with the permeability of the party system. Its degree, whether greater or lesser, is decisive in explaining the entry of new actors into the political arena. This admission requires (1) an inclusive electoral system and (2) a fragmented and unstable party system. Electoral systems, as Coppedge (1998) explains, create an underlying structure that only restricts and supports the evolution of the party system. There are limits of representation in each of these systems, and the way to follow their respective transformations is, as indicated in successful work in the field, to compare them. We cite here, for example, the existence of reserved seats for electoral lists of an ethnic or minimal character, or the presence or absence of minimum requirements to access or remain in the electoral dispute arena. Puig (2008) identified the absence of more inclusive electoral reforms in Guatemala, Mexico, and Nicaragua, while he was able to identify their presence in Ecuador, Bolivia, and Peru. In Ecuador, for example, changes were identified in favor of increasing the constituency over proportional representation and also regarding access to the registration of independent formations to obtain a vote. The accessibility of registration is an element that cannot be dismissed from the analysis. In Peru and Bolivia, there has also been an increase in the magnitude of the constituency under proportional representation. By constituencies, we refer to a specific geographic circumscription that is sufficient to capture the preferences of territories with a high concentration of indigenous population. The robustness of a party system, as the literature already indicates, is calculated on the effective party index over the electoral volatility index (i.e., on the % of seats) where it is possible to infer on the level of fragmentation of this system. A permissive party system will exist whenever the effective party number index and the electoral volatility index have a medium or high score, or, in the absence of this score, the existence of a specific constituency designed to represent an area of indigenous communities. When it comes to state decentralization, the literature indicates two movements. A movement “from above”, composed of a set of international organizations that exert direct and/or indirect pressure, such as the IDB (International Development Bank), WB (World Bank), and ECLAC (Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean). Some indigenous peoples’ advocacy networks, such as the ILO (International Labor Organization), have ratified the stance of providing opportunities for indigenous territories to be administered by their own organizations.

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In the decentralizing movement “from below”, popular collectives lobbying for representation, regional elites somehow challenged the capitalist centralism of some national governments. The confluence of these two movements in reality provided a double opportunity for the emergence of an ethnic issue on the public agenda. This is so, because it refers to two complementary scenarios, that is, starting from a new territorial arrangement, demands for ethnic rights can be glimpsed on the horizon and, on the other hand, the mere possibility of electing representatives makes the set of communities more demanding, in the sense of demanding public demands. To cite a few examples, Bolivia in 1994 instituted the law of popular participation, which ultimately stimulated municipalism. This change transformed, in practice, the provincial sections into municipalities and, with the decentralization law in 1995, altered the administrative structure of the state. In Ecuador, the 1997 constitution (which came into effect in 1998) articulated an administration involving a mixed system of election (direct and indirect) for the provincial council and also a mayor. In Guatemala, there is a single reference to indigenous peoples in Decree 12/02 of the municipal code (Article 20). In Mexico, the division of 32 federal states makes room for institutional incentives for decentralization. In Nicaragua there is a statute of autonomy for the regions, in which there is recognition of their own entity, with competencies and authorities, as well as the existence of a regional council for these regions, with a regional coordinator and communal municipal authorities. In Peru, the level of decentralization is low, and there is no mention of indigenous communities. It is impossible to dissociate the debate on inclusiveness of the electoral system from a very important component within the literature on social movements and ethnic parties in Latin America: the collective repertoire, that is, what Gamson and Meyer (1999) call political opportunities enabling political actions.

Cases Study Analysis Some analysis is possible when we put the cases in a comparative perspective. In this section, we investigate how the formative historical processes in each of the countries impacted on the dimension of political representation, hence, the ethnic claims of social groups. First of all, when we group the cases together, it is possible to gain important information about each of the countries. Let’s isolate and analyze, for example, an important aspect within the debate about political representation: politicization of ethnic identities. It is understood that the process of political representation is a consequence of a public debate where these public identities become relevant. When we confront this condition with the type of social movement (spontaneous and independent or organized with political parties) the results are interesting. Indeed, as shown in Table  1.1, both Bolivia and Ecuador present themselves as countries with a high level of politicization of identities and social movements with

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Table 1.1  Types of social movements vs politicization of ethnic identities Politicization of ethnic identities

Low level of politicization High level of politicization

Types of social movements Independent or Social movements with spontaneous social strong links to political movements parties Guatemala — Paraguay Mexico Bolivia Chile Ecuador Colombia Peru

Source: Elaborated by the authors from the chapters of the book

strong relationships with political parties. The investigations of Cunha Filho and Resina, in this book, point out these elements. On one side Bolivia with relative success in implementing a plurinationalist regime, although with important limitations. On the other hand, Ecuador with a present strong indigenous social movement with national reach and relevance in the political system. This configuration presents both countries as references in terms of providing opportunities for the emergence of public identities and ethnic demands. Countries like Mexico, Chile, Colombia, and Peru are in the group of those with a high level of politicization, but with ethnic social movements that are not strong enough within the political arena. Several factors, according to the authors, contribute to this difficulty. From electoral rules, electoral system, organizational solidity of the movements, among others. This incongruence between the high level of politicization of identities and the low level of organization of the movements within the parties causes a tension between civil society and the state, evidencing the contradictions of the representative political system. Another important aspect of this contradiction, in these countries, is how the political system is not able to absorb these demands that are formed in civil society and, consequently, institutional conflict is established. In the third group of countries, Guatemala and Paraguay show low levels of both politicization of identities and of social movements articulated with political parties. The authors report the same difficulty in all cases: social and economic barriers and lack of autonomy of ethnic groups to organize, at the local level mainly, but also at the national level. As Table  1.2 shows, a second observation about the countries also organizes them into three groups when relating the level of institutionalized political representation and the strength of ethnic parties (when they exist). Again, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Peru show high levels of institutionalized political representation, because of constitutional reforms and reorganizations of the electoral system to accommodate collective ethnic claims. In these countries, the presence of ethnic parties in electoral competition is observed, and the dilemmas that indigenous peoples face occur in the implementation of public policies and the actions of these representatives.

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Table 1.2  Institutionalized political representation vs strength of ethnic parties Institutionalized political representation Low level High level

Strength of ethnic parties Low level of High level of strength strength Guatemala — Paraguay Mexico Bolivia Chile Ecuador Colombia Peru

Source: Elaborated by the authors from the chapters of the book Table 1.3  Institutionalized political representation vs consolidation of social movements Institutionalized political representation Low level

High level

Consolidation of social movements Low level of High level of consolidation consolidation Guatemala Mexico Paraguay Chile Colombia Peru — Bolivia Ecuador

Source: Elaborated by the authors from the chapters of the book

The intermediate group, composed of Mexico, Chile, and Colombia, presents an interesting incongruity that deserves further investigation: A high level of institutionalized representation, that is, of a reasonably solid conformation regarding the level of institutionalization of political representation. However, this issue does not translate into a solid constitution of ethnic parties in the electoral arena, evidencing an important contradiction that deserves better attention. Finally, when we relate the level of institutionalization of political representation with the level of consolidation of social movements, some issues become prominent (Table 1.3). For example, the intermediate group, which in the previous comparison presented contradictions, shows that these countries have managed to consolidate social movements in the medium term, but have not managed to transfer this organization to a level of formal political representation. The other two groups (Bolivia and Ecuador) and (Guatemala and Paraguay) remain intact. Peru’s oscillation is due to a historical process. The authors make explicit the contradictions existing within a discourse of erasure of identities that indigenous peoples have suffered over the past centuries in Peru. The state formation project, as we have seen in the series of texts analyzed so far, has sponsored a dichotomy between indigenous and non-indigenous people, clearly privileging one sector of society. On the other hand, a strategy of accommodating different demands and social realities within a homogeneous category: the Indian. With Peru it was no different, within the colonial organization of Spanish America.

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At the same time, the authors classify the political participation of indigenous groups in Peru from phases. A phase of discrimination and exclusion, a phase of resistance, and a phase of slow advances, in which some constitutional guarantees were granted to social groups, focusing much more on a class clipping than on an ethnic clipping. Espinosa et al. (this book) anticipate and discuss a political participation consolidated in three different waits: self-management community, social movements that trace a relationship between groups and the State, and, finally, a conventional political participation in spaces of institutional representation. A valuable contribution of the article is the provision of a very detailed timeline on the process of consolidation of political participation of ethnic groups in Peru, from the Spanish colonization to the present moment. When we check the Bolivian case for example, the evolution of Bolivian indigenous inclusion policies from 1952 to the present day. It does this in a precise manner, because, in order to explain the land reform of the 1950s, Cunha Filho (this book) recalls important historical moments in Bolivian history. A necessary and systematic digression since the times of the Spanish colonization, passing through the oligarchic republics and the ethnic movements that occurred throughout the twentieth century, especially in the 1970s and 1980s. Successes, deficiencies, and contradictions of this new plurinational Bolivian state that has been structured in the twenty-first century, also counting on the collaboration of the political decisions made by Evo Morales throughout his government. Cunha Filho shows some interesting perspectives on the challenges that plurinationalist politics will face, mainly due to the persistent social inequalities in Bolivia and the limits of institutional action in the country. Has the plurinationalist project been well executed? Cunha Filho highlights these aspects with propriety when he lists the institutional movements that have guaranteed greater autonomy, but also historical obstacles that have not been overcome in the last decades. Cunha Filho elucidates the moment of instability that Bolivia faced recently, with the failed coup attempt, as well as the partisan tensions that occurred within the selection of candidates for the majority party. Regarding Ecuador, Resina makes an important rescue of the last 30  years of struggles of the indigenous movements, as he explains the dynamics between intensive sovial movements’ activities and their relation with the institutional spheres, either by participating in elected governments or by strongly opposing them. Three issues stand out, according to the author. The first is the fact that Ecuador has the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (CONAIE), an organization consolidated in the public arena and with more than three decades of firm action. The presence and influence of CONAIE is sometimes confused with the Ecuadorian indigenous movement itself. The second aspect is the presence of Pachakutik, an indigenous-based political party with expressive electoral relevance within the national political system. The diffusion of Pachakutik places the party as a consistent alternative for public debate. The last aspect raised by Resina is the difficulty faced, even with the implementation of a Plurinational State, of developing

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mechanisms that strengthen indigenous representation (quotas, seat reservations, decision-making spaces, effectiveness in indigenous autonomy over ethnic territories). Despite a consistent indigenous movement, the lack of institutionality in the implementation of public policies with an ethnic focus is attributed, according to Resina, to the previous governments, much as a result of an inability to respond to legitimate collective demands from civil society. Nevertheless, a new moment of claims, starting in 2019, positions the Ecuadorian indigenous movement under a new horizon. Although with difficulties due to the central administration, a systematic pressure on the national legislature and executive have had an important effect. The Ecuadorian mobilization is an important case study for other Latin American countries because it shows how the relationship between government and civil society can, at different times, swing both toward an important decision-making process and toward a zone of conflict. The situation experienced in Mexico, from Alejandro Natal’s analysis, presents a dense analysis of the struggles of indigenous peoples in Mexico, in the pursuit of voice and respect, with a centuries-old tension between resistance organizations and the state apparatus. Although he acknowledges that some institutional efforts have been made lately, Natal recounts that this is still far from any limit of what is acceptable. One of the most attractive arguments of the analysis proposed by Natal is the one that links the very formation of the Mexican state, which includes cultural heterogeneities, to a diverse and very complex social context, in which local singularities form a fabric permeated by a wealth of details, but which on the other hand become severe obstacles to a more solid organization on the part of the indigenous resistance. Natal brings consistent data that demonstrate this internal diversity, which he calls the indigenous universe in Mexico. Many of these elements, he recounts, are challenging when you put them into a perspective of institutional political representation. In addition, Natal offers some alternatives for improving the already existing mechanisms for indigenous representation. The implementation of a plurinationalist regime is, in the author’s view, an important aspect because it administratively reorganized several territories, created 28 new indigenous districts, and made possible the effectuation of a regime of Usos y Costumbres, a traditional customary system put into practice at the end of the 1990s. Despite having a significant indigenous population throughout its territory, Mexico has a significant deficit of degrees of political inclusion, on the part of the institutions. In this way, indigenous peoples are subjected to a historical situation of exclusion and inequalities that systematically operate against basic rights. Natal argues that only a broad reformulation of municipalities and districts could, on a large scale, ensure that the difficulties of political representation are addressed. This is because the different socio-demographic realities that exist in Mexico prevent any formulation strategy under the electoral system from being conducted in a uniform manner.

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In this sense, the guarantee of quotas in the legislative houses is another important measure to be adopted in order to reduce disparities. Another point mentioned is the investment in civic education for indigenous groups, under the pretext of promoting a culture engaged in institutional participation within the spheres of power. In his investigation of indigenous representation in Chile, Tricot discusses the main elements that make the implementation of an institutional policy of representation for these groups so difficult. Since the end of the Chilean military dictatorship and the consolidation of democracy, several indigenous movements have been silenced and have encountered (and still encounter) a series of difficulties in establishing themselves within the public sphere. Based on a sociodemographic conformation, Tricot elucidates how political representation in Chile has gained its contours since the 1990s, and especially how this phenomenon has related to the state in its various instances. Tricot points out that the latest advances in national indigenous mobilization have positioned the political debate for an effective reservation of seats in legislative houses, although the author is not very optimistic about overcoming structural racist barriers in force within the country. The situation of political representation in Colombia is presented as follows: the author brings a very important contribution to the literature on indigenous representation by conducting an analysis of the political process that the protagonist indigenous movements in Colombia go through, from the electoral campaign to the post-electoral moments. Laurent places a lot of emphasis on a political mobilization beyond institutional boundaries. Laurent makes important considerations about indigenous movements against the state, within the state, and with the state, to highlight the different operational changes that this political process has undergone since the early 1990s. Taking into account the different realities, the author contributes significantly to the debate by bringing to the center the role of indigenous mobilizations within the political scope for more participation, mainly in the electoral dispute, but not limited to it. New tools require new tasks, and this statement summarizes well the social scenario that indigenous social movements in Colombia have faced over the past three decades, always between a threshold of institutionalization and resistance. In opposite contrast to this Colombian scenario, Guatemala is an interesting case to discuss how the high proportionality of indigenous population does not directly mean an automatic institutional response for more inclusion. This high disparity is the result, according to Melany Barragan, of successive political and social processes of instability throughout the twentieth century, but which find their roots in the very formation of the state of Guatemala. The consolidation of democracy in Guatemala is still a challenge to be overcome, and political instability, added to the volatility of the political system, places the ethnic cleavages present in the country before a harsh reality. The emergence of an organized movement is recent and its effect on the political arena cannot yet be measured. Still, some progress has been made since the end of the Civil War and with the signing of Peace Accords.

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Formally ethnic groups can participate in institutions, but the social inequalities present in Guatemala are significant barriers that act to keep ethnic demands away from representative institutions. A political establishment is unable to organize, from a partisan standpoint, a consistent and sufficient agenda to represent a historically discriminated population. The insufficiency in political participation and in the guarantee of rights, as observed in Guatemala, can also be identified in Paraguay as Villalba documents a scenario of adversity for indigenous peoples in the country and makes this analysis from legal and constitutional frameworks for guaranteeing rights. The absence or scarcity of legal material is due to the inexpressive nature of indigenous political representation, whether at the municipal, departmental, or national level. Even the Paraguayan legal framework does not include any type of affirmative action or incentive for the electoral system to absorb, even in a minimal way, the collective claims of ethnic groups. This barrier, according to the author, is preponderant for indigenous candidates to win an internal selection process within the political parties. Paraguay’s own constitution prohibits the formation of regional parties, which aggravates an alternative of political consolidation in institutional terms. Thus, faced with adverse conditions for an effective representation of the indigenous peoples in the territory, some factors are aggravating for the formulation of public policies that contemplate ethnic demands. The lack of documentation of several groups, that is, the negligence on the part of the state in guaranteeing that certain social groups have access to fundamental rights, political rights, and even actively participate in public life. Table  1.4, presents, thus an overview of Latin American cases propention to indigenous representation, regarding five conditions: (i) politicization of ethnic identities, (ii) ethnic movements' political linkages, (iii) the existence and strength of ethnic parties, (iv) the institutionalization of ethnic representation, and (v) the consolidation of social movements. All of these conditions are considered in the respective case studies of this book.

Table 1.4  Overview of ethnic representation and social movements

Politicization of ethnic Cases identities Guatemala – Paraguay – Mexico X Chile X Colombia X Bolivia X Ecuador X Peru X

Social movements with strong links to political parties – – – – – x x –

Strength of ethnic parties – – – – – x x x

Institutionalized ethnic representation – – – – X X X –

Consolidation of social movements – – x x x x x x

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References Albala, A. (2017). Civil society and political representation in Latin America (2010–2015): Towards a divorce between social movements and political parties? Springer. Alcantara, M. (2004). Partidos políticos en América latina: precisiones conceptuales, estado actual y retos futuros. Documentos Cidob América Latina, No. 3. Andolina, R. (1999). Colonial legacies and plurinational imaginaries: Indigenous movement politics in Ecuador and Bolivia.” Ph.D. Diss. Department of Political Science, University of Minnesota. Bird, K., Saalfeld, T., & Wüst, A. M. (2010). Ethnic diversity, political participation and representation: A theoretical framework. In The political representation of immigrants and minorities (pp. 21–42). Routledge. Chandra, K. (2004). Why ethnic parties succeed: Patronage and ethnic head counts in India. Cambridge University Press. Coppedge, M. (1998). The evolution of Latin American party systems. In S.  Mainwating & A. Valenzuela (Eds.), Politics, society and democracy: Latin America. Westview Press. Cotler, J. (1970). Traditional haciendas and communities in a context of political mobilization in Peru. In R. Stavenhagen (Ed.), Agrarian problems, and peasant movements in Latin America. Dietz, H., & Myers, D. (2001, September 6–8). The process of party system collapse: Peru and Venezuela compared. Paper prepared for presentation at the 2001 Congress of the Latin American Studies Association. Foweraker, J. (1995). Theorizing social movements. Pluto Press. GAMSON, William A., and David S. Meyer. (1999) “Marcos interpretativos de la oportunidad política”. In: D. McAdam, J. McCarthy and M. Zald, (eds) Movimientos sociales: perspectivas comparadas. Madrid: Istm. Glazer, N. (1987). Affirmative discrimination: Ethnic inequality and public policy. Harvard University Press. Gurr, T.  R. (2000). Peoples versus states: Minorities at risk in the new century. United States Institute of Peace Press. Gurr, T. R., Harff, B., Marshall, M. G., & Scarritt, J. R. (1993). Minorities at risk: A global view of ethnopolitical conflicts. United States Institute of Peace Press. Harmel, R., & Robertson, J. D. (1985). Formation and success of new parties: A cross-national analysis. International Political Science Review, 6(4), 501–523. Honig, B. (2001). Democracy and the foreigner. Princeton University Press. Horowitz, D. L. (1985). Ethnic groups in conflict. University of California Press. Hug, S. (2001). Altering party systems. Strategic behavior and the emergence of new political parties in western democracies. University of Michigan Press. Kitschelt, H. (2000). Linkages between citizens and politicians in democratic polities. Comparative Political Studies, 33(6–7), 845–879. Linz, J. J., & Stepan, A. (1996). Problems of democratic transition and consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and post-communist Europe. Johns Hopkins University Press. McAdam, D. (1996). Conceptual origins, current problems, future directions. In D.  McAdam, J.  D. McCarthy, & M.  N. Zald (Eds.), Comparative perspectives on social movements (pp. 23–40). Cambridge University Press. McAdam, D., McCarthy J., & Zald, M. (1999). Movimientos sociales: perspectivas comparadas. Madrid: Istmo. Morley, S.  A. (1995). Poverty and inequality in Latin America: The impact of adjustment and recovery in the 1980s. Johns Hopkins University Press. Puig, S. M. I. (2008). Las razones de presencia y éxito de los partidos étnicos en América Latina: Los casos de Bolivia, Ecuador, Guatemala, México, Nicaragua y Perú (1990–2005). Revista Mexicana de Sociología, 70(4), 675–724. Rubio-Marín, R. (2000). Immigration as democratic challenge: Citizenship and inclusion in Germany and the United States. Cambridge University Press.

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Shklar, J. N. (1991). American citizenship: The quest for inclusion. Harvard University Press. Soininen, M. (2010). Ethnic inclusion or exclusion in representation? Local candidate selection in Sweden. In The political representation of immigrants and minorities (pp. 165–183). Routledge. Tarrow, S. (1997). Poder en movimiento. Movimientos sociales, acción colectiva y política de masas en el Estado moderno. Alianza. Tricot, T. (2008). Pueblos indígenas y política en América Latina. El reconocimiento de sus derechos y el impacto de sus demandas a inicios del siglo XXI. Revista Mexicana de Sociología., 70(3). Van Cott, D. L. (2000). The Friendly Liquidation of the Past. The Politics of Diversity in Latin America. Pittsburgh: U. Press. Van Cott, D. L. (2002). Constitutional reform in the Andes: Redefining indigenous-state relations. In Multiculturalism in Latin America (pp. 45–73). Palgrave Macmillan. Van Cott, D. L. (2005). From movements to parties in Latin America: The evolution of ethnic politics. Cambridge University Press. Yashar, D. J. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America: The rise of indigenous movements and the postliberal challenge. Cambridge University Press. Hesaú Rômulo  holds PhD candidate in Political Science (University of Brasília, Brazil) and is an assistant professor of Political Theory at the Federal University of Tocantins, Brazil. Adrián Albala  holds PhD in Political Science (Sorbonne University, Paris III, France) and is an assistant professor of Political Science at the Institute of Political Science of the University of Brasília (IPOL/ UnB), Brazil.

Chapter 2

Bolivia and the Second Stage of Indigenous Emergence in Latin America: Advances and Challenges Clayton M. Cunha Filho

Foreign scholars interested in Andean indigenous peoples and cultures tended, at first, to concentrate most of their attentions to neighboring Peru, and only after the transformations brought by the 1953 Agrarian Reform did Bolivia start to attract widespread attention in the field, which could then only keep growing after their discovery of the country’s great cultural wealth and ethnic diversity (Albó, 2002, 60) that indeed goes beyond its Andean highlands and includes more than 30 different ethnic groups from the Amazon, the Chaco, and other lowlands.1 Such academic interest received a more contemporary and important additional boost after the National Census of 2001 declared the country to be more than 60% indigenous (see Table 2.1) – thus making it the most indigenous in Latin America – and again after the Aymara Evo Morales became Bolivia’s first self-proclaimed indigenous president in 2006, potentially inaugurating what José Bengoa (2009) called the “second stage of the indigenous emergence in Latin America”, when their own leaders would finally become State authorities and govern qua Indigenous Peoples over the overall societies in which they form a demographic majority. Corresponding to

 The 2009 Constitution (Article 5) recognizes, apart from Spanish, 36 official native languages, a number which is often taken as representing the total of different ethnic groups in the country. Actually, depending on criteria, the number could be even higher as within several of these language clusters there are subgroups which see themselves as distinctive ethnic collectivities despite sharing the same language. Quechua, for instance, was the common language from the Incan Empire and several groups became quechuicizide with the passing of time, but kept (or later rediscovered) their distinctive ethnic identity. 1

C. M. Cunha Filho (*) Sociology Graduate Program, Federal University of Ceará, Fortaleza, Brazil Political Science Graduate Program, Federal University of Piauí, Teresina, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_2

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24 Table 2.1  Ethnic Self-­ Identification Bolivian National Census, 2001

C. M. Cunha Filho

Quechua Aymara Chiquitano Guarani Moxeño Other None Total

Number of inhabitants 1.557.689 1.278.627 112.271 78.438 43.323 75.427 1.930.476 5.076.251

% 30.69 25.19 2.21 1.55 0.85 1.49 38.03 100.0

Source: Own elaboration with data from the Instituto Nacional de Estadística

expectations, the country enacted a new Constitution in 2009 which, among other changes, proclaimed Bolivia as a Plurinational State and reserved a whole new set of collective rights to its indigenous peoples. Since then, there have been many undeniable advances in their sociopolitical inclusion, which stand in stark contrast to their situation during the absolute majority of Bolivia’s modern existence since the Spanish colonization in the sixteenth century. And yet, there have also arisen new and important challenges and contradictions inside this same inclusionary process which must be considered and properly understood. Therefore, the aim of this chapter will be to analyze the evolution of the Bolivian indigenous peoples’ political inclusion since the National Revolution of 1952, but with special attention to the post-democratization period, and the main challenges it faces nowadays after a bit more than a decade of Plurinational State. In order to do that, the chapter will first sketch Bolivia’s indigenous politics’ early constitutive moments stemming from the Spanish colonization and the independent oligarchic republic and the challenges and threats it faced until the revolution. Then, it will analyze the revolution’s impact over the indigenous world with its official peasant union policy, the developments under the military cycles that ensued, the Katarista movement’s impact for ethnic identity in the highlands in the 1970s and the organization of the lowlands’ peoples in the 1980s, and the increasing importance of the rural indigenous agenda that led to the election of the Aymara Evo Morales for the presidency in 2005 and to the new Constitution of 2009. Finally, it will assess the main transformations brought by the new Plurinational State and the real effects they brought to indigenous politics in Bolivia, their successes, shortcomings, and their eventual contradictions with Morales’s second and third presidential administration policies, concluding the section with some words about the processes that led to his ouster in 2019. The chapter then concludes with final remarks about certain early results of the Plurinational experience which might represent future possibilities for Bolivian indigenous politics, as well as some comments on the effects from the one year without the MAS at the Plurinational Executive and its return with president Luis Arce in 2020, and the impacts from the 2021 subnational elections and what they might represent for the country’s future.

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 rom Charcas to the National Revolution: A Quick Overview F of Bolivia’s Indigenous Politics’ Constitutive Moments Most of what nowadays constitutes the territory of Bolivia was, before the Spanish conquest, a part of the Incan Empire then known as Qollasuyu. After colonization, it was the seat of the Real Audiencia de Charcas, a juridical institution with some administrative powers created in 1559 to oversee the extraction of the immense silver wealth discovered at Potosí. It was part of the Viceroyalty of Peru until 1776, and from then on of Buenos Aires’s, but with a good amount of autonomy regarding local administration. In order to better extract the mineral riches which sparked the Spanish Crown’s interest they organized a dual system dubbed República de españoles/República de Indios which were supposed not to mix, and in which the indigenous nobility would have certain privileges recognized as long as they acted as a link between the two worlds and enforced the collection of the Indian Tribute and the provision of forced labor (m’ita) to the mines. Provided that these obligations were met, the indigenous communities were granted the possession of their communal lands and a good deal of de facto internal autonomy and self-government, which permitted their ethno-reproduction to last through the whole period and into the Bolivian Republic after independence in 1825 (Klein, 2003; Mesa et al., 2008). Although Simón Bolívar – the country’s first official president and after whom it was named – promised to enact the world’s most liberal constitution, and his right-­ hand and successor Antonio José de Sucre did try to abolish colonial inheritances such as the Indian Tribute, the economic collapse after the protracted wars of independence and the criollos’ resistance to be taxed in the reforms he had envisioned made Sucre reenact the collection of the tribute which then accounted for almost half of the budget (Klein, 1993, 114, table 5.1). Abusive as this caste tax was, its restoration also restored the de facto autonomy of indigenous communities, which self-governed virtually all of their internal affairs. This state of relative peaceful coexistence between indigenous communities and the Bolivian State would last until around the 1860s, when the gradual recovery of the silver mining economy increasingly diminished the State’s dependence on the Indian Tribute, and the gradual introduction of railroads increased the market value and interest in once remote and isolated communal lands (Klein, 1993, 115). This inaugurated a period of increasing attacks and encroaching on communal lands, many of which were turned into haciendas with their members converted into peons. The Bolivian State recurrently sought to extinguish the indigenous communities as legal corporate entities,2 as well as their collective tenure of land with the imposition of a more individual system of land tenure, but were met with tenacious resistance from the comunarios themselves and on several occasions had to (partially) turn back legal reforms that they simply could not enforce as envisioned. As Gotkowitz puts it, “Although politicians vowed to eliminate communal lands and the Indian community itself, time and again they had to admit that they couldn’t” (2007, 19; see also Larson,  A status granted to them by president Andrés de Santa Cruz (1829–39) in 1831 (Langer, 1988).

2

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2004, chap. 5). Attempts by president Mariano Melgarejo (1865–1871) to directly usurp lands, for instance, were met with armed resistance by thousands of Aymara comunarios which increasingly and violently mobilized between 1869–71 to resist encroaching, and in 1871 they allied with criollo adversaries of the dictator to lay siege on the city of La Paz and drive him into exile (Larson, 2004, 218). The Ley de Exvinculación of 1874, which legally abolished indigenous communities and officially sought to convert them into a Utopia of small landholders, was also resisted and had to partially retract in 1881 – by recognizing the possibility of issuing proindiviso collective titles – and in 1883 – by excluding from the reform communal lands possessing titles emitted by previous colonial authorities. And although the law maintained the communities’ juridical extinction as corporate entities, in practice in many senses they still existed among the communities that managed to resist usurpation of their lands (Cunha Filho, 2018c, 158–59). But as the railroads expanded in the late nineteenth century, so did the harassment of indigenous lands and the concomitant resistance. And when in 1898 a civil war over the location of the country’s capital broke out between the La Paz-based Liberal Party and the Sucre-based Conservatives, similarly to what had happened under Melgarejo but in a much bigger scale, one of the sides of the elite conflict recurred to the Indian masses as the decisive military asset to tip the conflict to its advantage. There’s still much debate on how precisely the Liberals led by colonel José Manuel Pando and the Indian troops of Pablo Zárate “Willka”3 came to be allied, but it is known by documental and epistolary evidence that both leaders were in close contact at least since 1896 (Condarco Morales, 2011; Irurozqui, 1994; Larson, 2004; Mendieta, 2010; Antezana Ergueta, 2015). Both had fought for the mentioned deposition of Melgarejo in 1871, and according to Antezana (2015, 220, 287–88), Pando was married to an indigenous caciquesa, Carmen Guarachi, from Zárate’s same region but regardless of how they actually met, they fought alongside on the civil war and Zárate bore the title of general in the Federal Army and was regarded as commander of the Indian troops. Much is still also debated about what Zárate’s precise aims in the alliance were, but his ultimate betrayal by the Liberals at the end of the conflict, when a local violent incident in the town of Mohoza led the Liberals to offer the whole of the Indian troops as scapegoats to pacify the country and end the conflict with their elite rivals, poses one of the “big if”s of Bolivian history on the turn of the century. As it actually unfolded, the Liberals came to dominate the country’s politics for the next two decades and, presiding over the early tin booms, proceeded with railroad construction and indigenous lands usurpation. It took a while for the Indigenous Movement to recover from Zárate’s defeat, but by 1914 they were already fully regrouping in order to resist in what became known as the caciques apoderados movement. One of the consequences of the indigenous communities’ legal dissolution by the Ley de Exvinculación was that it required indigenous citizens to individually defend themselves or to nominate a legal proxy

 Willka was an honorific title meaning “Mighty King” in Aymara and Quechua.

3

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(apoderado legal) to represent them. As the law didn’t bar indigenous traditional authorities from being appointed for that role, many communities started nominating their own traditional leaders as apoderados. Zárate Willka himself was an apoderado and his network of military leaders was built upon an apoderados network. Thus, a new generation of caciques apoderados regrouped after Martín Vázquez summoned a cabildo attended by more than 100 delegates from La Paz, Potosí, Sucre, and Cochabamba at Sagárnaga Street, in the capital city, in 1914 to present the colonial titles from his native community of Ilata he had unearthed in the colonial archives of Lima, thus confirming their communal tenure under the 1883 law (Gotkowitz, 2007, 46–47). The movement had in judicial litigation to confirm the possession of their threatened lands as their main weapon, using creative interpretations of the interstices left by the juxtaposition of colonial and republican laws, but were also involved in more direct actions such as the great revolts of Jesus de Machaca (1921) and Chayanta (1927), where leaders of the movement had active participation. As their predecessors, they also took advantage of intraelite conflicts such as the increasing divisions within the Liberals in order to advance their interests and engaged in alliances with non-indigenous urban progressive sectors, such as students and attorneys who sometimes helped them file their petitions. But the advent of the Chaco War (1932–35) broke the movement in its heydays, when there were even registers of pioneer contacts between the caciques and Guarani leaders from the lowlands.4 Some of the caciques apoderados’ main leaders such as Santos Marka T’ula and Leandro Nina Qhispi were imprisoned on subversion charges and Aymaras and Quechuas were literally hunted down in the countryside to be conscripted to the war. The war’s bloody fiasco marked the beginning of the end of Bolivia’s political regime, opening a critical juncture of crises, experimentation, and extreme political instability that would lead up to the National Revolution in 1952. By the 1940s, indigenous mobilization started to center more on the hacienda servants in the form of strikes against abuses and exploitation, taking advance of the new 1938 Constitution and profiting from contacts with new urban progressive groups and trade unions (Gotkowitz, 2007; Albó, 1999). In 1945, president Gualberto Villarroel convened in La Paz the country’s first Indian Congress, attended by thousands of delegates from the Highlands and valleys, partially due to a fait-accompli imposed by the indigenous leaders. And although the Congress’s official results were mild and ambiguous, it was the first time a president officially addressed indigenous leaders as valid interlocutors and, in returning to their haciendas and communities, they acted as de facto enforcers of what they understood the Congress’s decrees to mean, increasing tensions in the countryside. After Villarroel’s lynching in 1946, the new government’s stalling attitude toward the issue led to an acute cycle of rural insurrections throughout the country.

 The Guaranis suffered the most from the Chaco War, as it was fought over their territories and as their native language is widely spoken in Paraguay, even among non-Guarani, thus making them especially susceptible to accusations of treachery and conniving with the enemy. 4

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C. M. Cunha Filho In late 1946, the inhabitants of Curigua (Cochabamba), Tarvita (Chuquisaca) and Topohoco (La Paz) rebelled. From January to March 1947, the agitation spread to Aygachi, Pucarani and Los Andes in La Paz and to Ayopaya province in the heights of Cochabamba. In Oruro and in the valleys, it reached the inhabitants of Eucaliptus, Aroma, Mohoza, Challa, Tapacari and Arque. By July of that year, the rebellion had spread through the provinces of Ingavi, Pacajes, Los Andes, Larecaja and Yungas in La Paz; Cercado in Oruro, San Pedro de Buena Vista, Charcas and Carasi in Potosi, Ayopaya, Misque, Aiquile, Arque, Cliza and Tapacari in Cochabamba; Azurduy, Padilla, Sud Cinti and Zudañes in Chuquisaca and several large estates in the Tarija valleys. (Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987, 55)

Many indigenous leaders would later come into contact with leaders of the Nationalist Revolutionary Movement (MNR) in prison or exile, as the party tried (but failed) to reach national power through a putsch in 1949. This contact provided the party’s first “rural cells” and inaugurated the ambiguous relationship it would have with the rural world after it finally succeeded to reach the presidency with the 1952 Revolution.

 he Revolution and the Indian World: Agrarian Reform, T Campesino Unions and the Reemergence of Ethnic Identities Although the 1953 Agrarian Reform was in many ways an ex post legalization of the autonomous land grabs by indigenous communities and unions, for a long time the 1952 National Revolution was understood mainly as an urban affair led by miners’ militias and the middle-class sectors clustered around the MNR.5 But more recent studies such as those by Gotkowitz (2003, 2007) or Hylton and Thomson (2007) have pointed out that the growing rural unrest of the previous years was an important enabling condition for the revolution, in that it severely undermined the foundations of Bolivia’s old order. The MNR did indeed impose an official policy of rural unionization, making the formation of a sindicato campesino a requirement in order to accede to the benefits of the Revolution such as land and citizenship rights. And through control over the peasant unions it sought to establish a clientelist relationship that would serve as cushion against the leftist radicalized miners, oftentimes pitting them against one another. But the actual degree of success of the measure varied wildly over the country. Though most of the indigenous people acceded to talking the class language of the times which “converted” them into Bolivian peasants, officially blurring their ethnic identities in favor of a mestizo nation in the building, and founded the peasant unions they were legally required to, in places like the Aroma province in Laz Paz where there were still many indigenous communities that had survived usurpation the unions were legally adopted, but in their actual inside workings, in

 Quijano (1967), for instance, incorrectly states that land occupations had only started after the revolution’s triumph and after being instigated by urban leftists, while Malloy (1970, 164) claims that indigenous peasants had no discernible role in the revolution. 5

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their structures of authority, they remained the indigenous community just under another name and different titles (Hurtado, 2016; Albó, 2002). In places where communal disarticulation was wider and older, such as Cochabamba, the official MNR policy was more effective but where not, the actual degree of official control would oftentimes reach only up to the national confederation and the provincial, or sub-­ provincial federations, with grass roots unions at more local levels still being widely autonomous, armed and zealous of their lands (Hurtado, 2016). As it were, and as the regime turned more and more repressive, and relying on the newly reestablished Armed Forces for repression of labor militancy (Fields, 2016), the role of controlling the rural unions turned to the military, especially after Gen. René Barrientos managed to end the long conflict between the peasant unions of Cliza and Ucureña in Cochabamba. The violent conflict was known as the Ch’ampa War (1959–64) and prompted president Siles Suazo (1956–60) to declare the zone a military region and request the Armed Forces put an end to it. The success in the accomplishment made the Quechua-speaking Barrientos very popular, and granted him a place as Paz Estenssoro’s vice-president in 1964, from whence he would topple him the same year and initiate Bolivia’s military cycle. The Armed Forces would later enshrine their relationship with the rural unions under the Peasant-Military Pact in 1965 (Soto, 1994; Hurtado, 2016), but even as they achieved strict degrees of control over the unions, it was never absolute and always contingent on the unions’ perception that their interests were being taken care of. For instance, when in 1968 Barrientos tried to enact an agrarian property tax, the unions resisted and Barrientos was forced to cancel the measure. Then again, in 1974, already under general Hugo Banzer’s regime, an economic package that ended or reduced subsidies on food staples was met with massive peasant blockades in Cochabamba’s valleys – one of the areas where the Peasant-Military Pact was strongest. According to Silvia Rivera (1987, 121), when the government sent tanks to the blockades in Tolata and Epizana, the protesters initially celebrated believing it to be a commission sent to negotiate under the Pact and were dismayed when the troops opened fire, killing and injuring many.6 The episode  – known as the “Massacre of the Valley”  – is pointed by many (Dunkerley, 1984; Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987; Soto, 1994; Hurtado, 2016) as the effective end of the Pact, though not yet officially. But by then, there were already important social developments underway in the peasant/indigenous world. A group of Aymara migrants to La Paz, facing the cruel reality of pervasive racism and discrimination in their jobs, in schools or universities started to discuss the writings of Indianist intellectual Fausto Reinaga, who had pioneeringly called on Indians to reclaim their ethnic heritage and liberate themselves qua Indians and vindicate the memory of their martyrs. In the late 1960s, they started to found students movements, cultural centers, and radio programs broadcasted in Aymara in which they recalled Bolivian history from an Aymara point of view, and reclaimed the  According to the official records, there were 13 dead and 10 injured. According to the Justice and Peace Commission, however, there were at least 80 casualties and an even higher number of injured and arrested (Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987, 121). 6

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symbology of colonial martyr Julián Apaza “Tupaj Katari”, who in 1780-1 led two sieges to La Paz in the last great war theater of the Great Andean Sublevation started by Tupac Amaru in Peru (Thomson, 2002). Most of the early leaders of the movement came from the province of Aroma, the same of Katari himself, and the movement became known as Katarismo (Hurtado, 2016; Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987). At the same time, a new generation of communal leaders led by Jenaro Flores, also from the same province and also reclaiming his memory, started to dispute the control of local peasant unions from leaders coopted by the Peasant Military-Pact and inattentive to communal demands. As mentioned, grassroots unions were still able to maintain a certain autonomy, but they additionally profited from a relaxation of the Pact’s control during the tenure of left-leaning Generals Alfredo Ovando and J. J. Torres (1969–71) and by 1971 they had managed to grab the leadership of the National Confederation of Peasants (CNTCB). That accomplishment was legally overturned after Banzer’s coup later that year, but the Kataristas were one of the general’s main opposition groups during his tenure and after the Massacre of the Valley they managed to gradually and increasingly regain their hold. During times of increased repression, the urban cultural groups would oftentimes serve as a support base, as initially the regime hadn’t perceived them as a political threat. In so doing, the movement became a “real link between the Aymaras living in the country and those in the cities, making for a complex two-way current of ideological influences” (Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987, 116) whereby urbanized intellectuals remained entangled on the communities’ ongoing struggles and trade-unionists developed a more theoretically refined discourse. In 1973, the Kataristas had issued the Tiwanaku Manifest,7 where they synthesized the movement’s goals combining several historical horizons and ideological issues: the assertion of Indian culture and history, the awareness of the new conditions of exploitation endured by the peasants, its powerlessness to influence State agricultural policies, its rejection of its decadent union organizations, and so forth. (Rivera Cusicanqui, 1987, 116)

One of the most famous passages from the Manifest states the movement’s goals as looking simultaneously through two different lenses, in order to see how they were exploited both economically as peasants (the class lens) and culturally as Indians (the ethnic lens). With the opening of the democratization window in 1978, the Kataristas advanced their control over the agrarian central and in June 1979 they were able to found the new Unified Trade Union Central of Bolivian Peasant Workers (CSUTCB) to substitute the old CNTCB and unify several smaller rural groups that had independently broken away from the Military Peasant Pact (Hurtado, 2016). The new agrarian central under Katarista Jenaro Flores’ leadership was already strong enough in November that year to play leading role in the resistance to Natusch Busch’s coup (Hurtado, 2016; Zavaleta Mercado, 2009), but being born

 Reproduced in Hurtado (2016, 327–33). The town of Tiwanaku, where the manifest was issued, is located in the outskirts of La Paz and was chosen because it holds the ruins from one of the most important cultural and religious centers of Andean peoples. 7

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Table 2.2  Electoral results of Katarista parties, 1978–1999 Year 1978 1979 1980 1985 1989 1993 1995 1997 1999

MITKA 0.6 1.6 2.1b

MRTK

MRTKL

a

a a 0.9

1.8 1.5 c 1.2

Source: Own elaboration with data from Van Cott (2007, 79) a MITKA and MITKA-1 combined b Ran in alliance with other parties (UDP) c In alliance with MNR

mainly in the struggle against the military control over the countryside, the movement was caught short-handed after electoral democracy finally took hold in the country after 1982. Weary of what they perceived as an eternal manipulation of their own interests by white-mestizo urban factions, both on the right and left, the Kataristas sought to constitute themselves as a political party of their own, but ended up splintering into two Indianist parties  – or political instruments, as they preferred to call them  – instead. The Tupaj Katari Indian Movement (MITKA), led by Luciano Tapia, was more overtly ethnocentric and emphasized the ethnic-cultural Indianist agenda above all else, while the Tupaj Katari Revolutionary Movement (MRTK),8 led by Jenaro Flores, tried to balance itself more on the two-lenses perspective described above. Ultimately, both proved to be electorally irrelevant (see Table 2.2), with a combined average of the national vote between 1979 and 1993 of mere 2% and having virtually disappeared by 2000 (Van Cott, 2007, 82). The Katarista-founded and initially dominated CSUTCB still remains one of Bolivia’s main rural Indigenous organizations, but it lost some of the centrality it had in the late 1970s and early 1980s due, also, to the emergence of a new important rural actor – the Confederation of Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia (CIDOB)9 – which it was unable to organically incorporate. Bolivian history is traditionally Andinocentric, as the most populated areas were all located in the region. The eastern lowlands of the Amazon, Chaco, and Chiquitania, despite constituting most of the territory, remained for the most part very peripheral, and the myriad of ethnicities that inhabit the area enjoyed for a while a sort of benign neglect which granted them large degrees of de facto autonomy. But with the expansion, in the region, of state-led development and colonization projects, and with the increasing support for  Which would later splint into Tupaj Katari Revolutionary Liberation Movement (MRTKL).  Originally named Central of Eastern Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia, they later renamed it keeping the original acronym. 8 9

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large-scale commercial agriculture since the 1960s, which increasingly encroached on their lands and threatened their livelihoods, the lowlands Indigenous peoples began mobilizing in order to defend themselves (Yashar, 2005, 194). Profiting from the support of a network of activists mostly connected to religious organizations, they started to organize along ethnic lines and founded organizations such as the Guarani People’s Assembly (APG), the Ayoreo Natives’ Centre of Eastern Bolivia (CANOB), the Native Guarayos’ People Central (COPNAG) and others, which all congregated to found CIDOB in 1982 as an umbrella organization for all of them (Yashar, 2005, 198–200). Already by 1990, the new organization managed to capture national attention after they organized a 650 km March for Territory and Dignity from Trinidad, Beni to La Paz to demand legal recognition of indigenous territories by the State. The march was met with broad popular support – especially among Aymaras  – and forced president Jaime Paz Zamora to begrudgingly demarcate around 1.5 million hectares of collective lands (Cunha Filho, 2018c, 141). The moment would also retrospectively claim symbolic importance as it was the first time the demand for a Constituent Assembly to re-found the country in a more plural and inclusive way – something both the Kataristas and CIDOB-affiliated entities had been proposing internally since at least the prior decade – was voiced nationally and openly. The indigenous agenda’s growing importance – both domestically and internationally – made the political marketing experts in charge of Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada’s 1993 MNR presidential campaign suggest the name of renowned Katarista intellectual Victor Hugo Cárdenas and the MRTKL as running mate. It was both the highest electoral victory of one of the original Katarista political parties and the consummation of the movement’s decline in influence over the indigenous movement, as Lozada’s first administration (1993–1997) carried through the deepest neoliberal restructuration programs and privatizations that would later be widely perceived by the Bolivian public as cause for the aggravation of economic inequalities, with Cárdenas being dubbed a traitor by CSUTCB in 1994 (Van Cott, 2007, 82). It was, however, also during this presidency that constitutional reforms recognizing the country as multicultural and pluriethnic were enacted, and even more important in practice for the rural world, when the country finally established the creation of 311 municipal governments, with direct elections and their own guaranteed budgets. With it, the Bolivian state finally reached many of its rural hinterlands (Zuazo, 2012) and many indigenous leaders were elected mayors and city councilors, at first through the main traditional parties of the political system. However, the limited resources available for the new rural towns and the perception of still being treated as second-rate citizens and political actors kept the debate about the necessity of forming their own political instrument alive within CSUTCB. Especially among the Federations of Coca Growers from Chapare, which suffered the most direct consequences of the war on drugs’ eradication policies enacted since 1985 and thus became a combative resistance vanguard by the end of the 1990s and at the beginning of the 2000s, the debate was of utmost importance. They adopted an Indianized discourse very much tributary of the early Kataristas (Albó, 2002, 74–79; Yashar, 2005, 181–87) and tried to conform the People’s

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Sovereign Assembly, but hindered by bureaucratic demands, were unable to register before the 1997 elections, and thus competed within the United Left coalition when they elected their first four national representatives in the new uninominal electoral districts for Parliament also created in Lozada’s reforms. Unable to overcome the bureaucracy, they would finally resort to the long-inactive, but legally registered Movimiento Al Socialismo (MAS) with which they remained and would compete for the presidency with Evo Morales as candidate for the first time in 2002. Those would prove to be pivotal elections, with the MAS trailing a close second place (20.94%) against Sánchez de Lozada (22.46%) and electing 27 representatives and 8 senators. Another Indianist party, the Pachakutik Indigenous Movement (MIP), led by Felipe Quispe10 on an explicit Aymara ethnic platform resembling Tapia’s faction within the early Kataristas also erupted as an antiestablishment novelty with 6.09% of the presidential vote and 6 representatives elected including Quispe himself. But while MIP proved to be short-lived and ceased to exist after the next electoral cycle, Evo Morales and the MAS would become an institutional beachhead for the insurrected opposition groups when the mass protests that would become known as the Gas War erupted in 2003. The protests led to the resignation of president Sánchez de Lozada and prompted the formation of the so-called “October Agenda”11 around the demands for gas nationalization and the call for a Constituent Assembly to re-found the country. As seen, this is a demand with old roots in the Indian Movements, precociously appearing both within the Kataristas and lowlands indigenous groups, and in the protests themselves many peasant indigenous groups and leaders had played leading role. So much so that this cycle of protests was initially perceived outside Bolivia as consisting in an Indian insurrection, something it really was, though it was also simultaneously many things else (see Hylton & Thomson, 2007; Cunha Filho, 2018c). In the follow-up, vacillations of the successor president, historian Carlos Mesa, in complying with the demands led to a rekindling of the protests that would ultimately lead him to resign, and for early elections to be called in 2005. In those elections MAS would embrace the “October Agenda” as its electoral platform and win with resounding 53.4% of the vote, the majority of the House of Representatives with 72 representatives and the second plurality in the Senate with 12 senators. For the first time, in 2006 Bolivia had an indigenous president with Aymara Evo Morales and a Parliament with an indigenous presence more commensurate with their demographic weight in the country, generating great expectations about what was to come and prompting important scholars such as José Bengoa (2009) to inquire whether Latin America would be entering a second stage of indigenous  The Aymara Felipe Quispe “el Mallku” (1942–2021) was a radical Indianist intellectual who led the ephemeral EGTK guerrilla between 1989 and 1992, for which he served a five-year sentence in San Pedro prison. He became later a History professor at El Alto’s Public University (UPEA) and died in 2021 while leading the polls for departmental governor of La Paz with the organization Jallalla Bolivia. 11  An allusion to the most violent of the protest months, when more than 60 people were killed and many more injured by the government repression. 10

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emergence. But already before the election, a most important development had occurred in the rural world: the conformation of the so-called Unity Pact (Garcés, 2013). It was signed in 2004 by almost all of the most important peasant indigenous organizations12 with aims of coordinating a common proposal for a new Constitution that answered to their demands. The Pact backed Morales’s candidature and effectively became the great collective author behind the main propositions when the Constituent Assembly was formally summoned in June 2006. Though the electoral laws required de Pact’s entities to compete for the Constituent Assembly under a political party, and thus made them compete through the MAS, the party itself as an organization was more focused with Morales’s administration and the ongoing and increasing confrontations with opposition regional governors than with putting forth propositions for the new Constitution. The organizations of the Unity Pact presented a basic joint proposal (Pacto de Unidad, 2007) – along their supporting staff provided by a network of allied NGOs and activist intellectuals – and became the most important actor within the Assembly (Schavelzon, 2012). Besides the deep confrontation with the opposition sectors – which due to the overrepresentation provided by the electoral rules held a virtual veto power with more than a third of the constituyentes13 – the internal struggles within it in order to reach a consensus among very different interests also sometimes brought the Pact to the brink of collapse (see Schilling-Vacaflor, 2008; Schavelzon, 2012). But through very bumpy roads, and after needing to flee the sitting city of Sucre, the Assembly managed to approve a new Constitution in Oruro on December 08, 2007. The conflict with the regional oppositions – which, combined, held a blocking majority in the Senate –, however, precluded the summoning of the confirming referendum for the most of 2008, and only after a pact with the more moderate fraction of the opposition senators in October which amended about 180 articles of the constitutional project, could the referendum’s convocation be approved in Congress (Cunha Filho, 2008). Though most changes were rather cosmetic or symbolic, there was a greater concession of autonomic powers to departmental governments and a limitation on the reach for the maximum constitutionally

 The Pacto de Unidad had origins in an informal gathering of eastern indigenous organizations with CSUTCB and CONAMAQ after the IV March for Territory and Dignity in 2002. In 2004, amid the turmoil of the 2003–2005 juncture, these same peak organizations decided to formalize the Unity Pact at the town of Camiri with the additional signatures of the APG, the Bolivian Landless Movement, the National Federation of Indigenous Peasant Women – “Bartolina Sisa”, CPESC, the Beni’s Central of Moxeño Ethnic Peoples, and the Syndical Confederation of Colonizers, now renamed the Confederation of Intercultural Communities of Bolivia. 13  The Constituent Assembly would consist of 255 members, 45 of whom would be elected in constituencies of 5 constituents per department and in which two constituents would be assigned to the first majority and one constituent for the second, third and fourth majorities that exceed the 5% barrier of the departmental votes. The remaining 210 constituents would be elected in territorial constituencies where the first majority would be entitled to two representatives and the second majority one, regardless of their voting difference. 16 different groups were elected, being 127 from the MAS, 60 from the biggest right-wing opposition party PODEMOS, 18 from the MNR and the remaining with between one and eight representatives in the Assembly. 12

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allowed land property, so that it would only be enforced for lands registered after the constitution’s enactment (Cunha Filho, 2018c, 297–98). The referendum was finally approved on January 25, 2009, with 61.43% and the mentioned limit for land property was set at 5000  ha with 80.65% of the vote,14 officially rebranding former Republic of Bolivia into the Plurinational State of Bolivia. In stark contrast to the 2006–2008 period, what was left of Morales first-­ term’s last year15 was politically very calm, and focused on the enactment of transition regulating laws such as the Transient Electoral Law. In it, a special indigenous representation district for minority peoples was reserved in each department, with the exception of Potosí and Chuquisaca, totaling 7 indigenous representatives or about 4.5% of the total 130 representatives in the Lower Chamber. In December 2009, new elections were celebrated and Evo Morales was reelected with 64.22% of the total vote.

Indigenous Politics in Plurinational Times Until 2009, politics in the Republic of Bolivia was ruled by the 1967 Constitution restored during the democratization process in the 1980s. Under it, presidents who didn’t achieve a 50% plus majority were selected in an indirect run-off vote by the elected Legislature and because such was always the case until Morales first won in 2005, the period between 1985 and 2005 is known in Bolivian historiography as the “pacted democracy”. Congress was bicameral, with both chambers originally being elected in closed proportional lists linked with the presidential vote: by choosing a presidential candidate, voters were also voting for the respective party’s list for the House of Representatives and the Senate. As mentioned, Sánchez de Lozada’s first administration reforms created, among other things, uninominal territorial districts for about half of the constituencies in the House of Representatives, a pattern that was kept by the new Constitution which, however, increased the number of senators from three to four by department (thus making a total of 36) and created the mentioned seven special districts for indigenous representation in the House of Representatives. Under the new Constitution, the 2009 election results gave MAS a qualified 2/3 majority in both legislative chambers, and initiated a period of political hegemony that would last for a decade, although more nuanced in subnational offices. Thus, Morales would initiate his second term in office in 2010 – the first under the new Plurinational State of Bolivia’s institutional framework  – with the political  Due to not reaching the required 2/3 majority on the Constituent Assembly, and as per established on the summoning law, the referendum also required the population to choose between the two concurring propositions of 5000 or 10000 hectares. See Schavelzon (2012). 15  Originally, his first term in office was meant to last through 2010, but with the enactment of the new Constitution, it was shortened in one year in order for the new president to be sworn in with its new power structures one year after approval in January 22, 2010. 14

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majorities needed for the enactment of the infra-constitutional regulatory laws required by the Constitution. Although not every one of the elected 88 representatives or 26 senators from the party was indigenous, a good majority of them were and had already colored Parliament since the last two electoral cycles with brand new colors, as many men and women from its tickets wore their traditional ethnic clothes and symbols of power in office. The degrees of political incorporation of the rural indigenous populations carried through during this period were indeed remarkable (Wolff, 2018) and mark a clear break with most of Bolivian history since colonial times. The new State model recognized in its constitutional preamble the pre-colonial existence of its native and indigenous peoples and nations, along with their right to autonomy and self-government. It incorporated indigenous symbols such as the multicolored wiphala flag as national symbols, and made 36 native languages official alongside Spanish. Apart from the ethnic representation quota, the new State also reserved indigenous seats on the high Judicial Courts  – the Plurinational Supreme Justice, Agro-environmental and Constitutional Courts, and the Magistrates Council – and established indigenous communal justice systems as official with the same hierarchical level of ordinary positive law, and subjected to judicial review in cases of jurisdiction conflicts by the Plurinational Constitutional Court (TCP) only. It also constitutionally recognized the collective rights protected by ILO’s Convention 169 on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples and the 2007 UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP)16 and created the legal figure of the Indigenous Native Peasant Peoples and Nations (Naciones y Pueblos Indígena Originario Campesinos) as subject holder of such rights (Cunha Filho, 2018c). The creation of this legal figure was a necessity for the Unity Pact in order to reconcile its heterogeneous composing member organizations, which preferentially adopt among themselves the identity labels “native”, “indigenous” or “peasant” to describe their nature with differing emphases on their contents and present oftentimes conflicting demands and political views. In Morales’ highly conflictive first-term – Constituent Assembly included – the creation of the “Indigenous Native Peasant” collective actor and idealized new Plurinational citizen was the way found to coalesce this heterogenous support base against the adversaries at the same time it was rooting the transformative project in the celebration of its great diversity as a positive and desirable trait (Schavelzon, 2012; Fontana, 2014). As it did so, however, it sort of anchored the actor’s definition in rurality and failed to account for the already great and expanding population of urbanized Aymaras, Quechuas, and Guaranis in cities such as El Alto, Quillacollo or Santa Cruz and the many ways in which new forms of Indianness develop and manifest themselves into political issues (Albro, 2010). A concrete effect of the new constitutional definition for indigeneity might have been the results of the 2012 National Census when the self-identified indigenous population shrank by more

 Which had already been converted into domestic Law 3760 that same year, being Bolivia the only country to have done so to date (Schilling-Vacaflor & Eichler, 2017, 1446). 16

2  Bolivia and the Second Stage of Indigenous Emergence in Latin America: Advances… Table 2.3  Ethnic Self-­ Identification Bolivian National Census, 2012

Belongs Quechua Aymara Chiquitano Guarani Moxeño Other Doesn’t Belong Foreigner Total

Number of inhabitants 2.806.592 1.281.116 1.191.352 87.885 58.990 31.078 160.590 4.032.014 73.707 6.916.732

37

% 40.58 18.52 17.22 1.27 0.85 0.45 2.32 28.29 1.07 100.00

Source: Own elaboration with data from Instituto Nacional de Estadísticas

than 20 percentual points as compared with the previous one (see Tables 2.1 and 2.3) and the results have been attributed to the new census’ wording: because it first asked whether people belonged to an “indigenous native peasant nation or people”, and then only for those who’d replied “yes” would the respondent be asked to name which, urban Indians might have responded “no” and never been asked for their ethnic identity (Stefanoni, 2013; Fontana, 2014; see also Loayza Bueno, 2021). Socio-juridical contradictions notwithstanding, the new constitutional text did provide the Bolivian indigenous world with new political possibilities, even if it did so especially to its rural parts and unequally among them. One of the main novelties was the possibility of converting municipalities or Indigenous Native Peasant Territories (Territorios Indígena Originario Campesinos – TIOC) into Indigenous Native Peasant Autonomic Governments (Gobiernos Autonomos Indígena Originario Campesinos – GAIOC) with the possibility of adopting traditional ethnic institutions and administratively equivalent to municipalities, although with a long bureaucratic process until its full completion (Tockman & Cameron, 2014; Augsburger & Haber, 2018; Rousseau & Manrique, 2019). The 2009 general elections also celebrated referenda in 12 municipalities that had opted to initiate their conversion into GAIOCs, but while 11 of them approved the conversion and thus proceeded to next phases, by the end of 2019 only two had fully completed the process: Charagua (Santa Cruz) and Chipaya (Oruro), which approved their Autonomic Statutes in referenda in 2015 and 2016 respectively. In that last year, a third and to date last GAIOC was conformed from the TIOC of Raqaypampa (Cochabamba). There are currently 35 municipalities (including some of the original pioneers) or TIOC at different stages of the conversion process (see Lujan Veneros, 2019), which initiates with the certification of their ancestralism, a formal request for the Electoral Organ to organize a conversion referendum, a study of viability, the design of a self-government plan, the drafting of an Autonomic Statute, the constitutional review of such Statutes by the Constitutional Plurinational Course and the final consultation over the enactment of the Statutes among many intricate details regulated by the Constitution and the Autonomies Framework Law approved in 2010. It

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all makes up for a lengthy and costly process which could partially explain why so few indigenous groups have even bothered to initiate it. Considering that there are more than 200 municipalities where indigenous people conform a 50% plus ethnic majority (with 73 of them with a 90% plus majority), and at least 60 TIOC already established (Tockman & Cameron, 2014, 52 and 60), it is indeed a small fraction of the possible universe of cases, which has frustrated the early enthusiasm that initially surrounded the measure. But apart from the bureaucracy, social, political, and generational divisions have also contributed to the slow and thus far small adhesion: urban and non-indigenous sectors have oftentimes resisted the process within municipalities,17 younger generations have been fearful of the supposed burden of communitarian services and existing political parties – even the MAS – have oftentimes also hindered the processes in order to conserve already existing institutional authority posts (Tockman & Cameron, 2014; Colque & Plata, 2014; Postero, 2017; Augsburger & Haber, 2018; Rousseau & Manrique, 2019; Mayorga, 2019). Indeed, MAS and the Evo Morales’s presidency seem to have lost, since the second administration, most interest in the Plurinational State’s power-sharing and decentralizing measures and the most ambitious promises of indigenous self-­ government and autonomy that could eventually become barriers to its partisan hegemony and government development plans. Even though Morales kept anchoring official discourse in indigenous cultural values and their supposed intimate connection to the protection of Mother-Earth or Pachamama, and astutely projected them onto the country’s international image  – thus broadly increasing Bolivia’s insertion and soft-power within the international system (Delgado, 2018) –, such image and discourse increasingly clashed with its economic dependency on extractive industries and agribusiness to finance public policies and generate redistributable wealth (Lalander, 2017; Cunha Filho, 2018b; Andreucci, 2018; Fabricant & Gustafson, 2019). And because these economic activities very frequently encroach on indigenous peoples’ territories, important contradictions within its support base started to arise, with an increasing estrangement between the MAS and the more ethnically-based organizations from the Unity Pact such as CIDOB and CONAMAQ. These tensions reached a peak in 2011, when CIDOB organized a 9th March for Territory and Dignity, again from Trinidad to La Paz, in opposition to a government road construction project that would connect Beni to Cochabamba through the heart of the Isiboro-Sécure National Park and Indigenous Territory (TIPNIS), without their Free Prior Informed Consent (FPIC) as required by the UNDRIP. The protesters were met with opposition from peasant groups in Yucumo, Beni and subsequently violently repressed by the police on September 25, marking the first major dent in the Morales administration’s projected image as an indigenous and social movements’ government. The marchers eventually managed to reach La Paz after the uproar caused by the repression, were greeted by supporting masses in the city  In the first successful case of Charagua, which has a Guaraní majority, not only white-mestizo sectors tried to sink the process, but it was also resisted at first by Quechua and Aymara minority groups  – both in the urban and rural sectors of the municipality (see Postero, 2017, chap. 7; Augsburger & Haber, 2018). 17

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and extracted from government a cancellation of the project, but after a subsequent march organized by coca growers established in TIPNIS’s southern border in demand for the road’s construction the cancellation was rescinded. The project was then resumed, with the conduction in 2012 of a consultation process that ultimately allowed for the road’s construction, but was marred with polemics and accusations of instrumentalization, “tricky questions” and divide-and-rule tactics by the government to induce the approval (Fontana, 2014; Lalander, 2017; Andreucci, 2018; Hirsch, 2019; Fontana, 2021). The road construction, however, has in practice been paralyzed so far due to all the surrounding polemics, although it remained listed as a high-priority project. But problems with consultation processes were not limited to the TIPNIS issue and stem, in part, from limitations such as their non-binding nature established already in the Constitution (Tockman & Cameron, 2014) and from subsequent regulatory decrees that restricted their reach even further, coupled with the mentioned economic dependency on extractivism that led government forces to frequently side with interested companies in order to expedite development projects (Schilling-­ Vacaflor & Eichler, 2017). Unsurprisingly, due to its centrality in Bolivian economy the hydrocarbons sector was the first to have the indigenous right to FPIC specifically regulated (supreme decree 29033/2009) and Schilling-Vacaflor and co-authors (Schilling-Vacaflor, 2013; Flemmer & Schilling-Vacaflor, 2016; Schilling-Vacaflor & Eichler, 2017) have conducted in-depth studies of 40 consultations processes in the sector between 2009 and 2013 and detected several important shortcomings which severely hinder FPIC rights and indigenous autonomy more generally. For starters, despite the constitutional recognition of communitarian economy and the government’s alternative development rhetoric, consultations in general have presented already formatted packages to which communities could only say “Yes” or “No”, without the possibility of negotiating real alternatives, only amounts of monetary compensation. But moreover, many procedures [from the consultations] were in some way deficient: the corporations had already entered the territory at stake and established contacts with the local population before the consultation officially began; the executive branch or the corporations exercised pressure to get a fast ‘social license’ instead of establishing real deliberations; the corporations and the MHE [Ministry of Hydrocarbons and Energy] emphasized the socioeconomic benefits related to the projects while trying to hide expected damage; it was not clear who the representative institutions and persons were, as mistrust toward these organizations was great and parallel organizations existed; during the consultation procedure negotiations with individual community members were held and local authorities were corrupted; the transmission of complete information about the planned project was absent and the quality of the [Environmental Impact Assessments] EIAs was insufficient; and many consultations were complicated by polarization and conflicts within and between local communities. (Schilling-Vacaflor, 2013, 209)

There has also been a general trend of adopting divide-and-rule tactics in order to ease approval of hydrocarbon projects as in the TIPNIS consultation. However, Schilling-Vacaflor and Eichler (2017) also detected that in cases where communities presented a more united front and stood under clear and accepted communal leaderships, they were able to extract better concessions from the companies or

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even alter sensitive parts of the projects themselves, such as access and use of water sources or the limitation or even closure of already opened access roads. But returning to the TIPNIS issue, the political conflict that it ensued also resulted in a government’s attempt to interfere within CIDOB in favor of a more MAS-­ aligned wing. The result was the organization’s effective division into two parallel organizations, a situation which also remains to date and tends to weaken the autonomy of indigenous groups opposed to specific government projects that affect their territories. The TIPNIS episode marked the deepening of a division within the Unity Pact between organizations such as CSUTCB, the Intercultural Communities, and the Bartolina Sisa Women’s Association, which are also early core-members of the MAS party organization and remained highly loyal to the administration, and others which are less tightly incorporated into the party’s structure and that, apart from CIDOB, also include the CONAMAQ18 where the same process of cooptation attempt, and effective division also occurred (Silva, 2017; Anria & Cyr, 2017; Cunha Filho, 2018a; Fontana, 2021). Although the division seems to suggest a cleavage between more peasant-like organizations (CSUTCB) and more directly ethnical ones (CIDOB and CONAMAQ), thus lending support to Albro (2010) and Fontana’s (2014) criticism over the “Indigenous Native Peasant Peoples and Nations” legal figure’s blurring of indigenous and peasant heterogeneous identities, it also affected the coca growers’ association of La Paz, which was also not a core-­ member of the party and also ended divided between two wings, thus suggesting that the degree of alignment with the governing party was the ultimate driving issue at stake (McNelly, 2020). And yet, Morales and the MAS managed to secure another comfortable reelection in 2014, with 61.36% of the vote and another two-thirds majority in both Legislative houses (88 representatives and 25 senators). Moreover, even some disgruntled support social groups and indigenous communities voted once more for the MAS due to the perception that, contradictory as they had been, Morales’s first two administrations had indeed delivered major symbolic and concrete improvements to them in a general way (Wolff, 2018) or to the utilitarian calculation that it was the best or only way to get benefits delivered as some Guaraní activists who were critical of the MAS declared: “Why should others reap the benefits of the revolution we fought for?” (cited in Postero, 2017, 185). Here it is important to consider the transformations that occurred on the Bolivian party system since the late 1990s and early 2000s and which, according to Faguet (2019), came to a zenith in 2005 when not only did the old party system collapse, but also the cleavage that sustained it was replaced with another. The author sustains that Bolivia had so far oriented its politics on the traditional left-labor/right-capital  Founded in 1997, CONAMAQ articulates the Quechua, Aymara, and Urus of the altiplano organized in ayllus (a communal, pre-colonial kinship structure), especially in the departments of Potosí and Oruro, but also in parts of La Paz and Chuquisaca. Its main objective is the restoration of pre-colonial forms of social and political organization, and the entity considers itself to be an indigenous governing body, rather than a kind of social movement (see Chávez León, 2008). 18

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divide, which he claims was ill-suited and partially dysfunctional to the country’s reality. However, the decentralizing and multicultural political reforms enacted under Sánchez de Lozada’s first administration served as an institutional shock that empowered previously marginal local anti-­establishment Indianist parties, which could then greatly expand their reach and eventually replace the prevailing political cleavage for one based on the ethnic-­rural/urban-cosmopolitan divide (see Figs. 2.1 and 2.2). This cleavage replacement represented a fatal blow to the country’s traditional parties, which still haven’t been able to correctly respond to it. This is one of the

Fig. 2.1  Cleavage Shift: National Electoral Results by Major Cleavage, 1979–2009. (Source: Reproduced from Faguet (2019, 217))

Fig. 2.2  Cleavage Shift: Local Electoral Results by Major Cleavage, 1987–2010. (Source: Reproduced from Faguet (2019, 219))

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main reasons for the national political hegemony enjoyed by the MAS as it was the only major political party capable of adequately positioning itself in it. But as has been mentioned, such national hegemony was much more nuanced at the subnational levels. The party has always held the biggest single number of mayors or departmental governors since 2010, but not only did stalwart opposition groups retain important offices such as Santa Cruz departmental and municipal governments, but also smaller independent local groups – including indigenous groups – or party splinters successfully competed against the MAS in some places. The party had its electoral strongholds in the highland departments of Oruro, Potosí, La Paz, and the Cochabamba and Chuquisaca valleys – all of which were won by it in the subnational elections of 2010 –, but had more difficulties in the eastern lowland departments of Santa Cruz, Beni, Tarija and to a lesser extent Pando, where it also won the governorship that year. But a lot of the party’s electoral success in the departments it won resided in their rural areas, with the MAS oftentimes having difficulties or outright failing to win in their capitals, although the predominantly Aymara important urban center of El Alto was also always seen as a party’s core constituency. Apart from that important city, MAS only manage to conquer the departmental capitals of Cochabamba and Cobija, though it came second in all of the remaining capitals save for Beni’s Trinidad. In 2015, however, the party lost the governorship of La Paz to a former party member and Aymara intellectual Félix Pátzi, who’d soon found a new party  – Movimiento Tercer Sistema (MTS) – with strong Indianist tones; and El Alto to a young Aymara woman, Soledad Chapetón, who competed through centrist-party Unidad Nacional (UN). Both cases of defeat were widely attributed to the poor administration by former MAS (Cesar Cocarico and Félix Patana, respectively) and were some of the first signs of major successful challenges to the MAS at his same side of the new cleavage system described by Faguet (2019). Nationally, one of the leaders from TIPNIS, Fernando Vargas, had competed for the presidency in 2014 with a Bolivian Green Party (PVB), but only fared 2.65% of the vote and the party got dissolved. A former leader from CONAMAQ’s non-aligned wing, Rafael Quispe, however, got elected that same year for the House of Representatives through UN. On the other hand, in 2015 the MAS captured the governorship of Beni from stalwarts of the right-wing opposition, though with a traditional politician  – Aléx Ferrier – who had just recently joined party ranks in order to be candidate. Regarding municipal administrations, the party remained the biggest office holder with 227 mayors elected and captured the municipal government of historic Sucre, but lost Cochabamba’s in addition to already mentioned El Alto. With the advantage of hindsight, it is possible to see that MAS hegemony was starting to erode on the edges, although it was still the only existing party with an actually national structure and insertion, and still ample control over the rural indigenous world, but with qualifications. Some of the limits to the party’s political grip would become more evident the following year after the government

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was narrowly defeated on February 2016  in a referendum to amend the Constitution19 and allow for a new reelection in 2019. With 51.3% against, and 48.7% for the amendment, it both showed Morales’s strength and that a united opposition could eventually succeed into defeating him. And with the MAS insistence on pushing for a new Morales candidacy despite the referendum’s result, which it managed to achieve by questioning, under the TCP, the constitutionality of term limitations as a violation to the Inter-American Human Rights Court’s Convention which declares the right to be voted as a fundamental human right.20 This decision finally gave the oppositions a banner under which to rally by denouncing the measure as a democratic violation, though it touched a chord with urban audiences incommensurately more than with rural ones and, in the end, they were unable to present a united front for the 2019 elections. And because Morales and the MAS were able to maintain a hardcore of voters of around 30–40% and the Constitution allows for first-round victories with at least 40% of the vote and a 10 percentual points advantage over the second comer, the elections presented both the possibility of another first-round victory or the first occurrence of a runoff vote in the country. For the first time, the elections posed a real question on whether Morales would be a victor and the close margins of the official count, 47.08% for Morales against 36.51% for former president Carlos Mesa (CC), coupled with the poorly explained decision by the Electoral Organ to suspend the preliminary count on the elections Sunday’s evening, led to accusations of fraud by the opposition that triggered widespread protests across the country. Morales called for an electoral audit by the Organization of American States (OAS), while the protests persisted, eventually leading the police to mutiny in most of the country. After the OAS preliminary report suggested, on November 10, 2019, possible evidences of fraud, the armed forces commander, Williams Kaliman, “recommended” the president’s resignation and the protests radicalized in most of the country’s urban centers, with riots and depredation of MAS representatives and government officials’ houses and properties. Morales resigned the same day and fled the country into exile, being followed in the resignation by the vice-president and in a still not fully explained chain of events, also the presidents of the Senate and the House of Representatives, both controlled by the MAS and constitutionally next in the line of succession. In the power vacuum that ensued, the Senate’s second vice-president, conservative senator Jeanine Áñez, from Beni, would be nominated interim-president in a thinly-­ constitutional interpretation of the succession rules which also remains to be fully explained.21  The Constitution establishes that any amendment must be approved by 2/3 of the Congress vote and then submitted to a mandatory confirming referendum. 20  Plurinational Constitutional Sentence 0084/2017. 21  See Wolff (2020) for a good and balanced account of the events and an analysis of the accusations of fraud and coup d’État that permeated the whole process. 19

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Final Remarks: The Emergence of an Indigenous State? The idea of a Plurinational State that could at the same time recognize and uphold the multiple ethnic identities and cultures and bring social justice to all underprivileged Bolivians first emerged in the country in Katarista discussions in the late 1970s (Hurtado, 2016) and with lowlands indigenous organizations in the process that would lead up to CIDOB’s formation in the 1980s. But although the expectations surrounding the concept have always been high, its precise definitions had also never been completely developed and during the Constituent Assembly it alluded, depending on the actor, to different and often conflicting meanings, such as: a confederal system of indigenous peoples with territorial power; generic respect for inclusion and equality of opportunity; the Soviet model of nations inspired by Morgan’s evolutionary sequence taken up by Engels; and also, for some critics, to a hegemonic or authoritarian central power with indigenous ceremonial rituality. (Schavelzon, 2012, 14–15; see also Tockman & Cameron, 2014, 49)

In the end, however, although the new State was heralded by many of its supporters as a landmark in political decolonization and the Indianization of the Bolivian State, there prevailed a much more restricted version of plurinationalism that incorporated many indigenous symbolic traits, recognized collective rights and increased consociationalist mechanisms, but still reserved much of the ultima ratios of decision-­ making to the central State and its Realpolitik concerns (Cunha Filho, 2018c). As Postero (2017, 59–60) rightly points out, the constitution eliminates […] shared decision-making. Nowhere does it mention co-­ administration or co-decision-making. […] Perhaps most important, in the fundamental sections on natural resource exploitation (Art. 30, 15; Art. 348ff.), the central state retains exclusive control over decision-making.

It also upholds an official State indigeneity which tries to encompass all of the indigenous and peasant’s world heterogeneities but ends up actually blurring them and hardly conforming to any actually existing native at all (Albro, 2010; Fontana, 2014). Moreover, this state-sanctioned version of indigeneity increasingly became an instrumentalized performance through which the Morales administrations sought to legitimize the State and its development priorities (Postero, 2017), oftentimes at the expense of some of the really existing peasant or indigenous communities. Some of the strongest critics would go as far as calling the new institutional framework as a “tyranny of the rule-of-law” (Tapia, 2011) or to denounce it as having a deeply embedded “anticommunal stance” (Salazar Lohman, 2020), but it must be added that for various reasons, many other indigenous individuals and communities considered the trade-off worthy and supported or at least acquiesced to the ongoing general political project as Morales’s landslide elections attest. So where does this “second stage of the indigenous emergence” (Bengoa, 2009) leave us in Bolivia? To be sure, the Plurinational State of Bolivia’s Constitution is still widely considered to be one of the most advanced regarding indigenous rights (e.g., Albro, 2010; Lalander, 2017), and even if in practice such rights were oftentimes curtailed by the government’s actions, the resulting levels of political

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incorporation and real-life improvements for many of the underprivileged citizens have been undeniable. For example, regarding the State’s bureaucracy, a survey and semi-structured interview study on the Ministry of Education, the departmental government of Chuquisaca and the urban municipal government of La Guardia,22 financed by UNDP and led by Soruco Sologuren et al. (2014) has found that the proportion of state-bureaucrats who self-declare as indigenous has reached an average of 46%, with 18% in La Guardia, 45% at the Education Ministry and 63% in Chuquisaca. In a country as Bolivia, where “the racial paradigms underpinning […] state building projects […] have been astoundingly durable” (Bohrt, 2019, 19–20; see also Loayza Bueno, 2021), this practical incorporation into statecraft carries a profound and undeniable impact. And even in cases where the reach of indigenous rights was supposed to have been restricted, some of the new institutions created still provided broader avenues where indigenous struggles could march through. One such example regards indigenous common law systems, which as previously mentioned were recognized by the Constitution. The regulating Law of Jurisdictional Delimitation of 2010, however, in its article 10 severely restricted the scope to which it could be applied in a way that some indigenous congresspeople depicted it as applying only to “‘chicken theft’ and other ‘trifles’” (cited in Albó, 2012). However, when the first jurisdiction conflict arrived at the TCP in 2013, the court ultimately confirmed the validity of indigenous common law decisions with the Plurinational Constitutional Sentence 0874/2014, thus setting a novel and very important jurisprudence. The specific case in question pertained to a labor and property conflict at the community of Zongo, La Paz, where indigenous authorities decided, in 2011, to expel and expropriate the owner of a scheelite mine accused of exploiting the workers’ labor, who later appealed to ordinary jurisdiction accusing the authorities of theft and got some of them arrested over it (Pachaguaya & Marcani, 2016). The whole conflict showed the many difficulties and obstacles to indigenous jurisdiction, and to indigenous autonomy more generally, posed by stalling judges and operators from the ordinary jurisdiction and older republican-inspired institutions kept by the Plurinational State, but its outcome also showed that the new State might still contain some seeds for transformation nevertheless. Such might also be the case with indigenous autonomies, which despite having been somewhat restricted from what was originally envisioned, still have had their seeds sown with the first three GAIOC already confirmed. It is still to be known the impact the novel institutional forms they have adopted will have, but if they prove to be successful, that could inspire new generations of leaders and new rounds of Indigenous political imagining and projects. Paradoxically, perhaps one of the biggest obstacles faced recently by alternative indigenous political projects in Plurinational Bolivia was the level of institutional and political hegemony achieved by the MAS under the presidency of Evo Morales after 2010. Morales and the MAS actively sought to constrain the new institutions’  The sites were chosen with the aim of geographical and bureaucratical-level equilibrium (the Ministry is located in highlands La Paz, Chuquisaca lies in the central valleys, while La Guardia sits at the eastern lowlands). 22

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more autonomous or communitarian possibilities and to subsume them under the government’s development and growth directives and needs (Schavelzon, 2018). It must always be noted that for many Bolivians who identify as a member of the highly heterogeneous Bolivian native indigenous peoples and nations, the official project in course indeed represented a strong political empowerment and concrete material gains, which made them quite content with the really-existing Plurinational State. But for some others, who eventually grew critic of such official project, or even faced direct threats to their territories or livelihoods due to some specific policy, the fact that the MAS acquired such centrality in the system while no other opposition arose that could effectively represent them, oftentimes forced them to play along the game and still vote for Morales when the push came to shove in order to still reap some of the benefits (see, for instance, Postero, 2017; Brown, 2020). This effect became the most visible during and after Jeanine Áñez’s interim presidency, when despite being sworn with the sole constitutional duty of calling for new elections within 90 days, she started her term in office with the will and, initially, apparently also the means to revert as much as possible of the political orientations and policies of the preceding period. The president and some of her ministers’ rhetoric was laden with racist discourse23 and the repression in the initial days was brutal, with at least 19 dead during protests in Senkata, El Alto, and in Sacaba, Cochabamba during protests. In many ways, for a great part of Bolivia’s indigenous world it seemed and felt as a direct assault on their just recently conquered rights and political inclusion so when elections were finally celebrated in October 2020,24 even very early and very vocal critics of the MAS’s experience from within the indigenous world such as Felipe Quispe openly campaigned for MAS’s Luis Arce presidential bid as their only real option for the moment. Arce’s resounding victory with 55.1% of the vote brought the MAS back to the Executive, but this time with a candidate who was neither indigenous, nor an organic member of a rural social organization as Morales was, though his vice-president – David Choquehuanca  – is a respected Aymara intellectual who served as foreign minister during Morales’s first two administrations. But despite the magnitude of the electoral victory, the situation seems to be significantly different from the preceding decade as the economic situation  – which had enabled the high levels of investment and redistribution that boosted MAS’s popularity – is much harder due to the effects of the pandemics and the mismanagement under Áñez, which substantially aggravated the economic slowdown already perceptible since at least 2017. On top of that, the political situation inside the party seems to be one of leadership dispute, with Morales still holding the party’s presidency, but now for the first time without office and without having a final and undisputed word, as the process of candidate selection for the subnational elections of 2021 showed.

 “Peasant hordes”, “Savages”, “We will hunt them down”, etc. See Molina (2020).  Due to the COVID-19 pandemic outbreak, the elections were postponed twice, and only confirmed for this date after strong protests from rural unions and organizations. 23 24

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Morales sought to centralize the selection of candidates and in several occasions was met with resistance or even revolt by local bases, as in Lauca Ñ, Chapare, where he had a chair thrown towards him while some of the presents shouted for renovation, or in the department of Potosí where he had to be evacuated to avoid the risk of physical violence. Nevertheless, Morales imposed certain candidates over other options indicated by local bases, but many of the discarded options this time opted to compete through other organizations and several of them won, thus increasing the MAS internal frictions. The most notable case was certainly that of El Alto, where former head of the Senate during Áñez’s interim term, Eva Copa, had been appointed by the local organizations, but had the position denied by Evo Morales and opted to compete through Jalllala Bolivia party instead and won with 66.70% of the vote against just 19.14% of MAS-backed Zacarías Maquera. But the same happened also with the candidates for the departmental governments of Pando and Beni, as well as their capitals Cobija and Trinidad, respectively, where after being appointed by the respective MAS grassroots associations and having the position denied by Morales, all opted to compete through the MTS party and won. Said elections still gave MAS the majority of municipal governments (240), but with only two departmental capitals (Oruro and Sucre), and only three departmental governments (Oruro, Potosí, and Cochabamba). Although as seen subnational elections have always tended to be more difficult to MAS’s hegemony, it seems that perhaps for the first time the party is facing serious competition from the same side of the new fundamental cleavage described by Faguet (2019) with potential to overcome parochial limitations, a novel situation that could have important consequences both for the MAS itself, but potentially also for alternative ways and projects for indigenous politics if these new organizations really do take root and manage to organize nationally for future elections.

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Schavelzon, S. (2012). El Nacimiento Del Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia: Etnografía de Una Asamblea Constituyente. CLACSO/Plural Editores/CEJIS/IWGIA. Schavelzon, S. (2018). Prefácio. In Cunha Filho, C.  M. Formação do Estado e Horizonte Plurinacional na Bolívia (pp. 15–25). Appris. Schilling-Vacaflor, A. (2008). Indigenous Identities and Politico-Juridical Demands of CSUTCB and CONAMAQ in the Constitutional Change Process of Bolivia. T’inkazos 4 (Selected Edition). Schilling-Vacaflor, A. (2013). Prior consultations in Plurinational Bolivia: Democracy, rights and real life experiences. Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies, 8(2), 202–220. https://doi. org/10.1080/17442222.2013.808497 Schilling-Vacaflor, A., & Eichler, J. (2017). The shady side of consultation and compensation: ‘Divide-and-rule’ tactics in Bolivia’s extraction sector. Development and Change, 48(6), 1439–1463. https://doi.org/10.1111/dech.12345 Silva, E. (2017). Reorganizing popular sector incorporation: Propositions from Bolivia, Ecuador, and Venezuela. Politics and Society, 45(1), 91–122. https://doi.org/10.1177/0032329216683166 Soruco Sologuren, X., Pinto, D.  F., & Azurduy, M.  D. (2014). Composición social del Estado plurinacional: hacia la descolonización de la burocracia (1st ed.). CIS. Soto, C. (1994). Historia del Pacto Militar Campesino. CERES. http://168.96.200.17/ar/libros/ bolivia/ceres/soto.rtf Stefanoni, P. (2013). ¿Qué Pasó Con La Autoidentificación Étnica? El Censo Como Caja de Pandora. El Desacuerdo, August 18, 2013. Tapia, L. (2011). El Estado de Derecho Como Tiranía. CIDES-UMSA/Autodeterminación. Thomson, S. (2002). We alone will rule: Native Andean politics in the age of insurgency (1st ed.). University of Wisconsin Press. Tockman, J., & Cameron, J. (2014). Indigenous autonomy and the contradictions of Plurinationalism in Bolivia. Latin American Politics and Society, 56(3), 46–69. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1548-­2456.2014.00239.x Van Cott, D. L. (2007). From movements to parties in Latin America: The evolution of ethnic politics (1st ed.). Cambridge University Press. Wolff, J. (2018). Political incorporation in measures of democracy: A missing dimension (and the case of Bolivia). Democratization, 25(4), 692–708. https://doi.org/10.1080/1351034 7.2017.1417392 Wolff, J. (2020). The turbulent end of an era in Bolivia: Contested elections, the ouster of Evo Morales, and the beginning of a transition towards an uncertain future. Revista de Ciencia Política. https://doi.org/10.4067/S0718-­090X2020005000105 Yashar, D.  J. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America: The rise of indigenous movements and the postliberal challenge, Cambridge Studies in Contentious Politics. Cambridge University Press. Zavaleta Mercado, R. (2009). Las Masas En Noviembre. In La Autodeterminación de Las Masas, pp.  207–262. Colección Pensamiento Crítico Latinoamericano. Siglo del Hombre Editores/Clacso. Zuazo, M. (2012). Bolivia: Cuando El Estado Llegó al Campo. Municipalización, Democratización y Nueva Constitución. In M.  Zuazo, J.-P.  Faguet, & G.  Bonifaz (Eds.), Descentralización y Democratización En Bolivia: La Historia Del Estado Débil, La Sociedad Rebelde y El Anhelo de Democracia (pp. 187–286). Friedrich Ebert Stiftung. Clayton M. Cunha Filho  has a PhD in Political Science (IESP-UERJ, Brazil) and is an assistant professor at the Department of Social Sciences at the Federal University of Ceará (UFC), Brazil.

Chapter 3

Between Street and Institutions: The Dynamics and Political Strategies of the Indigenous Movement in Ecuador Jorge Resina

Introduction The Ecuadorian indigenous movement has been considered one of the most important in Latin America (Altmann, 2014; Yashar, 2005). This is due mainly to the strength of Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas del Ecuador (Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador, CONAIE), the country’s main indigenous organisation, which has provided the movement with historical continuity and whose milestones include the Inti Raymi uprising in June 1990, which was a turning point for raising the profile of indigenous peoples in the region (Pacari, 2020). With the uprising, a cycle of protest movements began in the country which, years later, led to the founding of Pachakutik (1995), an indigenous grassroots political movement linked to CONAIE but with electoral purposes. The election of Pachakutik’s first officials was followed by the creation of indigenous public institutions and the reform of the 1998 constitution, which included for the first time indigenous rights and the recognition of Ecuador as a pluricultural and multi-ethnic country. Alongside these institutional advances, the movement also acquired strong extra-institutional influence, especially after leading the street protests that led to the fall of two presidents (Bucaram, 1997; Mahuad, 2000). Since its emergence in 1990, the movement’s demands have evolved from more concrete petitions to more generalised proposals. Whilst during the uprising, it was the agrarian demands for land and property which were prominent, due to the leading role played by the indigenous people of the highlands, it has since been the demands of the Amazonian peoples which have gained prominence, with a recognition of their identity and the capacity for self-government of their territories. Throughout the 1990s, this relationship between the indigenous peoples of both J. Resina (*) Department of Political Science and Public Administration, Complutense University of Madrid (UCM), Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_3

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parts of the country has become closer, providing useful material for study as a political subject. The coming together of their differing demands are no longer centred on local issues but encompass problems that affect society as a whole. This shift gives the indigenous movement a leading role in the social struggles against neoliberalism, enabling it to forge new alliances with other social actors and become a point of reference. The speed of these achievements, however, was marred by internal dilemmas and tensions, arising both from its institutional and electoral participation and the management of funds. Among these dilemmas, the main one occurred in 2003, with the participation of indigenous cadres and leaders in the government headed by Colonel Lucio Gutiérrez (2003). Despite being short-lived, this administration brought about a change in the perception of various social sectors towards the movement, as well as precipitating rifts within it. The subsequent arrival of Rafael Correa as president in 2006, and his Citizen’s Revolution project, deepened further the fractures among the indigenous people, inaugurating a period of great conflict between CONAIE and the president, which would provoke a major crisis within the movement. This evolution of the Ecuadorian indigenous movement reveals theoretical challenges from the point of view of its life cycle as a movement. As has been argued elsewhere (Ibarra, 2005; Kriesi, 1999), it is common for social movements to suffer a gradual attrition from their emergence as anti-systemic actors to their normalisation into the system, especially as they achieve the realisation of their goals. In general, they lose their innovative character and their actions become routine. As a result, they adopt more conventional practices and their structures become more rigid, leading to a process of oligarchisation, transformation of objectives and the primacy of survival as an organisation. This dynamic has characterised the evolution of CONAIE and Pachakutik, within which new debates have opened up over their ideological direction, the need for a generational change, the relationship with other organisations and the appropriateness or otherwise of institutional participation. These tensions became particularly visible during the Constituent Assembly of 2007–2008 and the Correa Government. During these years, the movement took on a more confrontational approach and oriented its demands towards the transformation of the state, based on the principles of plurinationality, indigenous territorial autonomy and Sumak Kawsay, with a focus on the country’s development model (Altmann, 2014). However, opposition to the neo-developmentalist approach by Correa’s Government provided CONAIE with an opportunity to regain its more anti-­systemic character, resume street activity and redefine its demands, in a clear “eco-social orientation”. As such, the organisation has made the fight against extractivism and environmental protection its main hallmark, demanding the right of indigenous communities to give their consent to any extractive plan in their territories through free, prior and informed consultation. This resistance has revitalised the indigenous movement, which regained prominence as a player in national politics during Lenín Moreno’s term in office, combining institutional negotiation with street protest. This renewed social importance has allowed the movement to regain relevance as a political-electoral option. The erosion of the Correísmo axis vs. Anti-Correísmo,

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which had dominated the country for a decade and a half, together with the movement’s more wide-ranging proposals and the use of new languages and communication strategies, aimed at younger sectors through social networks, led Pachakutik to achieve the best results in its history of political participation in the 2021 elections, both at the presidential and legislative levels. Whilst this scenario places the indigenous movement in a central position, with an important institutional presence (it presides over the National Assembly), it presents it with new dilemmas (the presidency of right-winger Guillermo Lasso), and the challenge of reconciling internal interests and improving the complicated relations between CONAIE and Pachakutik, the social and political wing of the movement, respectively. In numerical terms, it is difficult to establish what percentage of Ecuador’s population is indigenous. According to the latest census published in 2010, the number of indigenous people is estimated to be around one million, or 7% of the country’s total population, which is far from other estimates which put the percentage of indigenous people at around 30–40% (Albó, 2008). This is a controversial issue, as the measurement method has been criticized, since it is often based on the predominant use of an indigenous language or on self-identification, which causes difficulties especially with the concept of mestizaje (Stavenhagen, 2006). The country has 14 nationalities and 18 indigenous peoples, with the greatest presence in the Amazon and in the northern and central highlands, the main nationalities being the Kichwa (85%) and the Shuar (9.4%) (INEC, 2010). In terms of the total distribution of the indigenous population in the territory, the distribution is unequal between the highlands (68.2%), the Amazon (24.1%) and the coastal regions (7.6%). By provinces, the largest indigenous populations live in Chimborazo, Pichincha, Imbabura and Cotopaxi, where they account for 49.6%. There are also a considerable number of indigenous people in the big cities (Quito and Guayaquil), most of them coming by internal migration (SENPLADES, 2017). However, the indigenous population remains predominantly rural (78.5% compared to 21.5% urban). Seventy-six per cent of indigenous people have an identity card and 93.3% are registered in the civil registry. In terms of poverty, it is still a vulnerable sector, since indigenous households are twice as likely to have their basic needs unsatisfied, while extreme poverty is 2.92 times more prevalent (SENPLADES, 2017). The total number of poor among the indigenous population is estimated to be 42% compared to 27% among the non-indigenous, a gap that is also reproduced at the educational and gender level, with 54% of indigenous women completing tertiary education compared to 70% of non-indigenous women (CEPAL, 2016).

Historical Background Two historical factors are key to understanding the evolution of indigenous peoples and nationalities as historical subjects in Ecuador. The first originates from the colonial era, with the encomienda system established by the Spanish Crown, which had

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a key impact on the country’s social structure.1 Its importance is due to the fact that it established a type of organisation of the indigenous population that would be maintained through the hacienda model for more than a century and a half of Republican history (Becker & Tutillo, 2009).2 The second factor is related to the complex national construction at the beginning of the Republic, due to the power disputes between Quito and Guayaquil, which made national unity both a central and a controversial issue. This led to priority being given to the representation of the different territories over the population, with the aim of achieving a balance between the highlands and the coast (Del Águila, 2014).3 Taking these two factors into account, it can be said that Ecuador’s indigenous peoples have undergone three different historical evolutions depending on where they were located in the country. In the highlands, where they were predominantly present, they were subject to a specific hacienda system, the huasipungo.4 Moreover, unlike in other countries, there was little development of indigenist policies in Ecuador during the first decades of the twentieth century, which meant that the indigenous people were considered peasants (Becker, 2012). As a result, even once the hacienda system had disappeared, the indigenous people had little direct relationship with the state, since their relationship was always mediated by other actors who acted as intermediaries (church, army, landowner), which led to a “ventriloquism” effect (Guerrero, 1997). For their part, the peoples of the Amazon had been invisible to the state, and only had the presence of the church for evangelisation purposes. However, this situation changed in the middle of the century, with the beginning of extractive policies and the arrival of multinational companies, which led to the organisation of the Amazonian indigenous peoples. Finally, the coast has historically had a smaller indigenous population than the highlands and the Amazon. However, the proletarianisation of indigenous peoples in the highlands, as the hacienda system disappeared, and the expansion of the production of agricultural crops for export, initiated a process of migration towards the coast (Becker & Tutillo, 2009). During the 1940s, the first indigenous institutions began to appear, driven mainly by mestizo urban intellectuals who wanted to try to solve indigenous problems (Becker, 2007). The first response, linked to the liberal indigenists of the time, was the Instituto Indigenista Ecuatoriano (Indigenist Institute of Ecuador, IIE) founded in 1943, which, however, had little impact, since it had little communication with

 Through the encomienda, the Spanish Crown distributed as a reward among the conquerors lands that included a contingent of indigenous population forced to work for them. 2  When the Republic was founded, more than 50% of Ecuador’’s indigenous people were linked to the haciendas, mainly in the hands of Creoles and mestizos, who became landowners. Not even the abolition of slavery in 1851 put an end to this system. 3  At the beginning of the republican era, the coast barely represented 10% of the population compared to the highlands and the Amazon, where the indigenous population constituted 70%. 4  Concierto system by which the indigenous people worked for the landowners in exchange for a salary and a small extension of land. If indigenous got into debt and in case of sale of the land, they could be included as part of the lot. 1

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indigenous peoples (Becker, 2012). The Federación Ecuatoriana de Indios (Ecuadorian Federation of Indians, FEI), founded a year later in 1944 and linked to the Partido Socialista Ecuatoriano (Ecuadorian Socialist Party, PSE) (later renamed Partido Comunista Ecuatoriano Communist Party of Ecuador, PCE), had a greater impact. This relationship between the FEI and the PCE brought about a historical debate within the indigenous movement and its relationship with the political left, about its role in relation to the party, its autonomy of action and the importance of women leaders at the top of the party (as in the cases of Dolores Cacuango, Angelita Andrango or Tránsito Amaguaña). This provoked an interesting process of identity, gender and class (Espinosa & Larco, 2012). Over the following decades, in the 1960s and 1970s, agrarian demands from the highlands dominated, resulting in the approval of two agrarian reform laws (1964 and 1973), which formally put an end to the huasipungo and provoked a process of rural exodus, with indigenous people going to the city to work in the ‘obrajes’ (wool, cotton and cabuya weaving factories) (Martínez, 1995). These reforms also marked the beginning of a process of colonisation in the Amazon, laying the foundations for the neoliberal policies that would follow years later (Albó, 2008). During these decades, new indigenous organisations also began to be founded: in the Amazon, the Federation of Shuar Centres was created in 1964, promoted by the Salesians in opposition to the invasion of Amazonian territory (Brysk, 2004); while in the highlands, the Federación Nacional de Organizaciones Campesinas (National Federation of Peasant and Indigenous Organisations, FENOC) was founded in 1968, first linked to the Catholic Church and later to the PSE;5 and in 1972 the most important highland organisation to date, the Confederación de Pueblos de la Nacionalidad Kichwa del Ecuador (Confederation of Peoples of Kichwa Nationality of Ecuador, ECUARUNARI) was created by progressive sectors in the province of Chimborazo.6 Finally, in 1980, in response to the influence of progressive Catholics, the Evangelicals of Chimborazo created the more conservative Federación Ecuatoriana de Indígenas Evangélicos (Council of Indigenous Evangelical Peoples and Organizations of Ecuador, FEINE). Ecuador’s democratisation process in the 1980s was unique in that it consisted of a transition led by the military, which, unlike other countries in the region, held a certain prestige among the population. This meant that Ecuadorian democracy did not have a founding milestone in the form of a constituent assembly (Pachano, 2003). Another effect was that political parties did not have much popular support either, as they were perceived more as factions in the interests of the elite than as mediators between society and the state (Isaacs, 1990). This transition process conditioned the initial functioning of Ecuador’s democracy, which was characterised by instability and parliamentary minority governments (Freidenberg, 2008). For indigenous peoples, this democratisation process brought new opportunities, but also new dilemmas, with emerging new political agendas, the risk of co-optation

 In 1988 it became FENOCIN, by incorporating “Indígenas y Negras”.  Promoted above all by the figure of the then bishop of Riobamba Leónidas Proaño.

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by new leaderships or absorption by the dominant structures (Becker & Stahler-­ Sholk, 2019; Madrid, 2005; Van Cott, 2000, 2005). However, the opening up of new spaces made it possible to create new organisational structures. In 1980, the Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas de la Amazonía Ecuatoriana (Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of the Ecuadorian Amazon, CONFENIAE) was founded, led by the Shuar and made up of the Federación de Organizaciones Indígenas del Napo (Federation of Indigenous Organisations of Napo, FOIN), the Federación de Nacionalidades Indígenas de Sucumbíos (Federation of Indigenous Organisations of Sucumbíos, FOISE) and the Organización de Pueblos Indígenas de Pastaza (Organisation of the Indigenous Peoples of Pastaza, OPIP). Months later, a crucial event for the organisation of the movement took place: the meeting between ECUARUNARI (highlands) and CONFENIAE (Amazon), which resulted in the creation of the Consejo Nacional de las Nacionalidades Indígenas del Ecuador (Council for the Coordination of Ecuadorian Indigenous Nationalities, CONACNIE), which made it possible to begin to articulate indigenous demands at national level (land redistribution in the highlands, territorial autonomy in the Amazon), and which was consolidated with a second meeting in 1984 (Becker, 2011). Two years later, in 1986, CONAIE finally came into being.7 Despite these organisational efforts, the indigenous movement still did not have a significant presence in the Ecuadorian political system. As Alcántara points out, Latin American democracies did not know how, or were not able, to “articulate the important presence of indigenous sectors in political life” (Alcántara, 1991). The first step taken by the indigenous movement to exert institutional influence was the presentation in 1988 of a draft Law on Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador, during the government of the social democrat Rodrigo Borja. Although the draft law was not ratified, the movement achieved the first institutional response with the creation of the Dirección Nacional de Educación Intercultural Bilingüe (National Directorate of Bilingual Intercultural Education, DINEIB), aimed at responding to the educational needs of indigenous peoples and nationalities. However, it was in 1990 that the Ecuadorian indigenous movement, through CONAIE, burst onto the national political scene, with the Inti Raymi uprising in June, led mainly by indigenous people from the highlands, and which was replicated in 1992, with the so-called “Gran March” (Great March in English) that took the Amazonian indigenous people across the country from the Amazon to Quito. This march gained momentum as a symbolic rejection of the commemoration of 500  years of conquest, which was redefined by the indigenous people as “Five

 It was not until 1999 when the third federation (corresponding to the coast) was integrated: the Confederation of Nationalities and Indigenous Peoples of the Ecuadorian Coast (CONAICE). This was due to the slow indigenous organizational process in that area of the country, mainly due to the plantation system and the greater presence of the Afro and Monubian population. The distribution of votes among the federations in the assemblies is distributed territorially weighted at 45% for ECUARUNARI, 30% CONFENIAE and 25% CONAICE. 7

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Hundred Years of Indigenous Resistance” in the face of the different systems of exploitation. The uprising marked a turning point both in the development of indigenous peoples as political subjects, putting an end to the traditional ventriloquism, acquiring prominence, and placing themselves in a central position both on the political chessboard and in society, which was shocked into reflecting on the pluricultural nature of the country (García, 2003; Pajuelo, 2007). The inability of the traditional parties to provide representation and the limits of democracy’s integration meant that the indigenous movement appeared to society as an actor capable of filling this void in proposals, transcending its own interests, and putting forward wide-ranging proposals, which opened the way for the debate that would come years later (Lagos & Calla, 2007; Sawyer, 1997; Zamosc, 1994). During these early years, CONAIE was also able to forge alliances with other sectors, such as trade unions, student organisations, progressive Christian grassroots and environmental activists, all of which enabled it to exert greater influence on the governments of the time (Becker, 2011).

Contemporary Context of the Country Since the 1990s, the country has been characterised by political instability, with seven presidents in just one decade (1996–2006), and the removal of several of them from office (Abdalá Bucaram, 1997; Jamil Mahuad, 2000; Lucio Gutiérrez, 2005). This trend changed in 2007, with the arrival of Rafael Correa as president, which inaugurated a decade of presidential stability (2007–2017), albeit at the cost of growing political and social polarisation.8 This new situation affected the activity of the indigenous movement, which played a major role in the fall of Bucaram and Mahuad by leading the movements against the neoliberal policies promoted by both presidents. CONAIE’s importance in the streets, together with the beginning of its electoral participation through Pachakutik and the gaining of institutional presence, also marked a “before” and “after” in its dynamics. As Zamosc points out, the political achievements of the first years after the uprising pushed the movement to change its strategy, moving from a policy aimed at influencing governments to one that sought

 Pachano points out five aspects that favor the change in trend and make political stability possible: the concentration of the vote in a single political force; the formation of a government without the need to seek parliamentary alliances; the loss of influence of pressure groups and social organizations; the dimension of the approved reforms; and the strong presidential leadership, which brings together the entire process. Pachano, S. (2008). El precio del poder: izquierda, democracia y clientelismo en Ecuador. Segundo Coloquio Internacional de Ciencia Política Gobiernos de izquierda en Iberoamérica en el siglo XX. 8

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to obtain power (Zamosc, 2007). This change of strategy reached its peak with the participation of several Confederation leaders in the government of Lucio Gutiérrez.9 The brief administration of the Gutiérrez Government, however, had important effects on the organisation of the movement and also altered the social perception of the indigenous as a political entity, until then perceived as an innovative political actor due to the democratising role played over a decade and a half (Ramírez, 2011). Gutiérrez’s presence in the government highlighted his lack of experience of institutional positions, sharpened electoral struggles for candidates and deepened internal disputes and divisions (García, 2013). This attrition made it clear that “the indigenous movement had national objectives but lacked an effective government plan and policies to that end” (Pajuelo, 2007). These circumstances also conditioned the context in which the two constituent assemblies were convened. In the first of these, whose work began in 1997 and which resulted in the 1998 Constitution, the indigenous movement acquired notable influence. On the one hand, it obtained 10 assembly members out of a total of 70, and on the other, it had played a major role in the fall of President Bucaram. In addition, the country had an interim president, Fabián Alarcón, without much political influence, and the Assembly was fragmented with no majority party, which forced the majority centre-right sectors to negotiate with other forces (including the indigenous movement), making concessions and reaching consensus. On the other hand, in the 2007 Assembly held in Montecristi, which resulted in the 2008 Constitution, the situation was completely different: On the one hand, the Assembly had a predominant political force, the Movimiento Patria Altiva y Soberana (PAIS), which obtained 80 assembly members (out of 130, 62%), and was the party of President Rafael Correa, who also had a high level of popular support, following his victory in the 2006 elections, and reinforced after fulfilling his promise to convene a Constituent Assembly, in the face of opposition from the National Congress.10 On the other hand, Pachakutik had a residual presence in the Assembly, with four Assembly members, on the back of poor results in the 2006 elections (its candidate, Luis Macas, having obtained 2.19% of the votes) and, above all, weakened by loss of support suffered after its participation in the Gutiérrez Government. This distribution of forces resulted in the political party PAÍS having total control of the Assembly, so that the most important decisions were not taken during the Assembly sessions, but in parallel in meetings of the PAÍS movement itself, which were called “congresillo” because of their importance, and in which Rafael Correa had the final word on decision-making (Resina, 2015).

 The most relevant positions were the participation of Nina Pacari as Chancellor and Luis Macas as Minister of Agriculture and Livestock. 10  Correa proposed the convening of a Constituent Assembly whose members would be elected in new elections, opposed to the National Congress, to which Correa had not presented candidates, considering it an institution that represented the traditional “partycracy.” 9

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Constitutional Recognition of Indigenous Rights The first indigenous step forward in the 1997–1998 Constituent Assembly came in the midst of the House’s negotiations, when the Ecuadorian state ratified the International Labour Organisation’s (ILO) Convention 169 on indigenous and tribal peoples. This accession was indicative of the importance of the indigenous issue on the Assembly’s political agenda and was eventually reflected in the new Constitution. The final text represented an important leap forward, being the first constitution in the country’s history to expressly include recognition of the identity and rights of the indigenous population, which may be characterised in four main areas: 1. Identity and culture: the Constitution starts from a multicultural perspective, recognising Ecuador as a “pluricultural” and “multi-ethnic” country, in which recognition of identity is based on the subjective perspective of the indigenous peoples, “who define themselves as nationalities with ancestral roots” (Art. 83). There is also a linguistic step forward in the form of recognition of the official use of “ancestral” languages (as they are called in the text) for indigenous peoples (Art. 1). 2. Justice: This includes the power of the indigenous authorities to exercise the functions of justice according to their own procedures and customs to resolve internal conflicts, with the condition that they are not contrary to the laws or the Constitution (Art. 191). 3. Collective rights: the recognition and guarantee to indigenous peoples of a series of rights of a collective nature is established (Art. 84), which include (a) recognition of their symbols and traditions; (b) ownership of community lands, and the right to be consulted in the case of prospecting and exploitation projects that culturally or environmentally affect their lands, as well as to participate in the benefits and to be compensated; (c) collective intellectual ownership of their ancestral knowledge; (d) conservation of their social organisation, heritage and biodiversity management; (e) bilingual intercultural education; and (f) participation in official bodies through their representatives. 4. Territorial autonomy: the possibility of indigenous constituencies is included, although it is not detailed how or with what competences, and its content is left open to subsequent legislative development (Art. 224). The result is a Constitution that both guarantees rights, but is also predominantly declaratory, which means that many aspects are not developed and their content or scope is not explained. This is clear in the case of the indigenous constituencies, which were never implemented during the Constitution’s period of validity. On the other hand, recognition of identity is still limited, as it is confined to a question of self-definition, as well as the use of languages, which are referred to as “ancestral”. Nor does the constitutional text include issues of indigenous representation (e.g., at parliamentary level), although it does provide for the participation of representatives in “official bodies”.

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A decade later, the Montecristi Constitution took up some of these discussions, although the most contentious issue was soon related to territory and the scope of indigenous autonomy. The first major confrontation was over the idea of plurinationality, a historical demand of CONAIE (already included in its first Political Programme in 1994), which during the constituent debates was viewed with suspicion by PAÍS and, in particular, by President Rafael Correa, who perceived it as a particularist demand, in contrast to his Citizen’s Revolution project. Another opponent to this idea was the Confederación Nacional de Organizaciones Campesinas, Indígenas y Negras (National Federation of Peasant, Indigenous and Black Organisations, FENOCIN), which argued that it was an ethnic proposal as opposed to its intercultural approach. In the end, however, the mediation of the Assembly’s president, Alberto Acosta, and some political actors from the indigenous movement, such as Mónica Chuji, managed to influence the Assembly to include the declaration of Ecuador as a plurinational country (Resina, 2015). Along with this plurinational recognition, the idea of interculturality was also recognised, especially regarding indigenous languages, which were included in the text in two ways: Kichwa and Shuar as “official languages of intercultural relations”, and the rest as “ancestral languages” of official use for the indigenous peoples in the areas where they live (Art. 2). This wording, in relation to the 1998 Constitution, maintains the official nature of “ancestral” languages for the indigenous populations, and introduces for the first time the recognition of Kichwa and Shuar as languages of “intercultural relations”, although without specifying what this designation implies. In terms of identity, unlike the 1998 Constitution, the 2008 text no longer proposes indigenous recognition in subjective terms and recognises “indigenous communities, peoples and nationalities” as part of the Ecuadorian state (Art. 56). However, the formulation has two particularities: the first is that, together with indigenous recognition, it includes that of the Afro-Ecuadorian people, the Montubio people and their communes; and the second is that it states that the Ecuadorian state is whole and indivisible. This is due to the vision that predominated during the constituent assembly, especially President Correa’s more pro-government line, which aimed at delimiting indigenous influence by including other subjects (especially striking is the inclusion of the communes) and establishing the unity of the state. Another new development was the inclusion of new collective rights (Art. 57), especially those related to the eradication of discrimination, through the prosecution of racism and reparation for those who suffer from it, and the creation of indigenous peoples’ own resources. It also limits military activities in their territories and for the first time recognises the protection of peoples in voluntary isolation. However, as mentioned above, the most controversial issue was the scope of territorial autonomy and the right of indigenous communities to free, prior, and informed consultation in the face of extractive projects in their territories. As in the 1998 Constitution, the 2008 Constitution recognises the possibility of creating Circunscripciones Territoriales Indígenas (Indigenous Territorial Constituencies, CTIs) (Art. 257). The new text, however, is more developed, as it defines the territorial framework in which they can be created (the political-administrative organisation:

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parish, canton or province), the way to do so (with a territorial consultation that requires a qualified majority), their competences (the same as the corresponding government) and differing features (principles of interculturality, plurinationality and in accordance with collective rights). As regards free, prior and informed consultation, it is included in similar terms to the previous Constitution, although it details what happens if a community opposes an extractive project, leaving the decision to a higher administrative order (Art. 398).11 These limitations were perceived as a failure by the indigenous movement (CONAIE-Pachakutik), which had hoped to have achieved a higher level of self-­ government in their territories, as well as the possibility of defining autonomies outside the political-administrative organisation or obligatory prior consent in consultations. There was also frustration with the scant development of the content of plurinationality and the lack of concrete mechanisms favouring indigenous representation in the state, which the Constitution does not include. As Becker points out, “with all these contradictions, many indigenous people ended up seeing the new Constitution as a catch-all (…) Indigenous organisations felt that they had been placed in a very difficult position” (Becker, 2011, pp. 58–59). The subsequent legislative development of the CTIs with the approval in 2020 of the Código Orgánico de Organización Territorial, Autonomía y Descentralización (Organic Code of Territorial Organisation, Autonomy and Decentralisation, COOTAD), did not improve this perception by the indigenous movement, which questioned the fact that the law had not been subject to prior consultation with the communities before its approval. Regarding its content, the indigenous movement criticised the fact that the creation of autonomies had been limited more to an administrative than a political process, that it did not allow the creation of CTIs with territorial limits other than those already established, that to be constituted it required a qualified majority (two thirds) of the corresponding Gobierno Autónomo Descentralizado (Decentralised Autonomous Government, GAD), and that it did not have veto power over mega-projects or the exploitation of natural resources (Cabrero & Merino, 2015).12

Indigenous Political Representation: Parties and Ethnic Rifts Over recent decades, Ecuadorian indigenous organisations have developed or maintained a close relationship with different political-electoral movements. Thus, the FEI has been linked from its origins to the PCE; the FENOCIN has maintained a historical relationship with the Socialist Party (which broke up in 2011 and was replaced by the Alianza País); while the FEINE had its own evangelical party,  With final decision-making power for the President of the Republic.  The difficulties in creating ITC have been such that as of the writing of this article, none had been established. There are four proposals, all of them in the Amazon raised by the Kichwa nationality (Arajuno; Ahuano; Chunda Punda; Wami Loreto). 11 12

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Amawtay Yuyay. The most significant case, however, has been that of CONAIE, which, with the creation of Pachakutik as its political wing, made indigenous participation in the national political scene possible (Van Cott, 2007). In its first years of existence, CONAIE was characterised by its refusal to compete in elections, from a platform of anti-state participation (García, 2018). However, in the 1994 Political Project, the possibility of participating in elections was aired for the first time: In the special conditions and political circumstances of the country, CONAIE will decide on its electoral participation, in an ordinary or extraordinary Assembly or Congress, based on the acceptance of the Political Project of the Indigenous Peoples and Nationalities, and not on the traditional imposition of theses and programmes, demagogic manipulation and electoral clientelism. (CONAIE, 1994)

Several factors worked in favour of this: the approval of the 1994 electoral reform, which allowed independent candidacies, the country’s decentralisation process, and the disenchantment of sectors of the left with the traditional political parties. This led to the creation in 1995 of the political movement Pachakutik,13 in whose founding, together with CONAIE, the Coordinating Committee of Social Movements and various groups of the Ecuadorian left participated. From the outset, this was a feature that would shape the mixed constitution of the movement, combining features of an ethnic party14 of a more cross-party nature by including more general proposals and mestizo leaderships.15 Its anti-systemic and reforming approach to politics is why it was seen as an alternative to the traditional left-wing parties (Assies, 2009). Since the first elections in 1996, Pachakutik has competed at all levels, albeit with different strategies, depending on the type of election and the political context. In the first presidential elections, it fielded a popular, non-indigenous candidate who was not part of the movement, Freddy Ehlers, a television journalist, who came third in the first round with 20.61% of the votes. After that first experience, there were various strategies: running in alliance (in 2002, with Lucio Gutiérrez’s Patriotic Society Party), as part of a broader movement (in 2013, supporting Alberto Acosta, the Plurinational Coordinator of the Left), in 2017 participating in the National Agreement for Change (with Paco Montayo as candidate), or alone with an indigenous candidate (in 2006, with Luis Macas, and in 2021, with Yaku Pérez). The results were mixed and depended mainly on the context. The alliance with Lucio Gutiérrez in 2002 produced the best electoral result (20.64% in the first round and 54.79% in the second), including victory, but Pachakutik fortunes crashed rapidly thereafter, obtaining for almost two decades very low percentages (2.19% in 2006,  The full name is Movement of the Plurinational Unity Pachakutik-Nuevo País (MUPP-NP).  According to Van Cott, an ethnic party is characterised as an “organisation authorised to participate in local or national elections, whose indigenous leaders and members, for the most part, identify themselves as part of a non-ruling ethnic group and whose electoral platform includes demands and programmes of an ethnic or cultural nature” Van Cott (2003). 15  Although its main base is indigenous, Pachakutik cannot be considered an indigenous-only party, as it has also integrated mestizo sectors and different leaders have emerged from its political ranks, such as Augusto Barrera, Antonio Ricaurte, Fernando Cordero or Doris Soliz, among others. 13 14

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3.26% in 2013, 6.71% in 2017), mainly due to loss of support caused by the alliance with Gutiérrez and the concentration of the progressive vote in Rafael Correa. Only in the last presidential elections of 2021 did Pachakutik manage to recover good results (third, with 19.39%), thanks to a renewed political proposal centred on Buen Vivir, the erosion of the Correísmo/Anti-Correísmo axis, and an ingenious campaign on social networks.16 At parliamentary level, Pachakutik achieved representation in all elections, although the results have been declining, going from having a notable position in the first elections of 1996 (10.76%) and 1998 (9.11%) to occupying a more residual role (4.15% in 2002; 2.84% in 2006; 0.9% in 2009; 4.72% in 2013; 2.67% in 2017). This trend, however, was reversed in the last elections of 2021, in which Pachakutik achieved its best result ever, as the second political force, with 17.44% of the votes (27 assembly members out of 137), which allowed it to negotiate and obtain the presidency of the Assembly. As in the presidential elections, the erosion of, and fragmentation within, Correism provided an opportunity for Pachakutik to attract the votes of progressive sectors once again. However, the area where Pachakutik has probably established itself best has been territorial, with a strategy that ensured it won and maintained its presence in the territory with the triumph of indigenous candidates as prefects and mayors in provincial and local governments (Figueroa, 2020). This settlement has allowed it to introduce institutional innovations and experiment with new practices, establishing a new communal model of governance through a network of alternative local governments, based on the democratisation of local power, transparency in public actions and management based on sustainable development (Burguete, 2010; García, 2018). Thus, the first successful local practices in Cotacachi and Guamote, under the leadership of Auki Tituaña and Mariano Curicama (considered the country’s first indigenous mayors), were followed by other experiences at provincial level, such as in Morona Santiago (through community assemblies), Cotopaxi (with the circular government), Tungurahua (through popular participation in a large assembly of leaders), or Chimborazo (with the system of community participation based on the “Minga”). Alongside these advances, Pachakutik also introduced other innovations in terms of political participation, such as gender parity, by introducing in 1997 an internal quota guaranteeing 40% female candidates (Radcliffe, 2015).17 Although persisting over time, relations between CONAIE and Pachakutik have been characterised by a certain degree of conflict and moments of tension. Although in practice both organisations are associated with the indigenous movement (CONAIE as the social and Pachakutik as the political wing), organically they are  The candidate Yaku Pérez achieved great popularity thanks to his casual videos through the social network TikTok, which allowed him to reach younger sectors of the population with an entertaining language. 17  For example, in May 2000, more than half of the candidacies for public office in local governments in the highland and Amazon provinces, such as Cañar, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi, Imbabura, Morona Santiago and Sucumbíos, were women. Radcliffe, S. A. (2015). Dilemmas of difference. Duke University Press. 16

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not the same, since each has its own structures and different decision-making processes, and in the case of Pachakutik, it also has non-indigenous sectors. This has not prevented them from almost always acting in the same direction, although in the history of their relations there have been two particularly problematic moments that have caused splits within the movement: participation in the government of Lucio Gutiérrez and the period of Rafael Correa’s Government. In the case of Lucio Gutiérrez, the Colonel feared that he would be a weak president in the face of powerful indigenous organisations, which led him to implement a strategy of division through clientelist policies (Sánchez, 2008). To this end, he relied above all on an Amazonian indigenous sector with a more entrepreneurial vision, to find support for expanding the oil frontier, and promoted the creation of a new federation, the Federación de Pueblos Indígenas Campesinos y Negros del Ecuador (Federation of Indigenous Peasant and Black Peoples of Ecuador, FEDEPICNE), to counterbalance the power of CONAIE.18 He also managed to maintain the support of Pachakutik’s indigenous middle-class cadres, who remained in government after the break with CONAIE, following the resignations of Luis Macas and Nina Pacari. This experience meant that the indigenous people were from then on much more cautious about seeking alliances with sectors outside the movement (Becker & Stahler-Sholk, 2019). This distrust undoubtedly weighed heavily in the debate over whether the indigenous movement should run alongside Rafael Correa in 2006, with whom there were contacts, but which did not result in agreement. In the end, although they ran as separate candidates in the first round, the movement did support Correa in the second round.19 However, the relationship soon deteriorated, especially due to the discrepancies that arose during the Constituent Assembly and the new president’s extractivist approach, which led to a strong confrontation that had internal repercussions within the indigenous movement. Correa’s strategies in this regard included a belligerent discourse against the indigenous leadership20; the appointment to public posts of people linked to Pachakutik and CONAIE, such as Mónica Chuji (Secretary General of Communication) and Ricardo Ulcuango (Ambassador to Bolivia); and

 Since 2000, within the Amazonian indigenous peoples, two positions had been distinguished: a current with a more entrepreneurial perspective, prone to attracting funds from international cooperation and reaching agreements with multinational companies; and another current of “resistance”, in which are the Shuar and Sarayaku peoples, who demand indigenous autonomy and higher levels of self-government. Albó, X. (2008). Movimientos y poder indígena en Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú (Vol. 71). Cipca. 19  Pachakutik had initially proposed a joint primary process involving Correa who, however, declined the offer, arguing that the electoral body should be made up of candidates taken form a broader selection than the indigenous movement alone (who would presumably opt for an indigenous candidate). Moreover, Correa’’s team conducted polls that gave him a high level of popularity, on the basis of which he demanded to be the head of the list, something Pachakutik rejected. The disagreement caused them to run as separate candidates in the first round. 20  Such has been the virulence of the language used that his speech has come to be characterized as an example of “public racism”. Martínez Novo, C. (2018). Discrimination and Coloniality in Rafael Correa’s Ecuador (2007–2017). Alteridades, 28(55), 49–60. 18

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the imposition of FENOCIN as the preferred organisation for occupying institutional positions. These tensions marked the indigenous dynamic during the elections which followed. In 2013, for example, Auki Tituaña, the movement’s historic leader, was significantly expelled from CONAIE after announcing that he would accompany the right-wing candidate Guillermo Lasso on the presidential ticket, which provoked a rejection by the indigenous movement, traditionally associated with the left.21 Internal divisions eventually led the movement, through Pachakutik, not to present its own candidacy in 2013 or 2017, but rather to join other progressive initiatives. It was not until the 2021 elections that Pachakutik competed again with its own candidate, Yaku Pérez, in a complex process full of tensions with CONAIE, which went so far as to call for Pérez’s pre-candidacy to be annulled.22

 ovement Strategies: Institutional Representation Versus M Social Protest The Ecuadorian indigenous movement has been characterised by combining institutional strategies with more disruptive ones, without renouncing any of them. In the words of Luis Macas, a historic indigenous leader, the movement’s idea is that to have influence, “we have to combine the path of protests and mobilisations with that of participation in national and local power bodies. We must not abandon one and prioritise the other” (García, 2013). In this way, uprisings, marches and protest movements have alternated since 1990 with electoral and institutional participation and experience in government. Illustrative of this is, for example, the movement’s participation in two constituent processes, in which through Pachakutik it was represented in the chamber, while CONAIE put pressure on the government in the streets through demonstrations. Thus, in 1997, CONAIE called other social sectors to a Popular Assembly to draft a “People’s Constitution”, which was inaugurated after a National Walk for a Plurinational State, and the resulting document was used to influence discussions within the Constituent Assembly (Bernal, 2000). In 2007, CONAIE repeated a similar strategy, and months before the Assembly was constituted, initiated a grassroots

 Despite announcing his participation in the binomial, Auki Tituaña finally didn’t participate in the 2013 candidacy. Paradoxically, in the second round of 2017, part of the indigenous movement ended up supporting Lasso. More information in El Comercio (2/3/2017), on line: https://www. elcomercio.com/actualidad/politica/pachakutik-elecciones2017-voto-apoyo-guillermolasso.html (last access 10/09/2021). 22  CONAIR requested the cancellation of Pérez’’s candidacy in Pachakutik, disagreeing with the way in which he was chosen as a candidate, although it later supported him in the elections. More information in El Comercio (7/8/2020), online: https://www.elcomercio.com/actualidad/politica/ conaie-anulacion-precandidatura-yaku-perez.html (last access 10/09/2021). 21

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consultation process that ended with a march of ten thousand indigenous people to Quito to deliver the proposal to the Assembly’s president, Alberto Acosta. Also, at local level, the movement has combined institutional participation with more alternative experiences. The most important case was the creation in 2001 of the Coordinating Committee of Alternative Local Governments, promoted by Pachakutik. Originally formed of 29 municipalities and five prefectures, its purpose was to form a network of localities governed by indigenous or mestizo leaders close to the movement, with new practices of democratic innovation in common, such as the recall of mandates, the popular legislative initiative or participatory local planning (Rodríguez Chávez, 2008; Valarezo & Torres, 2004). In terms of more institutional participation, the movement’s main milestones since the 1990s have been related to the creation of its own bodies in the state sphere, with an allocated public budget and administrative, technical and operational autonomy. The main ones were the DINEIB (approved in 1988) in the field of intercultural education and the Dirección Nacional de Salud Indígena (National Directorate of Indigenous Health, DNSI) (1999) in the field of health, although the most important institution in terms of scope was the Consejo de Desarrollo de las Nacionalidades y Pueblos del Ecuador (Ecuadorian Council of Indian Nations and Peoples, CODENPE) (1998), a body managed by the indigenous peoples themselves for the planning, design and implementation of their development projects.23 This institutional structure was maintained until the arrival in power of Rafael Correa, who began a process of centralisation. The process took place within a very combative context, due to the growing confrontation between the president and CONAIE. For Correa, the indigenous institutions were an example of a corporate model that had to be reformed and integrated into the state within its own structures as dependencies of ministries and national directorates (Cartuche, 2020). Thus, in 2007, there was created the Secretariat of Peoples, Social Movements and Citizen Participation, attached to the Presidency, with the aim of integrating different institutions, including CODENPE and Fondo de Desarrollo de las Nacionalidades y Pueblos Indígenas del Ecuador (Fund for the Development of the Indigenous Peoples, FODEPI) into a single structure, which was seen by CONAIE as an attempt by the president to co-opt others into the indigenous movement. However, the tensest moment came in 2009, when Correa decided to withdraw CODENPE’s funds, leaving it only as an implementing body. To justify his

 This Council was complemented with the approval of the Fund for the Development of the Nationalities and Indigenous Peoples of Ecuador (FODEPI) in 2000, to obtain funds from cooperation agencies. Another program was the Project for the Development of Indigenous and Black Peoples of Ecuador (PRODEPINE), approved in 1998 and financed with a loan from the World Bank and FAO, and aimed at promoting development projects in local spaces from the perspective of “ethnodevelopment”. CONAIE rejected the application of the second part of this plan in 2005, considering that it was detrimental to the strengthening of the indigenous organization. 23

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decision, the president argued that the indigenous leadership had turned these bodies into opportunities for clientelism and corrupt management of funds24: What’s going on with CODENPE, gentlemen? Let’s not fool ourselves. This has been a petty cash box of this poor lady Loudes Tibán. Twelve million dollars! So that this lady can campaign politically for her husband, for herself (…) We cannot allow the Ecuadorian people’s money to continue to be managed in this way. CODENPE no longer has a reason to exist. Today CODENPE is the political spoil of a very small, very reduced indigenous leadership, which has used it for its clientelistic ends, for its politicking (…) Let’s not fool ourselves, this money has been squandered (…) CODENPE should be extinguished. (Rafael Correa, Enlace Ciudadano, January 24, 2009)

In 2011, the DINEIB was dismantled and integrated into the Intercultural Bilingual Education System, within the National Education System,25 and in 2012 the draft Organic Law on National Councils for Equality was presented. This was finally approved in 2014, creating the National Council for the Equality of Peoples and Nationalities, which, in practice, meant the abolition of the indigenous institutions.26 Along with these reforms, the government also notified CONAIE that it had to vacate its historic headquarters in Quito and hand it over to the Ministerio de Inclusión Económica y Social (Ministry of Economic and Social Inclusion, MIES),27 terminating the commodate that had been in place since 1991,28 although the decision was finally suspended months later due to indigenous demonstrations and international support.29 The confrontation with Correa caused the indigenous movement to move from being a critical ally at the beginning of his first term in office to becoming the opposition. The closure of institutional spaces, which meant the displacement of CONAIE, together with the confrontation over the country’s development model, led CONAIE to return to a more combative strategy. Social protest was once again the main strategy and a new cycle began, with a succession of demonstrations against extractivist projects promoted by the government, such as the protests against the Mining and Water Laws, the mega-mining projects in Intag and Zamora Chinchipe, the 2012 Plurinational March for Life and the 2015 March for the Life and Dignity of the Peoples. While for the government, these actions were

 The process was paradoxical, since the first measure of the Correa government was the approval of the Organic Law of Public Institutions of Indigenous Peoples (LOIPPI). Its purpose was to provide a higher level of institutionalization to indigenous institutions and to recognize their legal personality, as public law entities. 25  With the approval in 2011 of the Organic Law of Intercultural Education (LOEI). 26  The Law of National Councils includes the repeal of the LOIPPI. 27  Notification from the Ministry of Economic and Social Inclusion informing CONAIE that it must evict its headquarters. Online: https://ia902706.us.archive.org/12/items/NotificacionALaConaie/ Notificacion-fin-comodato-CONAIE.pdf (last access 10/09/2021). 28  The headquarters, located on 6 de Diciembre and Granados avenues, was transferred to CONAIE in 1991 during the government of Rodrigo Borja, through a free loan contract. 29  More information in El Comercio (2/7/2015): https://www.elcomercio.com/actualidad/politica/ gobierno-suspende-desalojo-conaie-sede.html (last access 10/09/2021). 24

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considered acts of lawlessness, for CONAIE they were an expression of citizens’ participation (Lalander & Ospina Peralta, 2012). On the other hand, this confrontation led to a dynamic of political contention that favoured the indigenous movement’s redefinition of its identity, thanks in part to the production of new interpretative frameworks based on environmental protectionism, in a clear example of “environmentalist capitulation” (Máiz, 2004). CONAIE framed the struggle with Correa as a dispute over the concept of plurinationality and the control of natural resources, held the president responsible for environmental damage and risks to Amazonian communities due to his development policies, and oriented its alternative action around the defence of territory and indigenous autonomy, thus recovering its more movement-based agenda (Resina, 2012). These tensions continued until the arrival of Lenín Moreno as president, who recovered some institutional dialogue with the indigenous movement. With a different tone to his discourse, based on reconciliation, Moreno restored CONAIE’s headquarters with a new 100-year lease, and responded to part of the organisation’s demands by pardoning indigenous leaders who had been sentenced for demonstrating against extractivist projects during Correa’s term in office.30 These gestures favoured the convening of a working group between the government and the indigenous movement, but did not halt the movement’s extra-institutional activity, which, at the same time, maintained its protest agenda.31 However, it was in August 2019, when these demonstrations intensified, that CONAIE’s annual assembly decided to break off dialogue with the government due to non-compliance with agreements, especially in relation to extractive policies. A month later, in September, the indigenous movement decided to join the marches called by the Frente Unitario de los Trabajadores (United Workers Front, FUT) in protest at labour reform,32 and in October, together with other social actors (mainly the Popular Front, the National Union of Educators and Ecological Action), it led the demonstrations against the economic cuts approved by the president, which they managed to cancel after paralysing the country for a few days.33 As a result of the protests, CONAIE convened a People’s Parliament, open to other social organisations, with the aim of seeking unity and drawing up a proposal “from the bottom up” for an alternative economic model.34  CONAIE demanded the pardon of 177 social leaders and environmental activists detained in protests, before accepting the government’’s call for dialogue. 31  Among the main mobilizations of this period, the following stand out: the walk to Quito to request amnesty for all those convicted (December 2017); the Great Assembly of the Peoples in Latacunga (April 2018); or the March for water, life and against corruption (November 2018). 32  More information in El Comercio (5/9/2019): https://www.elcomercio.com/actualidad/politica/ marcha-fut-conaie-movimientos-sociales.html (last access 10/09/2021). 33  More information in El Comercio (7/10/2019): https://www.elcomercio.com/actualidad/quito/ conaie-fut-indigenas-quito-dialogo.html (last access 10/09/2021). 34  El Parlamento de los Pueblos retomó el modelo de “Parlamentos de los Pueblos” ya utilizado por la CONAIE durante el proceso constitucional de 1997–1998. En su diseño actualizado, se caracteriza por ser un modelo descentralizado, que se convoca en diferentes localidades y busca el diálogo con las bases. 30

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Conclusions Three issues stand out when we approach the study of indigenous peoples in Ecuador. The first is that it has what is probably the most important indigenous organisation in Latin America: CONAIE, with a public presence at the forefront for more than three decades, and whose importance means that the organisation can be spoken of almost as synonymous with the Ecuadorian indigenous movement. The second is the electoral relevance of an indigenous grassroots party such as Pachakutik, a unique case in the region, which has been competing in elections since 1996 and has managed to consolidate itself as a political option, achieving a significant parliamentary and, above all, territorial presence. The third is that, despite the strength of this organisational structure and the fact that it is a plurinational state, there is a certain lack of institutional development flowing from the 2008 Constitution, without any new formulas for the institutional or territorial translation of plurinationality, or mechanisms for indigenous representation (such as a quota system, co-decision spaces or the effective approval of indigenous autonomies). In relation to these aspects, it can also be said that in the case of Ecuador, when an indigenous movement has a strong organisation, it has weak institutions, and conversely, when a certain degree of indigenous institutionality is obtained, the movement weakens organisationally. This is what happened after the creation of indigenous institutions at the end of the 1990s (DINEIB, FODEPI, CODENPE…) and the failed experience of the Lucio Gutiérrez Government, which led to the greatest erosion of the organisation to date, with divisions within the movement and even the loss of support from other social sectors that had seen the indigenous movement as an opportunity for reform of the political system. Following this rule, the loss of institutional spaces during Rafael Correa’s Government and the movement’s combative relationship with the president opened up a new structure of political opportunity for CONAIE which, when inserted into a dynamic of political contest, configured new interpretative frameworks around the environmental issue. This turning point was particularly relevant as it enabled its revitalisation as a social movement and the beginning of a new political cycle, in which the organisation took up social protest again, through more disruptive practices, with demonstrations, strikes and blockades. This shift also involved a process within the movement, which focused its efforts on consolidating its bases and reformulating alliances with other social actors. The renewed strength of the indigenous movement is particularly visible during Lenín Moreno’s presidency. During the October 2019 protests, CONAIE once again led the country’s demonstrations and, after several days of national strike, succeeded in getting Moreno to withdraw the presidential decree he had approved just a few days earlier and to start negotiations. This can be seen as a triumph for the movement, which, after twenty years, once again managed to influence the country’s politics. These achievements were reflected two years later, in the 2021 elections, in which Pachakutik achieved the best results in its history and an important representation in the National Assembly, which it presides over for the first time.

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However, managing success is once again the movement’s main Achilles’ heel, provoking new internal disputes and rifts, in a complex political context in which the right is in power and Correism retains its parliamentary majority. It remains to be seen whether the new CONAIE presidency will be able to achieve the desired unity of the movement or whether, on the contrary, the same old cycle will continue, with a progressive loss of the movement’s influence.35

ANEXO: Index of Acronyms

Acronym CEPAL CODENPE CONACNIE CONAICE CONAIE CONFENIAE COOTAD CTI DINEIB DNSI ECUARUNARI FEDEPICNE FEI FEINE FENOC FENOCIN FODEPI FOIN FOISE FUT GAD IIE INEC LOEI LOIPPI MIES MUPP-NP

Name Comisión Económica para América Latina y el Caribe Consejo de Desarrollo de las Nacionalidades y Pueblos del Ecuador Consejo Nacional de las Nacionalidades Indígenas del Ecuador Confederación de Nacionalidades y Pueblos Indígenas de la Costa Ecuatoriana Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas del Ecuador Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas de la Amazonía Ecuatoriana Código Orgánico de Organización Territorial, Autonomía y Descentralización Circunscripción Territorial Indígena Dirección Nacional de Educación Intercultural Bilingüe Dirección Nacional de Salud Indígena Confederación de Pueblos de la Nacionalidad Kichwa del Ecuador Federación de Pueblos Indígenas Campesinos y Negros del Ecuador Federación Ecuatoriana de Indios Federación Ecuatoriana de Indígenas Evangélicos Federación Nacional de Organizaciones Campesinas Confederación Nacional de Organizaciones Campesinas, Indígenas y Negras Fondo de Desarrollo de las Nacionalidades y Pueblos Indígenas del Ecuador Federación de Organizaciones Indígenas del Napo Federación de Nacionalidades Indígenas de Sucumbíos Frente Unitario de Trabajadores Gobierno Autónomo Descentralizado Instituto Indigenista Ecuatoriano Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos. Ley Orgánica de Educación Intercultural Ley Orgánica de las Instituciones Públicas de Pueblos Indígenas Ministerio de Inclusión Económica y Social Movimiento de Unidad Plurinacional Pachakutik-Nuevo País

 Leónidas Iza was elected president of CONAIE in June 2021. In his inauguration speech, he assured that his main objective would be to achieve the unity of the indigenous movement. More information in: El Comercio (27/6/2021): https://www.elcomercio.com/actualidad/politica/leonidas-iza-presidente-conaie-indigenas.html (last access 10/09/2021). 35

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Name Necesidades Básicas Insatisfechas Organización Internacional del Trabajo Organización de Pueblos Indígenas de Pastaza Movimiento Patria Altiva y Soberana Partido Comunista Ecuatoriano Partido Socialista Ecuatoriano Secretaría Nacional de Planificación y Desarrollo

References Albó, X. (2008). Movimientos y poder indígena en Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú (Vol. 71). Cipca. Alcántara, M. (1991). Sobre el concepto de países en vías de consolidación democrática en América Latina. Revista de estudios políticos, 74, 113–130. Altmann, P. (2014). Good life as a social movement proposal for natural resource use: The indigenous movement in Ecuador. Consilience, 12, 82–94. Assies, W. (2009). Pueblos indígenas y sus demandas en los sistemas políticos. Revista CIDOB d’Afers Internacionals, 89–107. Becker, M. (2007). Comunistas, indigenistas e indígenas en la formación de la Federación Ecuatoriana de Indios y el Instituto Indigenista Ecuatoriano. Iconos. Revista de Ciencias Sociales, 27, 135–144. Becker, M. (2011). Correa, indigenous movements, and the writing of a new constitution in Ecuador. Latin American Perspectives, 38(1), 47–62. Becker, M. (2012). The limits of indigenismo in Ecuador. Latin American Perspectives, 39(5), 45–62. Becker, M., & Stahler-Sholk, R. (2019). Indigenous movements in Latin America. In Oxford research encyclopedia of politics. Becker, M., & Tutillo, S. (2009). Historia agraria y social de Cayambe. Flacso-Sede Ecuador. Bernal, A.  M. (2000). De la exclusión étnica a derechos colectivos: Un análisis político del Ecuador. Abya Yala. Brysk, A. (2004). From civil society to collective action: The politics of religion in Ecuardor. In E. L. Cleary & T. J. Steigenga (Eds.), Resurgent voices in Latin America. Indigenous peoples, political mobilization, and religious change. Rutger University Press. Burguete, A. (2010). La autonomía indígena: la polisemia de un concepto. A modo de prólogo. In P.  L. Flores & L.  G. Guerreiro (Eds.), Movimientos indígenas y autonomías en América Latina. CLACSO. Cabrero, F., & Merino, T. (2015). Desafíos en la construcción del Estado plurinacional: El caso de las Circunscripciones Territoriales Indígenas en el Ecuador. Huellas del Sumaco, 14, 42–28. Cartuche, I. (2020). De la plurinacionalidad del Estado a los gobiernos comunitarios. In M. M. Abarca (Ed.), ¡Así encendimos la mecha! Treinta años del levantamiento indígena de Ecuador: una historia permanente. Abya-Yala. CEPAL. (2016). La matriz de la desigualdad en América Latina. CONAIE. (1994). Proyecto Político de la CONAIE. Del Águila, A. (2014). Constituciones, ciudadanía y población indígena en los Andes, s. XIX: los casos de Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú. Politai, 5(8), 31–47. Espinosa, L., & Larco, C. (2012). El pensamiento político de los movimientos sociales. Figueroa, D. (2020). Mujeres indígenas del Ecuador: La larga marcha por el empoderamiento y la formación de liderazgos. In M.M. Abarca (Ed.), ¡Así encendimos la mecha! Treinta años del levantamiento indígena de Ecuador: una historia permanente.

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Freidenberg, F. (2008). El sueño frustrado de la gobernabilidad: instituciones, actores y política informal en Ecuador. Documentos CIDOB América Latina; 24. García, F. (2003). Política, Estado y diversidad cultural: a propósito del movimiento indígena ecuatoriano. Estado, etnicidad y movimientos sociales en América Latina: Ecuador en crisis. García, F. (2013). Balance de la participación electoral indígena en Ecuador: 1996-2013. Democracias. Consejo Nacional Electoral, 1(Octubre–Decembre), 217–243. García, F. (2018). La relación entre un movimiento social (CONAIE) y un movimiento político (Pachakutik) en cuatro gobiernos locales de la Sierra y Amazonia ecuatoriana. Guerrero, A. (1997). The construction of a Ventriloquist’s image: Liberal discourse and the ‘Miserable Indian race’in late 19th-century Ecuador. Journal of Latin American Studies, 29(3), 555–590. Ibarra, P. (2005). Manual de sociedad civil y movimientos sociales (Síntesis Editorial ed.). INEC. (2010). VII Censo de Población y VI de Vivienda. Isaacs, A. (1990). Los problemas de consolidación democrática en Ecuador. FLACSO. Kriesi, H. (1999). La estructura organizacional de los nuevos movimientos sociales en su contexto político. In D. McAdam, J.D. McCarthy, & M. Zald (Eds.), Movimientos Sociales: perspectivas comparadas (Istmo ed.). Lagos, M. L., & Calla, P. (2007). Antropología del estado: dominación y prácticas contestatorias en América Latina (Vol. 23). Plural editores. Lalander, R., & Ospina Peralta, P. (2012). Movimiento indígena y revolución ciudadana en Ecuador. Cuestiones políticas, 28(48), 13–50. Madrid, R. L. (2005). Indigenous parties and democracy in Latin America. Latin American Politics and Society, 47(4), 161–179. Máiz, R. (2004). El indigenismo político en América Latina. Revista de estudios políticos, 123, 129–174. Martínez, L. (1995). Dinámica de los campesinos-artesanos en la sierra central del Ecuador. Debate Agrario, 23, 69. Martínez Novo, C. (2018). Discrimination and Coloniality in Rafael Correa’s Ecuador (2007-2017). Alteridades, 28(55), 49–60. Pacari, N. (2020). Reflexiones sobre el proyecto político de la CONAIE: logros y vigencia. In M.M. Abarca (Ed.), (p. 13). Abya Yala. Pachano, S. (2003). Democracia, orden y conflicto: Ecuador 1979-1994*. Democracia, gobernabilidad y cultura política, 107. Pachano, S. (2008). El precio del poder: izquierda, democracia y clientelismo en Ecuador. Segundo Coloquio Internacional de Ciencia Política Gobiernos de izquierda en Iberoamérica en el siglo XX. Pajuelo, R. (2007). Reinventando comunidades imaginadas: movimientos indígenas, nación y procesos sociopolíticos en los países centroandinos. Instituto de Estudios peruanos. Radcliffe, S. A. (2015). Dilemmas of difference. Duke University Press. Ramírez, F. (2011). Fragmentación, reflujo y desconcierto. Movimientos sociales y cambio político en el Ecuador (2000-2010). Una década en movimiento, 69. Resina, J. (2012). La plurinacionalidad en disputa: el pulso entre Correa y la CONAIE. Dinámica y marcos discursivos de la contienda por lo plurinacional. Abya Yala. Resina, J. (2015). La transformación del Estado y el rol del movimiento indígena durante el Gobierno de Correa. Abya Yala. Rodríguez Chávez, H. E. (2008). Gobernanza local en Ecuador, un proceso visto desde la comunidad. FLACSO, Sede Académica de México. Sánchez, F. (2008). ¿Democracia no lograda o democracia malograda?: un análisis del sistema político del Ecuador, 1979–2002. Flacso-Sede Ecuador. Sawyer, S. (1997). The 1992 Indian mobilization in lowland Ecuador. Latin American Perspectives, 24(3), 65–82. SENPLADES. (2017). Plan Nacional de Desarrollo 2017–2021. Stavenhagen, R. (2006). La presión desde abajo: derechos humanos y multiculturalismo. Multiculturalismo. Desafíos y perspectivas, 213–240.

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Valarezo, G.  R., & Torres, V.  H. (2004). El desarrollo local en el Ecuador: historia, actores y métodos. Editorial Abya Yala. Van Cott, D.  L. (2000). The friendly liquidation of the past: The politics of diversity in Latin America. University of Pittsburgh Pre. Van Cott, D. L. (2003). Cambio institucional y partidos étnicos en Suramérica. Análisis Político, 48, 26–51. Van Cott, D. L. (2005). From movements to parties in Latin America: The evolution of ethnic politics. Cambridge University Press. Van Cott, D.  L. (2007). Latin America’s indigenous peoples. Journal of Democracy, 18(4), 127–142. Yashar, D. J. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America: The rise of indigenous movements and the postliberal challenge. Cambridge University Press. Zamosc, L. (1994). Agrarian protest and the Indian movement in the Ecuadorian highlands. Latin American Research Review, 29(3), 37–68. Zamosc, L. (2007). The Indian movement and political democracy in Ecuador. Latin American Politics and Society, 49(3), 1–34. Jorge Resina  holds PhD in Political Science (Complutense University of Madrid, Spain). He is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science and Public Administration and vicedean of the Faculty of Political Science and Sociology at the Complutense University of Madrid (UCM), Spain. He is also co-­director of the UCM Research Group “Mobilization, Political Contention and Social Change” (MOVICON) and researcher at the Complutense Institute of Administration Sciences (ICCA).

Chapter 4

Indigenous Political Representation in Guatemala Mélany Barragán

Introduction Guatemala is one of the most populous countries in Central America. The current population (2020) is 17,773,707 and its population density is 433 people per mi2. According to the Guatemalan Institute of Statistics (ENCOVI, 2018) approximately 41% are indigenous; 40% are mestizo, 18% white, and 1% Garifuna. However, according to other organizations, the indigenous population represents 60% of the total. These percentages make it the second country in Latin America with the largest indigenous population, only behind Bolivia. Guatemala is home to 24 principal ethnic groups. The principal indigenous groups are the Archi’, the Akateco, the Awateco, the Chalchiteco, the Ch’orti’, the Vhuj, the Itzá, the Ixil, the Jacalteco, the Kaqchikel, the K’iche, the Mam, the Mopan, the Poqoman, the Poqomchi’, the Q’anjob’al, the Q’eqchi’, the Sakalpulteco, the Sipakapense, the Tektiteko, the Tz’utujil, the Uspanteko, and the Xinka. There are also persons of African ancestry in Guatemala who originate from three groups: Afro-mestizos, Garífuna, and Afro-Caribbean Creole. Although Spanish is the national language of Guatemala, its ethnic diversity is also reflected in the existence of 23 other languages, spoken by more than 40% of population. Twenty-one Mayan languages are spoken, especially in rural areas, as well as two non-Mayan languages: Xinca, an indigenous language, and Garifuna, an Arawakan language spoken on the Caribbean coast. The indigenous groups are dispersed throughout the country, especially in the highlands. The largest populations are in rural departments north and west of Guatemala City, Alta Verapaz, Sololá, Totonicapán, and Quiché. The racial groups of African descent live in the country’s eastern end. Some Garifunas live mainly in Livingston, San Vicente, and Puerto Barrios. M. Barragán (*) University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_4

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Even when the country still lacks a differentiated base on indigenous peoples, it is well-known that there are disparities between the indigenous and the non-­ indigenous population in the conditions they live in. In general terms, poverty and inequality in the country are persistently high. According to the World Bank Database (2019), poverty affects 48.8% of the population and extreme poverty to 8.7%. Given the slow reduction in the poverty rate, the number of people living in poverty is projected to increase by more than 175,000 between 2019 and 2021. Although inequalities persist across geographical areas and among ethnic groups, indigenous peoples continue to be particularly disadvantaged. In fact, there are “two Guatelamas”: one very wealthy and elitist, and one poor, with large gaps in both social and economic outcomes. With respect to wealth, the latest available official census indicates that the poverty rate in the indigenous population (79.2%) was 1.7 times higher than that of the non-indigenous population (46.6%). Extreme poverty affects 21.8% of the indigenous people, compared to the 7.4% of the non-indigenous population (ENCOVI, 2014). Poverty has strong links to income levels. In Guatemala, half of the indigenous population continues to be employed in low wage-agriculture. But that is not all. In 2012, Maya K’iche’ activist groups indicated that, along with poor pay, the working conditions suffered by rural indigenous people continued to leave much to be desired. Likewise, in aggregate terms – not only in the agricultural sector – the informal economy especially affects the indigenous population. The National Employment and Income Survey (2014) found that 80.3% of indigenous people were working in the informal sector, in contrast to just 57.7% for non-indigenous people. In terms of education, the literacy rate in the over-15 age group is 79.1% (86.1% in urban areas and 71.4 in rural areas). However, among the indigenous population this rate falls to 64.7%, affecting even more indigenous women whose literacy rate is 57.6%. The healthcare system also shows significant inequalities. Indigenous generally reside in poverty-stricken areas, and therefore have limited access to the healthcare that is available to non-indigenous population. Besides, there is a language barrier: generally, the indigenous population of Guatemala speak only mayan languages, but most of the medical professionals speak Spanish language. Communicating health becomes an obstacle, which in turn causes indigenous people to avoid healthcare centers altogether. All the indicators show the situation of vulnerability in which Guatemala’s indigenous communities find themselves, despite constituting a high percentage of the country’s total population. Under this situation, there is a major problem. Guatemala continues to struggle with the legacy of its recent history of political violence, particularly toward indigenous peoples. This has had an impact on different spheres of Guatemalan social and political reality, including the sphere of representation. Guatemala stands out as a case in which an indigenous movement–based political party “failed” to form despite seemingly conducive conditions (Pallister, 2013).

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In short, indigenous peoples continue to be marginalized and discriminated against in today’s Guatemala. Far from being full and equal partners with the rest of the population, indigenous people are culturally discriminated against, economically marginalized, and politically excluded. Despite de emergence of indigenist parties during the democratic period and the increase in the number of legislators of indigenous origin, they still remain unimportant in view of the demographic and cultural weight of the indigenous peoples in the nation, and in no way represents the degree of ethnic diversity in the country. This situation makes Guatemala an interesting case study, as it makes it possible to identify the structural conditions that have made it difficult for a country with a large percentage of its indigenous population to consolidate any indigenous party or to achieve specific guarantees of representation for this group.

Antecedents: Spanish Colonial Rule, Oligarchy, and Civil War To understand the articulation of indigenous representation in Guatemala, it is necessary to make a brief review of its history. In this sense, the process of independence is a turning point. After Spanish colonial rule, Guatemala become independent in 1821 and an oligarchic state, which excluded the indigenous population, was then created (Chamarbagwala & Moran, 2010). The new regime established racist precepts and practices, and served to protect the economic interests of the privileged creole minority. The State gradually evolved as an instrument for the protection of the concentration of productive wealth in the hands of the non-indigenous population, guaranteeing the continuity of social exclusion and injustice. The end of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century were characterized by continuous political crises, coups d’état, dictatorships, and long periods of instability. The Revolution of October 1994 wanted to end decades of injustice and inequalities, leading a national and reformist project designed to make progress toward economic, social, and cultural development. The two reformist regimes of Juan José Arévalo (1946–1951) and Jacobo Arbenz (1951–1954) threatened the interests of powerful traditional actors, based on the old model of accumulation on the exploitation of the indigenous and mestizo labor dice and the concentration of land ownership, a pattern initiated through violent dispossession of indigenous lands after the 1871 liberal reform. But in 1954, Arbenz was overthrown and an authoritarian right-wing government was installed. After 6 years of authoritarian rule, from 1954 to 1960, a group of military officers revolted in 1960. Although the coup was not efficient and failed, the military group became guerrillas and continued the struggle. The group also received support from the Guatemalan Labor Party (PGT) or Communist Party, as well as other groups that emerged during this time. A chronic status of inequality and the political exclusion, linked to the cold war confrontation, were decisive in the Guatemalan civil war (Perera and Chauche, 1995). Throughout the 1960s, indigenous communities radicalized as a

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consequence of Church-backed development initiatives, the ideological influence of liberation theology, and an increasingly desperate struggle for land and economic survival (Le Bot et al., 1995). By the late 1970s violent state repression forced activists attempting to secure land and fairer wages underground. Many younger indigenous joined the guerrilla, which was committed to incorporating them into the armed revolutionary struggle. For 36  years (1960–1996), the country was plunged into a civil war in which there were nine military heads of state and only one civilian president (albeit under military rule). This period is key to understanding the situation of the indigenous population. According to the United Nations Commission for Historical Clarification (CEH), during the Civil War, the Guatemalan army and paramilitaries indiscriminately persecuted indigenous communities, union leaders, students, religious people, and other civilians under the theory that they formed a subversive ‘internal enemy’. The worst period of violence was between 1982 and 1983, when counter-­ insurgent forces promoted a campaign of systematic repression of genocide against the Mayan people. Taking from a historical dislike of the indigenous people of Guatemala, the state justified the extermination of approximately 440 indigenous communities by saying that they were part of a communist plot against the government (Gulden, 2002). In parallel, the Guatemalan army forced integration of the indigenous into the national counter-insurgency project (Popkin, 1996). That imposition aggravated local divisions and gave pre-existing conflicts a lethal edge as villagers denounced each other to the army as guerrilla sympathizers (Zur, 1994). In the latest 1980s, the civil war opened a limited political space for the indigenism. The organization of civil opposition groups increased and the civilian rule returned. A Constitutional Assembly was set up, elections were held and Vinicio Cerezo was elected as president. The 1985 Constitution officially recognized the multiethnic nature of the country and indigenous organizations began to emerge and lobby for greater participation and rights for indigenous people on the basis of ethnic entitlement (Sieder & Witchell, 2001). Even when de indigenous activism emerged in the late 1970s with the Committee of Campesino Unity (CUC), ethnic mobilization did not emerge until the mid-to-­ late 1980s (Pallister, 2013). By 1986, over 85% of members of the Mutual Support Group (GAM), founded in 1984 by families of disappeared, were indigenous women. In 1988, the widows’ organization CONAVIGUA was set up with a membership almost totally indigenous. The Ethnic Council Runujel Junam (CERJ) and CONDEG, set up in 1989 to represent displaced populations in the cities and rural areas, were also predominantly indigenous (Sieder & Witchell, 2001). This social mobilization is also contextualized in the wave of pacification in Central America, which began in 1983 with the Contadora Group. Although that initiative was not successful, in 1988 the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity (URNG) and a National Reconciliation Commission met on several occasions and engaged in peace talks.

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After successive crises that hindered the process and led to President Jorge Serrano Elías’ self-coup in 1993, the peace process was resumed under the presidency of Ramiro León de Carpio. In January 1994, representatives of the Guatemalan government and URNG signed a framework agreement to initiate the peace process. The repression of indigenous identity during the war generated an increased awareness of indigenous rights within the peace process (Warren, 1998). The international context was also favorable to the indigenous cause. The 1992 quincentenary of the Spanish Conquest strengthened the idea that indigenous rights had to occupy the agenda of governmental and non-governmental organizations. Furthermore, the 1992 award of the Nobel peace prize to Guatemalan Mayan activist, Rigoberta Menchú, confirmed the international relevance of the indigenous claims (Nelson, 1999). In this context, and supported by the United Nations, the Agreement on the Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples, signed by the URNG and the Guatemalan Government in March 1995, represents an official commitment to improving the political representation and socioeconomic participation of indigenous people. One year later, in December 1996, Guatemalan President Alvaro Arzú and the leaders of an indigenous rebel group signed an historic peace treaty, after more than three decades of civil war. The peace accord called for reforms and promi­ sed improvements regarding human rights violations against the indigenous population. However, although the peace agreement was the start of significant changes to Guatemala, many problems have thwarted progress in several areas. Major problems have been corruption, bureaucracy, and self-interest prevalent in political positions in the country. Alongside this, the lack of institutional representation of some population groups should also be noted (Salvesen, 2002). In that sense, the extreme poverty and inequality, which have not been adequately addressed by the authorities, have played an important role. As noted in the introduction, the indigenous population remains disadvantaged both in terms of wealth, education, and access to public services. Although the accords acknowledged the historical vulnerability and exploitation of this group, it did not outline effectively specific approaches to suit their needs (Stanley & Holiday, 2000). As a consequence, this has allowed the permanence of a racist society unable to collaborate with each other. The occupation of land, an aspect of vital importance to the indigenous communities, has also not been satisfactorily resolved by the Guatemalan authorities (Gauster & Ryan Isakson, 2007). The lack of resources, the vague guidelines, and corruption have been problematic in the reincorporation of displaced populations. Finally, the accords have also failed in terms of justice and reparation (Johnston & Slyomovics, 2009). The Civil National Police Force, created after the war, has proved unable to collaborate in prosecutions against human rights crimes.

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 eak Official Multiculturalism, Inequality, W and Discrimination In Guatemala, official multiculturalism is weak and relatively recent (Sieder, 2007). Although some measures focused on the indigenous population were introduced in the final stage of the civil war and the 1985 Constitution recognized the multiethnic nature of the country (see Table 4.1), it was not until the negotiation of the peace that the indigenous issue became more relevant. The Agreement of the Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples, signed by the government of Guatemala and the URNG, committed the Guatemalan state to implement a series of reforms recognizing indigenous peoples’ collective rights. Among the rights set out in the agreement were the right to be subject to customary law, the right to bilingual education, and protections for communally held lands but excluded territorially based autonomy arrangements.

Table 4.1  Inclusion for indigenous peoples in Guatemala. Timeline of approved legislation Year Reform/approved legislation 1985 The 1985 Constitution provided a basis for recognizing indigenous authorities, their norms, procedures, and decisions. Article 58 states “the right of people and communities to their cultural identity in accordance with their values, language and customs shall be recognized”. Article 66 states that “Guatemala is formed by diverse ethnic groups amongst whom are indigenous groups of Mayan descent. The state recognizes, respects and promotes their ways of life, customs, traditions, forms of social organization, use of indigenous dress by men and women, languages and dialects” 1986 Decree number 48-86 created the Alphabetization Law, which guarantees each person the right to choose the language (indigenous or Spanish) in which he or she wants to learn the read and write (Article 5). The Law also recognized pre-existing linguistic pluralism in the country 1991 Decree number 12-91 created the National Education Law, which defines the importance and preeminence of bilingual education in accordance with Guatemala’s multilingual, multiethnic, and pluri-cultural society 1995 In March, Guatemala passed the Agreement on the Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Signed as a part of the Peace Agreements, this document urged the State to recognize and define the identity of Indigenous peoples; fight against discrimination; protect the rights of indigenous women; ratify ILO 169; promote indigenous languages in the education system; and recognize the right of indigenous peoples to define their own development priorities and the autonomy to define their own methods of organization 1996 Guatemala ratified ILO 169 2001 Decree 12-2002 created the Municipal Code, which recognizes that indigenous communities have their own methods of organization, according to their own norms and their own authorities. It also recognizes the right to consultation when certain decisions and policies affect the indigenous population 2003 Decree 19-2003 created the Law on National Languages, which decrees that the state should provide basic services like health, education, justice, and security in different indigenous languages Source: The Global Americas (2017)

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It was only the first step in a struggle that continued with the proposal of a constitutional reform. The aim of these was to ensure the protection of the right of indigenous people to select their own authorities and to develop and apply their own forms of law within their communities. After complex negotiations, a package of constitutional reforms was approved by the Congress in October 1998 but when it was presented to the electorate for approval, it was rejected based on an 18% turnout of the electorate. In addition to the attempt of constitutional reform, Guatemala ratified the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention (ILO) 169, which provided indigenous people the right to administer their own forms of justice, the respect to their human rights, and the obligation of the state to respect the decisions reached by indigenous groups and their specific forms of justice. Its ratification was highly controversial and several legislators tried to block its adoption claiming that the convention was incompatible with the Constitution. However, the Constitutional Court held that there was no contradiction with the constitutional text (Fulmer et al., 2008). Later, in 2002 the Municipal Code recognized the right of indigenous groups to have their own methods of organization, according to their own norms and with their own authorities. Lastly, since 2003, there is also a National Languages Act, which establishes that in all places where the majority of the population speaks an indigenous language, officials of institutions must know it and attend to people using it. However, the problem is that there is no real up-to-date census to establish how many speakers there are of each indigenous language and how many of them practice and/or write it, as this would require financial resources that are not available. Along with the normative-legal field, it is relevant to pay attention to the participation of indigenous people in political organizations. In terms of representation, indigenous peoples are mostly excluded from political life and decision-making. In contrast to several other Latin American countries, Guatemala has not consolidated a viable indigenous-based political party. Despite the prominence of the Mayan social movement, indigenous groups have foregone a national political party in favor of a more dispersed pattern of political mobilization at the local level (Pallister, 2013). There are several reasons for this circumstance. First, from a historical point of view, there is no tradition in Guatemalan indigenous groups of organizing themselves into a political party. Despite their social activism, indigenous groups have launched few party initiatives and most of them have been unsuccessful. This may be explained, at least in part, because even after the civil war, the legacy of repression posed serious obstacles to the translation of indigenous mobilization in social movement organizations into political power through the party system (Birnir, 2006; Martí i Puig, 2008). Indigenous have known that anything interpreted as a threat to the state might elicit a violent response (Adams, 1994:167). Thus, indigenous participation has generally been organized taking the form of individual participation in non-indigenous parties and short-lived efforts at creating parties around prominent indigenous leaders.

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From the institutional point of view, the system has not facilitated the entry of indigenous parties either. The country’s party system is among the most fragmented and fluid in the region and the left is electorally weak, leaving ample opportunity for new parties to form that address issues of indigenous rights. In addition, there are many differences across more than 20 indigenous groups, which reinforce divisions among communities and provoke cleavages along a number of axes (Spence & Vickers, 1998; Warren, 1998). Added to the cultural and religious differences, there are also factional and ideological divides. Although these divisions have not overshadowed the shared sense of indigenous identity, they have hindered the organizational unity of the movement (Montejo, 2002). In fact, any indigenous-based political party emerged from the Mayan movement in Guatemala until the formation of Rigoberta Menchú’s new party, WINAQ, in 2007. The only previous experience was the National Front of Indigenous Integration, but it was formed during the authoritarian period and discredited when it supported the repressive Lucas García government (1979–1982). Along with these experiences, some efforts to create other indigenous-based parties can be related. In 1995, the New Guatemala Democratic Front (FDNG) was formed, before the incorporation of the guerrillas of the URNG. Despite significant indigenous participation through a coalition of Mayan organizations in the FDNG, the party was not widely considered an indigenous party but rather a popular leftist party (Warren, 2001). Other efforts have included ex-minister of education Alfredo Tay Coyoy’s brief flirtation with forming a political party and Rigoberto Quemé Chay’s consideration of a presidential candidacy in 2003 in alliance with several small political parties (Montejo, 2005; Pallister, 2013). As a general rule, the Guatemalan indigenous groups make use of other channels of political participation, both in official institutions and from their own of organization. On the one hand, they participate in public institutions by contributing members to the Presidential Commission against Indigenous People (CODISRA), the Academy of Mayan Languages of Guatemala (ALMG), the Office for the Defence of Indigenous Women (DEMI), the Indigenous Development Fund of Guatemala (FODIGUA), and the Urban and Rural Development Councils. Furthermore, the National Congress has an Indigenous People’s Commission and the Office of Human Rights has an Office for the Defence of Indigenous Peoples. On the other hand, with regard to participation from their own forms of organization, historically the indigenous had their own brotherhoods and municipalities, in which they proceeded according to their internal customs. Some of these institutions still exist in the departments with a majority indigenous population. Besides, for decisions in their internal affairs, indigenous communities seek consensus and indigenous justice is administered according to the customs of each group.

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Representation Electoral Representation Laws and Representation The design of the Guatemalan electoral system is a consequence of the process of the transition to democracy initiated in the 1980s. With the promulgation of the 1985 Constitution and the Electoral Law and Political Parties (LEPP), the new electoral system allowed citizens to choose their authorities. The President is elected by an absolute majority, in a double-round system (art.201 LEPP), mayors by a relative majority (art.202 LEEP), and the 160 deputies are elected by a proportional minority system that combines two types of candidate lists: one through a territorially based district system and the other through a National List (art. 205 LEPP). Regarding the right to vote, active and passive, the Constitution determines that it is universal. However, there are some barriers that limit the right to vote and which particularly affect the indigenous population. In this regard, it should be mentioned that neither the Constitution nor the Electoral Law makes any special mention of indigenous people, so there is no particularity in the right to vote for this group. Even when in April 2016 reforms to the Law on Elections and Political Parties (LEPP) were approved by congress, provisions requiring a quota for indigenous representation on political party lists did not make it into the final version of the bill despite strong support from civil society and a positive review from the Constitutional Court. Although there are no official records with the percentage of electoral participation of indigenous people, it is clear that there are obstacles to their full participation. On the one hand, there are institutional barriers because among the constitutional requirements for becoming voter is the possession of a cedula (identity card) and the registration in the voters list. Nevertheless, a large part of the population can’t obtain their identity card because of the cost involved (Jan, 2005; Nevitte et  al., 2008). These include, for example, travel to urban or more populated areas and the loss of working days to obtain the document. Besides, there is also a concentration of polling stations in the cities, reproducing the same problems as for obtaining the cedula. In that sense, indigenous voters in Guatemala still face significant issues when it comes to access to suffrage. The tedious voter registration process, elections that are scheduled during harvest season and the inadequate transportation to voting sites create obstacles to them taking full advantage of that constitutional right, and disproportionately affect the ability of indigenous citizens to vote (Gillooly, 2019). These institutional barriers are often linked to others of a socio-cultural nature as, for example, the lack of bilingual education (Martin, 2003). In that sense, electoral observation showed that in almost 70% of municipalities, voters are unable to participate in their first language and, while more than 40% of the Guatemalan population is indigenous, indigenous people comprised only 17% of polling station staff (National Democratic Institute, 2020).

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On the other hand, there are motivational barriers caused by the deficiency of information and the exclusion. Firstly, because indigenous have not been included in the institutions, especially on the national level. Despite the attempts to adopt a quota for indigenous representation on political parties, they have not been approved. Secondly, there is still the challenge of getting indigenous issues on the agenda. Traditionally, Guatemalan parties had approached the indigenous issue solely from the perspective of inclusion or the recognition of cultural values in an intercultural model of exclusions. However, for a long time they have not addressed structural issues such as the possibility of self-government, land ownership rights, or the conservation of their natural areas. With regard to the entry of indigenous people into institutions, Fig. 4.1 shows the percentage of indigenous deputies in Congress for the period 1986–2020. Since 1986, the highest percentage of representation for indigenous people has been around 11.5%. According to indigenous electoral observation missions conducted by “Organization Indígena Naleb”, there have been an increasing number of Mayan candidates running for congress, but there are problems that persist in preventing the full participation of indigenous peoples in institutions, including language barriers, political clientelism, and even violence. Besides, many of Guatemala’s indigenous groups are not represented in Congress at all. Nonetheless, having indigenous legislators in Congress does not necessarily translate to increased representation of indigenous causes (Mathieu & Lazzari, 2005). Until the last legislature, the complex indigenous problem was treated in a partial manner and in some specific aspects by the parties, without concrete proposals on land, racism, or inclusion of indigenous women. Few indigenous intellectuals in Guatemala argue that, in fact, the public spaces opened to indigenous participation – including the Congress – are little more than “small windows of inclusion” (Casaus Arzú, 2007:151). It means that it is acceptable for indigenous people to

Fig. 4.1  % Indigenous peoples in the Guatemalan Congress (1986–2020). (Source: Guatemalan National Congress. Own elaboration)

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enjoy certain rights as long as they do not demand the rest of their rights (Hale, 2004). This would explain the modest demands proposed by the indigenous representatives in Congress. In the last legislature, the spectrum of proposals was broadened and new issues were introduced into the agenda. During the period 2016–2020, indigenous legislators have presented a total of thirteen initiatives related to indigenous issues. These include initiatives addressed regulating mining industry, protecting the right to protest, recognizing cultural issues, and defending indigenous rights, such as economic development, access to land, and access to services as multi-cultural education. In any case, no substantive reforms have been approved in this regard. In appointed positions, the under-representation of indigenous people has been and continues to be much greater: since 1985, only six of the approximately 150 people who have held a ministry have been indigenous. On four occasions they have taken over the Ministry of Culture and Sports, a unit with very limited resources. This fact points to one of the reasons for the continued political marginalization of the Maya: the resistance of most of the political class (white and mestizo) to opening up spaces for indigenous people in their political formations (Rull, 2012). Their under-representation in the leadership of almost all parties and in their lists of candidates for deputies is further evidence of this lack of openness. The local level is an area of greater indigenous representation. But this openness is often the result of a simple calculation by national politicians: they find it more functional to weave alliances with local personalities, rather than to set up costly (and, in their view, useless) party structures outside the electoral period. Ideological coincidence plays a secondary to zero role in these agreements, which are sometimes limited to simple transactions: the local leader takes advantage of the party’s label to run for election, and the party expects the followers of that leader to vote for its presidential candidate as well. From there to those parties giving these leaders prominence beyond their locality, there is a stretch that is rarely traveled (Iturralde, 2007). As a result of these “exchanges” or other phenomena, the presence of Mayan mayors has increased greatly in recent years. However, equal opportunities between indigenous and non-indigenous people have not been established for access to the main position of local authority. Currently, a quarter of the municipalities with an indigenous majority still have a Ladino mayor. By contrast, the reverse situation is exceptional: in 25  years, there have only been three cases of indigenous mayors elected in mainly Ladino municipalities.

Parties and Ethnic Cleavages Guatemalan party system is a constantly changing system. Since 1985, when the Constitution was approved, no party has managed to win the presidency of the Republic more than once. For this reason, some authors have described the Guatemalan system a fluid party system (Artiga, 2000) or even a non-party system

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(Sánchez, 2009). The frequency of change in the nomenclature of the parties and in the political affiliation of the deputies makes possible to find new parties that, without having run for election, have representatives in parliament due to the very common custom of transfuguism. High fragmentation is combined with low ideological polarization and weak nationalization, with electoral support not evenly spread throughout the territory. In this sense, it is important to point out that, traditionally, the fragmentation of the party system has not corresponded to the ethnic and left-right social cleavages. Some authors have pointed out that the high level of fragmentation is due precisely to the fact that for decades there was no indigenous party and this caused this group of the population to split its vote (García Díaz et al., 2005). Political parties have long underestimated the importance of the ethnic component. Despite the fact that there is strong indigenous militancy in the different parties, especially in  local groups, party organizations have not made an effort to incorporate indigenous demands or to create spaces in their agendas to address the specificities of this group (Sáenz de Tejada, 2005). In the post-conflict era, the Guatemalan Republican Front, FRG, triumphed, thus ending the political cycle that revolved around peace, and began what we can call the “post-conflict normalization” of the country. During this period, most of the actions taken by the political parties in relation to ethnic difference were based on the use of a politically correct multicultural discourse  – “indigenous peoples”, “intercultural bilingual education”, “sacred places”, “cosmovision” – accompanied by gestures that show this new attitude. The entry of Mayan public figures into relatively high government positions  – Ministry of Culture, Secretariat of Peace, General Directorate of Bilingual Education  – was promoted; and specific spaces were created for policy management for the Mayans, managed by Mayans. This presence is mainly in the Executive Branch, but the Judicial Branch also has a whole process of presence and awareness, especially around the “articulation” between indigenous law and positive law (Sieder, 2006). In the Legislative, however, the institutional presence was as weak as the Mayan presence in the benches, which was reduced to a Commission of Indigenous Communities. However, during this period, no party attempted to change the form of the State to accommodate its multicultural reality, but simply gave space to the indigenous population. In any case, the indigenous people’s capacity to act was quite limited and many times the entrance into the institutions had a high cost: the distance with their bases (Bastos, 2009). It was not until 2007 that the first indigenous-based party emerged. WINAQ, led by Nobel Peace Prize winner Rigoberta Menchú, became the first political party to make the rights of this group visible. The decision to enter the electoral game represented an important change in the strategy of the indigenous people, since it implied ceasing to depend on international support and seeking citizen backing, as part of a trend at the continental level in which the indigenous actors went from “claiming rights to disputing power, representation and political project” (Burguete, 2007:145). The WINAQ, still active, states its purpose to transform the State and society from an ethical, inclusive, participatory, and multicultural perspective, based on human rights and the rights of indigenous peoples.

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Regarding its electoral success, in the 2007 general elections, the party joined the Encounter for Guatemala alliance and became the seventh-largest electoral force. In the 2011 elections, it joined the leftist alliance Broad Front and proclaimed Rigoberta Menchú as its presidential candidate, obtaining 3% of the votes. In 2019, with Manuel Villacorta as the presidential candidate, the party received 5% of the votes and did not make it to the second round. Taking into account that the country has more than 40% indigenous population, its electoral support is very low and it has not managed to position itself as a strong alternative. WINAQ’s inability to consolidate itself as the political party of indigenous representation facilitated the creation of the People’s Liberation Movement. This party was registered with the Supreme Electoral Tribunal on 8 December 2016 and its registration process ended on 7 December 2018. Its registration is the culmination of a process initiated decades ago by the indigenous campesino communities, who demanded the creation of a party led by community leaders of Mayan ethnicity. In 2019 she launched her first presidential candidate, Thelma Cabrera, garnering 10% electoral support. The party is expressly committed to the creation of the Plurinational State through a constituent process. It proposes to revise the contracts for the privatization of goods and services in order to nationalize it, as well as to recover and return land, territory, and water to communities and peoples for food production. Its position implies a change in the policy of recognizing the rights of indigenous peoples, addressing collective rights such as self-government, land or the environment, and respond to the inability of the State and other political forces to transfer the plurality of the population to the institutions. Until its creation, Guatemalan parties had approached the indigenous issue solely from the perspective of inclusion or the recognition of cultural values in an intercultural model of exclusions. In essence, relations between indigenous people, the State, democracy, political parties, and society are in constant tension in Guatemala. That is why for indigenous people and indigenous movements, resolving them not only implies simple inclusion, but also a profound transformation of the structures of the state and society (Pacari, 2007). However, the low electoral support received by WINAQ and the People’s Liberation Movement shows the distance between the indigenous elites and the population. The fact that there is no indigenous social movement and that the parties have inserted themselves in the logic of the State diminishes the mobilization of the indigenous electorate in favor of their cause. Political parties, as channels of representation, are fundamental insofar as they contribute to creating the “political concept” of indigenous, overcoming the mere condition of socio-cultural subject (Bastos & Cumes, 2003, 2007; Ba Tiul, 2007).

Forms of Political Participation In Guatemala, it is difficult to talk about a true “Mayan indigenous movement”. Indigenous actors and organizations have chosen to try to penetrate the Guatemalan state and promote public policies rather than mobilize. This leads some authors to

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talk about “Mayan managers” rather than “Mayan activists” (Bastos, 2009). This type of action has been considered a form of co-optation by the Guatemalan state (Ba Tiul, 2007). The lack of a true indigenous movement causes the Mayans to participate in Guatemalan politics in many different ways, as Mayans, as indigenous people, or simply as Guatemalans. As a result of a trend that began in the 1970s and recovered in the 1990s, most municipalities in indigenous localities are governed by indigenous corporations and mayors (Bastos & Camus, 2003). But this does not ensure that they share the Mayanist vision of ethnic relations. In fact, these mayors generally come to power through political parties. At the same time, social mobilizations involving the Mayas declined, as did the entire popular movement after the signing of the peace agreement (Yagenova, 2006). In the first years, the peasant movement was the most active, through the occupation of farms, but the role of intermediaries in the state land market ended up taking its toll on the organizations’ ability to mobilize. The indigenous sector has consciously opted for the path of non-confrontation and for a long time has not invested its political capital in strengthening the organizational capacity and pressure of the bases, but in making a place for itself in the State (Bastos, 2009). At present, it seems that this strategy is increasingly being questioned by those who have sought in the electoral contest the way to open spaces and obtain more power. It does not seem that this decision will mean renouncing the way of doing politics that has been managed; but it necessarily implies a need to seek their own forces, negotiate alliances, and create a discourse that fits in with the people. At the local level, community consultations have been launched in the last decade. In the municipalities where they were held, people have responded positively to this call for participation. However, they are not explicitly called from “the indigenous” and there is hardly any presence of the national Mayanist leadership in them. In any case, the majority of the participants are Mayan and have incorporated the multicultural discourse as an element of legitimacy for the struggle: there is talk of “Mother Earth,” the consultations are based on Convention 169 and the “right to decide,” and the calls for cultural difference such as the cosmovision are used to give a basis to demands that have to do with the daily needs of the people. Some of these actions have been supported or convened by local indigenous institutions of traditional origin that, assuming as their own the multicultural discourse and the Mayan demands, use their historical legitimacy and the power they can maintain to give way to these claims. In these years there have been several cases of recreation or renewal of the indigenous mayors’ offices from this perspective in very different places (Bastos, 2009). The best known case is the “Committee of the 48 Cantons” of Totonicapán, which historically was dedicated to the management and care of water and forest resources that ensured autonomy from local ladino power. Since the 1990s, a number of Mayan professionals and activists have entered this structure, which is now defined as “the true power of the K’iche’ Mayan people of Chwimekená” (Tzaquital et al., 2002) and have successfully called on them to protest against laws that benefit

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them. In the face of the demobilization of popular organizations, the irresponsibility of political parties and the incapacity of the State, in some places the old local structures are being resurrected or recreated from the new paradigm, now as “representatives of the Mayan people”.

Conclusion Guatemala is an interesting case study since, despite being the second country in Latin America with the highest percentage of indigenous population, the defense of the interests of this group is still precarious. In that sense, the progress made by indigenous Guatemalans in institutional policy is not comparable to that of their Andean peers. Despite the progress made after the Civil War and the signing of the Peace Accords, indigenous people have not been able to obtain special prerogatives such as representation quotas or legal protection for their practices and organizational systems. This is due, at least in part, to the inability to consolidate a political party that defends their interests. Despite the emergence of WINAQ in 2011 and the creation of the People’s Liberation Movement in 2018, we still cannot speak of a strong indigenous party in Guatemala. Although formally indigenous people have the opportunity to participate in institutions, the social inequality of which they are victims acts as a barrier to their full participation. Traditionally, indigenous people have been kept out of Guatemalan politics and although some have managed to enter national institutions, they have generally not done so with an agenda of their own. Even though progress has been made on some claims, the key issues of the indigenous collective, such as land ownership or the defense of their legal system, have not yet been satisfactorily addressed. In conclusion, although Guatemala is a multiethnic, multicultural, and multilingual society, the indigenous population continues to be the victim of a situation of structural exclusion that is also reflected in the institutions. Ethnic cleavage has not been assimilated by the party system and ethnic politics has been subordinated to a political dynamic in which indigenous people have never been considered relevant actors.

References Adams, R. N. (1994). A report on the political status of the Guatemalan Maya. In D. Lee Van Cott (Ed.), Indigenous peoples and democracy in Latin America (pp. 155–186). St. Martin’s Press/ Inter-American Dialogue. Artiga, A. (2000). Partidos políticos y sistemas de partidos en Centroamérica. Fundemo.

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Ba Tiul, M. (2007). El movimiento WINAQ en el escenario político actual. El observador electoral, 1. Bastos, S. (2009). La movilización maya en Guatemala: exigiendo derechos y construyendo multiculturalidad en un contexto postconflicto. Cahiers des Amériques Latines, 60, 41–58. Bastos, S., & Camus, M. (2003). El movimiento maya en perspectiva: Texto para reflexión y debate. FLACSO. Bastos, S., & Cumes, A. (2007). Mayanización y vida cotidiana: La ideología multicultural en la sociedad guatemalteca. FLACSO. Birnir, J. K. (2006). Ethnicity and electoral politics. Cambridge University Press. Burguete, A. (2007). Cumbres indígenas en América Latina. Resistencia y autonomía. Memoria, 220, 38–47. Casaus Arzú, M. E. (2007). Reformulating the Guatemalan state: The role of Maya intellectuals and civil society discourse. Social Analysis, 51(2), 148–166. Chamarbagwala, R., & Moran, H. (2010). The legacy of civil war: Post-war schooling inequality in Guatemala. Working paper presented at the fifiteenth meeting of the LACEA/IADB/WB/UNDP research network on inequality and poverty (NIP). ENCOVI. (2014). https://www.ine.gob.gt/estadisticasine/index.php/usuario/encovi ENVOCI. (2018). https://www.ine.gob.gt/estadisticasine/index.php/usuario/encovi Fulmer, A., Godoy, A., & Neff, P. (2008). Indigenous rights, resistance and the law: Lesson from a Guatemalan min. Latin American Politics and Society, 50(4), 91–121. García Díaz, F., Alcántara, M., Martí i Puig, S., Pásara, L., & Carrillo, F. (2005). Perfil de gobernabilidad de Guatemala. Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca. Gauster, S., & Ryan Isakson, S. (2007). Eliminating market distortions, perpetuating rural inequality: An evaluation of market-assisted land reform in Guatemala. Third World Quarterly, 28(8), 1519–1536. Gillooly, S. N. (2019). Indigenous social movements and political institutionalization: A comparative case study. Politics Groups and Identities, 8, 1–16. Gulden, T.  R. (2002). Spatial and temporal patterns in civil violence: Guatemala 1977-1988. Politics and the Life Sciences, 21, 26–36. Hale, C. (2004). El protagonismo indígena, las políticas estatales y el nuevo racismo en la época del “indio permitido”. International Conference of MINGUA: “Construyendo la paz: Guatemala desde un enfoque comparado”. Iturralde, D. (2007). La inclusión de los Pueblos Indígenas en los Partidos Políticos. Organización de los Estados Americanos, 2. Jan, M. R. (2005). Rompiendo mitos y barreras. La participación indígena en los procesos electorales en Guatemala. Trace. Travaux et reserches dans les Amériques du Centre, 48, 72–89. Johnston, B.  R., & Slymovics, S. (2009). Waging war, making peace: Reparations and human rights. Left Coast Press. Le Bot, Y., Bigorra, N., & Antoniatr, M. (1995). La guerra en tierras mayas: comunidad, violencia y modernidad en Guatemala (1970–1992). Fondo de Cultura Económica. Martí i Puig, S. (2008). Las razones de presencia y éxito de los partidos étnicos en América Latina: los casos de Bolivia, Ecuador, Guatemala, México, Nicaragua y Perú. Revista Mexicana de Sociología, 4, 675–724. Martin, P. L. (2003). The globalization of contentious politics: The Amazonian indigenous rights movement. Routledge. Mathieu, H.  L., & Lazzari, M. (2005). Algunas consideraciones sobre la participación política indígena en Guatemala. Revista IIDH, 42, 327–348. Montejo, V. (2002). The multiplicity of Mayan voices: Mayan leadership and the politics of self-­ representation. In Indigenous movements, self-representation, and the state in Latin America (pp. 123–148). University of Texas Press. Montejo, V. (2005). Maya intellectual renaissance: Indentity, representation and leadership. University of Texas Press.

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National Democratic Institute. (2020). https://www.ndi.org/latin-­america-­and-­caribbean/ guatemala Nelson, D. (1999). A finger in the wound: Body politics in quincentennial Guatemala. University of California Press. Nevitte, N., Cruz, J., & Estok, M. (2008). Barriers to electoral participation in Guatemala: Diagnostic of 4 municipalities. Facultad Latinoamericana para las Ciencias Sociales. Pacari, N. (2007). Hacia una nueva lectura del indigenismo: claves de interpretación para el primer mundo. Unpublished paper. Pallister, K. (2013). Why no Mayan party? Indigenous movements and national politics in Guatemala. Latin American Politics and Society, 55(3), 117–138. Perera, V., & Chauche, D. (1995). Unfinished conquest: The Guatemalan tragedy. University of California Press. Popkin, M. (1996). Guatemala’s National Reconciliation law: Combating impunity or continuing it? Revista Instituto Interamericano de Derechos Humanos, 24, 173. Rull, M. (2012). Los comités cívicos: primeras agrupaciones políticas indígenas de Guatema. In XV Encuentro de Latinoamericanistas Españoles (pp. 1507–1524). Trama editorial; CEEIB. Sáenz de Tejada, R. (2005). Elecciones, participación política y pueblo maya en Guatemala. Universidad Rafael Landívar. Salvesen, H. (2002). Guatemala: Five years after the peace accords. The challenges of implementing peace. In Report for the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. International Peace Research Institute (PRIO). Sánchez, O. (2009). Party non-systems: A conceptual innovation. Party Politics, 15(4), 487–520. Sieder, R. (2006). El derecho indígena y la globalización legal en la posguerra guatemalteca. Alteridades, 16(31), 23–37. Sieder, R. (2007). The judiciary and indigenous rights in Guatemala. International Journal of Constitutional Law, 5(2), 211–241. Sieder, R., & Witchell, J. (2001). Advancing indigenous claims through the law: Reflections on the Guatemalan peace process. In J. Cowan, M. B. Dembour, & R. Wilson (Eds.), Culture and rights: Anthropological perspectives (pp. 201–226). Cambridge University Press. Spence, J., & Vickers, G. (1998). Promise and reality: Implementation of the Guatemalan peace accords. Hemisphere Initiatives. Stanley, W., & Holiday, D. (2000). Everyone participates, no one is responsible: Peace implementation in Guatemala. Unpublished manuscript, Stanford, Calif. The National Employment and Income Survey. (2014). http://ghdx.healthdata.org/record/ guatemala-­national-­income-­and-­employment-­survey-­2014-­april Tzquital, E., Ixchiú, P., & Tiú, R. (2002). Alcaldes comunales de Totonicapán. Secretaría de Coordinación de la Presidencia-Comisión de la Unión Europea. Warren, K. B. (1998). Indigenous movements and their critics: Pan-Maya activism in Guatemala. Princeton University Press. Warren, K.  B. (2001). Pan-Mayanism and the Guatemalan peace process. In C.  ChaseDunn, S. Jonas, & N. Amaro (Eds.), Globalization on the ground: Postbellum Guatemalan democracy and development (pp. 145–166). Rowman and Littlefield. World Bank Database. (2019). https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/guatemala Yagenova, S. V. (2006). La protesta social en Guatemala. Una aproximación a los actores, demandas, formas de despliegue territorial, límites y alcances. FLACSO Guatemala. Zur, J. (1994). The psychological impact of impunity. Anthropology Today, 10(3), 12–17. Mélany Barragán  has PhD in Rule of Law and Global Governance from the University of Salamanca, Spain; is an assistant professor at the University of Valencia; and has served as a lecturer at the Goethe University in Frankfurt (Germany). She was also a member of the Project on Parliamentary Elites in Latin America at the University of Salamanca (2012–2017).

Chapter 5

Indigenous Political-Electoral Representation in Colombia (1990s–2020s): Stakes and Outcomes in Three Decades of Practice Virginie Laurent

Introduction According to the last census carried out in Colombia in 2018, Indigenous peoples are estimated there to correspond to 4.4% of the total population (DANE, 2019). Beyond such a relatively low proportion, their sociodemographic and living conditions show strong heterogeneity. As a matter of fact, 115 Indigenous peoples are settled throughout the national territory. Indigenous collective lands are established in the 33 departments of the country, occupying an area that corresponds to about a third part of the national territory. As reported by available data, Indigenous peoples mainly live in reservations— known as resguardos1—distributed from the Andean mountain ranges to the lowlands of the Amazon and the Orinoco, passing through the Atlantic and Pacific coastal areas, although there is also an Indigenous presence in urban areas. Most of them are located in a few departments: La Guajira (394,683 people, 47.8% of the total population), Cauca (308,455 people, 24.8% of the total population), Nariño (206,455 people, 15.5% of the total population), Córdoba (202,621 people, 13.0% of the total population), Sucre (104,890 people, 12.1% of the total population) and

 As Spanish institutions imposed during the colonial period, the resguardos were originally oriented to separate and control Indigenous peoples politically and geographically as well as to maintain the tribute system and an available workforce. However, two elements of the legislation about reservations allowed Indigenous peoples to gain certain advantages. In 1561, the resguardos were acknowledged as collectively owned land, that could not be divided. At the same time, they had to function under the authority of an Indigenous council (cabildo) (see Pachón, 1981). These two points have been the basis of Indigenous peoples’ claims for recognition and for a relative autonomy since the beginning of the twentieth century and especially with the organization process they initiated in the 1970s (see further). 1

V. Laurent (*) Universidad de Los Andes, Bogotá, Colombia e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_5

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Chocó (68,415 people, 15% of the total population). Four Indigenous peoples concentrate 58.1% of the Indigenous population of the country: the Wayuu, the Zenú, the Nasa and the Pasto. At the other end, some native peoples are registered in very small proportion, only a few of them being present in Colombia—especially in the border areas—and/or because they can be considered as threatened with extinction (Center for Justice and International Law, 2018). Moreover, the Indigenous population is counted in high proportions in some departments of the Amazon and the Orinoco regions: 81.7% of the total population in Vaupés, 74.9% in Guainia, 58.2% in Vichada and 57.7% in Amazonas. Such variety is reflected in different types of power dynamics within Indigenous communities and in their relationships within the nation-building course and with public institutions, to a certain extent also with political parties and electoral competition. Beyond such nuances, the political experience of Indigenous peoples is characterized in Colombia by a marked contrast between their low demographic weight and their strong “national visibility” gained by the force of their mobilizations, around the defense of their indigeneity.2 At the same time, their involvement in social mobilization and/or electoral participation processes led to a series of achievements which reveal their ability to interact with the state and assert their right to express diversity in the realm of the national society. On that point, it is worth reminding that, like in other parts of Latin America, the history of Indigenous peoples in Colombia has been associated with exclusion and marginalization. From the arrival of the Spaniards and during the colonial period, but also at the time of the independence and after the creation of the Republic, they had to bow to rules that were alien to their social structures, and they suffered from unrelenting discrimination and abuses (Bonfil, 1977; Pachón, 1981). Over the centuries, the reservation system failed to prevent the dispossession of Indigenous peoples and their confinement to poor-quality land. Furthermore, in the late eighteenth century, the resguardo was targeted for extinction. The plan was to eliminate all kinds of special treatment of Indigenous peoples in order to favour their assimilation. In fact, with the liberators who were in charge of the new state, efforts emerged to “nationalize” the Indians. Officially encouraging the “equality of races”, and in order to strengthen individual effort, progress and modernity, Simon Bolivar thus aimed to “liberate the Indigenous peoples” from their belonging to a communal structure. However, beyond discourse that advocated citizen equality, the distinction was maintained between socially, economically and politically powerful groups with access to the decision-making process (literate, land-owning white

 Indigeneity is understood here and in the following pages as the claim for a specific and generic identity as indigenous that yet should not imply a uniform vision of “being indigenous”—and of the conditions and demands of populations that show great diversity from one region and/or people to another. In this regard, it is important to note that, beyond essentialist/culturalist approaches according to which identity would be interpreted as innate and based on objective criteria, subjectivity acquires a central importance in the process of self and heterodefinition. On that topic, see for example Anderson (1983), Bayart (1996), Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983), Poutignat and Streiff-Fenart (1995), Wieviorka (1993, 1997). 2

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men) and broad sectors of society that were excluded from it (Indigenous peoples, Afro-descendants, women, poor people in general). At the end of the nineteenth century, Law 89 of 1890, “determining the way in which the savages should be governed so that they may adapt to civilized life”, reintroduced the resguardos system. Until it was finally declared unconstitutional in 1996, this regulation assigned Indigenous peoples the same status as if they were minors, legally speaking. Concurrently, Indigenous peoples—as well as other ethnic minorities in the country, Afro-Colombians and Roma—have been subjected to “statistical invisibility”. From what is known, marked inequalities have emerged and maintained between ethnic minorities in general—including Indigenous peoples—and the rest of the population, in terms of education, health, employment and labour benefits.3 There is a greater propensity for school non-attendance among this population group while their results are below the national average. Indigenous peoples are exposed to greater labour informality and less protected in terms of their affiliation to social and medical protection systems. They are therefore more likely to be submerged in structural poverty and regularly exposed by problems of malnutrition and infant mortality.4 Lastly, Indigenous peoples—as well as Afro-Colombian communities—have been among the first collateral victims of the Colombian internal armed conflict that started in the 1960s, continually endangered by threats, attacks and forced displacement.5 As a way, the situation of misrecognition and bad treatments imposed to Indigenous peoples throughout the time brought to resistance actions and to the emergence of organizations dedicated to demanding for their rights. Beginning in the 1920s, some initiatives arose, instigated by Indigenous leaders from the southwest of the country for the “defense of the Indigenous race”6 and to claim voting rights, albeit unsuccessfully.7 But, above all, a significant turnaround began in the way in which Indigenous peoples’ mobilization expanded nationwide from the 1970s on. Two decades later, many of their claims have been acknowledged with the adoption of a new Constitution, in 1991, that placed the emphasis on the country’s multiethnic and pluricultural nature and altered the position of the “ethnic groups” within it. Among the latter, Indigenous populations have then been the main

 See for example El Espectador (21 de marzo de 2013), El Universal (21 de marzo de 2013), and Programa de justicia global y derechos humanos (2009). 4  Among others, see El Tiempo (27 de agosto de 2012), PNUD (2011). 5  Indigenous peoples have regularly been exposed to crossfire, forced to coexist with various— legal and illegal—armed groups: regular army forces, guerrilla groups and militias at the service of landowners, from the 1960s to 1970s; drug traffickers and paramilitaries, from the 1980s (see for example Gros (1991), Laurent (2005), Le Bot (1994), Fajardo et al. (1999), Jackson (2002), ONIC (2002, 2015), Peñaranda (1999), Pineda (2001). 6  One of the reflections of the prominent Nasa Indigenous leader Manuel Quintín Lame was formulated in these terms in a text he wrote while he was in jail in the 1930s. It was published in 1971 under the title: En defensa de mi raza (In Defense of My Race). Manuel Quintín Lame (1971), En defensa de mi raza (Bogotá: La Rosca/Editextos). 7  On these episodes see, among others, Gros (1991), Laurent (2005). 3

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beneficiaries of measures based on positive action, which provide guidelines for their relative autonomy and specific prerogatives, and simultaneously pledge their respect as full citizens.8 A few months before the adoption of such a new constitutional framework, the call for a National Constituent Assembly in charge of its arrangement had given the starting point for the entry of Indigenous representatives in elections and debates of national range in 1990. From there, Indigenous organizations have maintained their presence in the electoral arena. They have also achieved a series of significant results, not only through special constituencies that operate for some seats in the Congress, but also at the sub-national level—for the positions of mayors, municipal councillors, department governors and members of departmental assemblies. This new modality of action of the Indigenous movement of Colombia has raised reflections and doubts. Formulated in parallel by its protagonists and from the academy, these are oriented on the scope and limitation of the electoral way, and on the articulation of the latter with social mobilization. Some studies focus on the mode in which institutional design and electoral engineering impact electoral mobilization, as well as on the functioning of special constituencies and on the issue of representation—or lack of representation—of leaders who access the reserved seats. Some others concentrate on regional and local dynamics. However, few studies pay attention to the phenomenon from a holistic lens that is necessary to capture the Indigenous political experience in a complexity we will refer to in the following pages: from electoral campaigns to post election periods; through a look at national and subnational outcomes; and by taking into account “words and images” around “indigeneity on stage”, as well as the articulation between different ways of doing politics among Indigenous peoples.9

 In this sense, the 1991 Constitution inaugurates in Colombia a model close to the formula of multicultural citizenship described by Will Kymlicka (1996), that aims to conjugate guarantees of the liberal citizenship backed by universal values and aspirations of equality with the recognition of differentialized cultural rights for “national minorities”, in other words cultures formerly endowed with self-government and now integrated within the structures of nation-states. On the outcomes and discussions about the effect of multiculturalism in Colombia other the past three decades, see among others Agudelo and Boullosa-Joly (2015), Bocarejo and Restrepo (2011), Borrero (2003), Chaves (2011), Dumoulin and Gros (2012), Gros (2000), Hoffmann and Rodríguez (2007), Laurent (2021b), López (2011). 9  For an overview of studies on the Indigenous political-electoral experience in Colombia, see for example Escobar et al. (2005), Basset (2011), Chilito (2018), Escandón (2011), Laurent (1997, 2005, 2007, 2009, 2010, 2012a, b, 2013, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018a, b, 2019, 2021b, 2022b), Morales (2016); Van Cott (2003, 2005). More generally, on debates related to the articulation between cultural pluralism, the state and democracy in Colombia and elsewhere, see for example Agudelo (2005), Benhabib (2002), Cunin (2003), Fraser (2000), Jaffrelot (2011), Kymlicka (1996), Leca (1996), Lijphart (1984), Norris (2003), Pitkin (1985), Roulleau Berger (1995), Wills (2007), Yashar (2005, 2008). 8

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 ntecedents: The 1991 Constitution: Pathway A to a National Change Contrary to many Latin American countries, Colombia did not go through a prolonged dictatorship.10 Nonetheless, throughout the 1980s the country was referred to as a “restricted democracy” (Pizarro, 1985; Leal & Zamosc, 1990). At the end of the decade, it became necessary to think about means to improve political conditions, with the aim of “modernizing the state” and “broadening participation”. As a result, a series of measures in favour of decentralization were implemented, including a 1986 decentralization law that allowed the direct election of mayors starting in 1988. But the main change has been the process that led to the adoption of the 1991 constitution. Within this unusual context, Indigenous demands were made for democratization and for a Colombia that would respect its own diversity. And for the first time in the history of the country, these demands were effectively reflected throughout the text of the new constitution.11

 ontext: The Indigenous Social Movement in Colombia, C and Its Participation Within the National Constituent Assembly Such an outcome of the 1991 Constitution, favourable to Indigenous peoples, must be read in a time perspective that takes into account the way in which their organizations expressed their demands facing the state, two decades before.12 Among them, the Consejo Regional Indígena del Cauca [Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca] (CRIC in Spanish) was the first to form, in 1971. It served then as a “model” for the proliferation of such regional associations throughout Colombia and its main claims were the right of Indigenous peoples to collective territories and their own authorities: resguardos and cabildos that paradoxically had been legalized through the racist legislation of the former century. Simultaneously, the CRIC sought to promote respect for elements that are considered as pillars of their identity, such as the defense of their history, language and customs, as well as their own conceptions of education and medicine (CRIC, 1990). Undoubtedly, these demands are intimately linked to their specific destinies. However, in no way is it about  Only the three-year episode of General Rojas Pinilla’s government (1953–1957) has been recorded in the terms of a dictatorship in the political history of Colombia. 11  On the nation-building projects placed before the Constituent Assembly by Indigenous organizations, and presented, as was that of the ONIC case, around the theme of La Colombia que queremos (The Colombia We Want), see Fals Borda and Muelas (1991), ONIC (1990), Peña (1991), Rojas (1991). 12  For an overview of the information that follow in next paragraphs, see Laurent (2005). 10

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preserving tradition(s) through communal confinement behaviours. On the contrary, from that time there was also a rapprochement between Indigenous organizations and the non-Indigenous population. Demands were then shared for a profound social change and for the opening of the political system, considered too exclusive. Organizations also emerged at the national level. In 1982, the Organización Nacional Indígena de Colombia [National Indigenous Organization of Colombia] (ONIC in Spanish) federated regional associations around the principles of unity, land, culture and autonomy. In addition, dissidents from CRIC, self-proclaimed as a “critical sector”, led to the establishment of the Movimiento de los Gobernadores en Marcha [Governors on the March Movement] at the start of the 1980s, which progressively changed its name into Movimiento de Autoridades Indígenas del Suroccidente [Movement of Indigenous Authorities of the Southwest] and Movimiento de Autoridades Indígenas de Colombia [Movement of Indigenous Authorities of Colombia] (AICO in Spanish), at the end of the decade. Also arising within the Cauca Department, the organization argued to be more closely linked to the traditional Indigenous authorities than to any type of external influences, although it also sought to work with the support of solidarity groups. From that phase on, Indigenous mobilization followed a “dual track” of contentious mobilization and legal appeals that was to endure even after the promulgation of the Constitution of 1991. Alliances with non-Indigenous peoples on the one hand encouraged them to take up certain practices of the peasant movement around protecting their land, such as land-recuperations, roadblocks, marches and other demonstrations of discontent.13 These actions were directed towards an exclusive regional and national elite: landowners, who were opposed to the idea of a redistribution of land property, and likely to defend their privileges through private militias; members of the so-called “traditional parties”, who were resisting to the opening up of the political system; police and military forces, supposed to be responsible for ensuring “public order” against social protests. On the other hand, Indigenous organizations also made legal claims demanding the “fair application” of laws regarding them. In such extent, rather than standing-up against the state, the purpose was to struggle for new spaces of recognition within the national society, for the end of exclusion and for opportunities to gain greater participation in decision-making. At that time, Indigenous organizations were not very interested in election, and they rather promoted abstention within a political system they considered too exclusive and shut. Characterized by a deep crisis, the context of the late 1980s offered unusual circumstances to make possible a change in the way of conceiving the nation—and the place of Indigenous peoples within it. In fact, the lack of legitimacy of the political class, combined with a multiform violence originated by a series of struggles  On that point, it is worth remembering that the Indigenous struggle was located for a time within the framework of the Asociación Nacional de Usuarios Campesinos [National Association of Tenant Farmers] (ANUC in Spanish), created in 1967—by an initiative of the president of the Republic within the process of a land reform that began in 1961—and that gradually became more radical. 13

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between regular armed forces, guerrillas, paramilitary groups and drug cartels—as well as their disastrous impact on civil society and the loss of trust in the institutions—led to the idea that only a citizen initiative in favour of a constituent assembly would “save Colombia”. On March of 1990, a first—unformal—referendum was promoted by a students’ social movement to consult people about the idea of concreting such an option. A few months later, the proposal became real. Although— until then—only the Parliament was authorized to make constitutional change, an exceptional constituent assembly was convened, and officially elected, in December of 1990, in response to pressure from many sectors of opinion in favour of a substitution of the former Carta Magna of 1886. The interest of the constitutional renewal relates to the fact that it can thus be read as the result of strong citizen involvement and the integration of ethnic, religious, gender and political “minorities” in public debate. Indeed, this National Constituent Assembly included social actors who had always taken a backseat within the political sphere: representatives of non-Catholic religious associations, a student leader, women, ex-combatants of demobilized guerrilla groups and representatives of Indigenous organizations. In this way, and due to its open nature, Constituent Assembly election motivated an unprecedented mobilization by Indigenous organizations and three Indigenous leaders took part in the deliberations. It is also worth highlighting, in addition to this direct contribution in the constitutional dialogue, the opening of channel of mediation between the whole of Colombian society and its representatives within the Assembly: claims made individually or through social organizations, including Indigenous ones, could be sent to the Constituent Assembly via spaces such as mesas de trabajo (round tables) and comisiones preparatorias (preparatory commissions). So, as former Indigenous constituent Francisco Rojas once mentioned, The National Constituent Assembly divides Indigenous political history in two: never, before 1990, never, had the Indigenous peoples [of Colombia] participated in politics. Perhaps there were Indigenous families or people, in isolation, who participated in politics, but not as a people, and even less with their own criteria and list… Until that moment, when we managed to participate in politics in an organized way.14

 epresentation: From “Savages” to Political Representatives: R Changes for Indigenous Peoples’ Status within a Multi-­Ethnical and Pluricultural Nation Along with a series of guarantees tailored to Indigenous peoples’ specific cultural values regarding education, health, the environment and justice, the constitutional text of 1991 reiterates their right to collective land ownership and to elect their own

14

 Interview with Francisco Rojas, held by the author in Bogotá on May 13, 1999.

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authorities. It also stresses the need to respect the cultural, social and economic integrity of Indigenous communities, and to carry out prior consultation before starting projects that affect their territories. Last but not least, it foresees the representation of Indigenous peoples in the Congress. Moreover, the state is assigned the responsibility of warranting that citizens enjoy equality: “The state recognizes and protects the ethnic and cultural diversity of the Colombian Nation” (Article 7); “[t]he state will promote the conditions so that equality may be real and effective and will adopt measures in favour of groups that are discriminated against or marginalized” (Article 13). In other words, discourses about “savages who need civilizing” have given way to officially recognized pride in national diversity with the 1991 Constitution. The time of Indigenous representation in public institutions would then begin. This latter has been from that date on discernible from the Carta Magna to museums, classrooms and even the Presidency and ministries. In part, the new rhetoric has been fed by a kind of romantic and renewed vision of the Indigenous peoples, which is projected and welcomed by part of the country’s elite, in ecological, medicinal and belief uses. In this regard, it is worth highlighting the substantial weight that the reference to the “ecological native” has acquired in recent decades as a model of harmonious relationship with nature, within the framework of (trans) national contexts influenced by the intersection of multiculturalism and concerns around the protection of environment (Ulloa, 2004). Likewise, perceptions of “Indigenous cultures” have tended to be revalued, as can be illustrated in their staging in two famous museums in the Colombian capital (National Museum and Gold Museum); or, even, through the way they incarnate new “spiritualities” and “ways of believing” inspired by otherness, among young people from the elites (Sarrazin, 2010). Finally, the validation of indigeneity was reflected up to within the highest levels of power, for example, in the electoral arena and within negotiations between government and Indigenous organizations (Laurent, 2005, 2013).

 lectoral Representation Laws and Representation: New Tools, E New Tasks With such a new status in the 1991 Constitution, Indigenous peoples are now considered as full right citizens. As such, they can vote and be elected without any kind of official restriction. Nonetheless, other obstacles are maintained that tend to limit these rights. Although the lack of statistical data about Indigenous peoples does not allow to know with precision the average of electoral participation of Indigenous peoples, the scarcity of electoral registry among them in some far areas—like Amazon and Orinoco zones, Pacific and Atlantic Coasts—has been frequently deplored by their organizations. Likewise, the geographical distance of many Indigenous communities from the polling stations is a considerable limiting factor for their electoral participation. Finally, it is worth bearing in mind the difference in perception of political expectations that running for an election and/or endorsement

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of a candidate may inspire from one Indigenous people/region to another: while some are fully involved in these processes, others are barely interested in them. Beyond these nuances, the shift that both the municipal reform of 1986 and the 1991 Constitution brought into national and subnational electoral mechanisms and dynamics contributed to increasing Indigenous peoples’ participation. Indeed, the law on the direct election of mayors played a significant role in the extent that it opened up new opportunities for the representatives of the Indigenous movement to access local responsibilities—and, with it, hope for democratic change. As a matter of fact, shortly before the municipal elections of 1988, the CRIC declared: “[t]he CRIC, as a union organization in defense of Indigenous rights, considers that the popular election of mayors is an important step for the strengthening of democracy (…)” (CRIC, Álvaro Ulcué, 1987, n° 5: 2). For the first time, the organization decided to abandon the abstention position it had until then defended in front of the predominance of only two political parties: the Liberal Party and the Conservative Party. From that date on, runners of new political options—which were then known as “civic movements”—started taking part in the electoral competition and received the support of Indigenous organizations. Nonetheless, the latter also warned about the necessity of continuing other kinds of collective actions as a strong means of pressure facing the state: (...) perhaps the most profound reforms are carried out by the communities themselves; when a farm is recovered or when land is taken for housing, when streets are laid out or recreation sites are located, or when by force of mobilization and civic strikes, ‘democratic spaces’ are appropriated from the state, as it happened with the current municipal political reform, which makes a greater number of the population participate in the electoral battle and leaves new responsibilities in the hands of the municipality that previously theoretically had to be developed by national organizations (CRIC, Álvaro Ulcué, 1989, n ° 12).

The phase of the Constituent Assembly election and the new rules it delivered to the Colombian society also strongly fostered Indigenous peoples’ electoral participation through two parallel processes. On the one hand, this shift reinforced the trend towards decentralization initiated by the popular election of mayors of 1988 with the enactment of the popular election of department governors in the 1991 Constitution. Just as it happened at local level, such a position helped strengthen the participation of Indigenous peoples and led to some emblematic results of their organizations in elections at the departmental scope. On the other hand, the new constitutional guidelines implemented special constituencies that make sure the access to Congress for three elected members who represent—at least, officially speaking—Indigenous peoples. Thus, there are two reserved seats among the ones that counts the Senate, and one more among those of the House of Representatives (Article 171, Article 176). According to Article 171, in order to register in the special constituency for the Senate, candidates “must have exercised a position of traditional authority in their respective community or have been leaders of an Indigenous organization, which qualification will be verified by a certificate from the respective organization, endorsed by the Minister of the Government” (emphasis added). Nothing suggests, however, that non-Indigenous persons do not have the right to compete in such a constituency—as long as, of course, they meet those requirements, which, as we

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note, subject Indigenous representation to the approval of the state authorities. Simultaneously, article 176 of the 1991 Constitution stipulated: “the law may establish a special constituency to ensure the participation in the Chamber of Representatives of ethnic groups (…)”. This article will finally be regulated, years later, through Law 649 of 2001, and secures the presence of an elected representative on behalf of Indigenous peoples, following the same criteria for applicants as for the Senate. Finally, it is central to underline that the articles relating to special constituencies do not contemplate any specific conditions for electorates: Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples can vote for contenders running within special constituencies. From this new configuration on, the number of Indigenous contestants—and Indigenous elected people—has increased steadily. Regarding local challenges, 54,623 indigenous candidates have run for election of departmental governments, departmental assemblies, mayors and municipal councils—and 5960 of them have been elected—since 1992, the year which symbolized the first milestone of their involvement in the electoral race. They were respectively 22 candidates and 34 elected officials on this opportunity; 189 candidates and 213 elected officials in 1994; 189 candidates and 538 elected officials in 1997; 277 candidates and 536 elected officials in 2000; 231 candidates and 997 elected officials in 2003; 552 candidates and 4031 elected officials in 2007; 10,126 candidates and 1016 elected officials in 2011; 17,637 candidates and 1566 elected officials in 2015; 20,511 candidates and 1918 elected officials in 2019 (see Table 5.1). These results lead to consider an average number of around 220 Indigenous elected candidates a year, distributed between the 1122 municipalities and 33 departments of the country. Considering the Congress, the number of seats gained by Indigenous nominees has maintained between 1991 and 2018—around the ones reserved by the special constituencies for the Senate (2) and the House of Representatives (1), and a few more sometimes won through the ordinary constituencies (see Tables 5.2 and 5.3).15 As a result, the average of elected Indigenous candidates at national level—through the Congress seats—corresponds to around one person a year. However, what has significantly increased is the number of registered candidates, especially until the mid-2000s—among other aspects due to the effects of a reform in the electoral system implemented in 2003 (see further). Indeed, there were three Indigenous contenders in the special constituency for the Senate in 1991; five in 1994; six in 1998; ten in 2002; four in 2006; twelve in 2010; up to thirty in 2014; and then again sixteen in 2018 (see Table 5.2). And there were respectively  For example, one Indigenous candidate acceded to a Senate seat through the ordinary constituency in 1991; another one got successful in 1998 and 2002 by the same way. In 2002, three other aspirants competed in the ordinary constituency within non-Indigenous organizations—with convincing results for two of them. Similarly, in various occasions, Indigenous nominees contended in the ordinary territorial constituencies for the House of Representatives. Among them, one candidate won a seat through the ordinary departmental constituency of Bogota in 1991; two more were elected through ordinary constituencies in the departments of Guainia and Vichada in 1998; another one, in the department of Antioquia in 2010; one, in 2014, in the department of La Guajira; and one, in 2018, in the department of Boyaca. 15

2000

1997

1994

Year 1992

Candidates (C) Organization Elected Officials (EO) MIC C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO MIC C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO MIC C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO

Gobernación (Department Government) 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 3 1 2 1 3 1

Department Assembly 1 0 3 0 1 1 16 4 2 1 11 6 26 3 6 1 40 6 18 3 32 8 City Mayor 0 0 3 0 0 0 5 0 6 0 26 8 9 1 10 5 31 8 18 4 32 11

City Council 6 4 9 8 10 9 49 19 27 23 171 128 91 27 59 35 262 102 158 78 273 171

Table 5.1  Number of candidates and elected officials of indigenous organizations at subnational level (1992–2019) Total 7 4 16 8 11 10 70 23 35 24 208 142 127 31 75 41 336 117 196 86 340 191

(continued)

277/536

189/538

189/213

Total elected officials/ Total candidates 22/34

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Candidates (C) Organization Elected Officials (EO) AICO C EO ASI C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO MAIS C EO AICO C EO ASI C EO MAIS C EO

Gobernación (Department Government) 2 1 1 0 2 0 9 1 7 1 11 4 10 4 12 1 12 3 12 2 23 8 16 4

Source: Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil, elaborated by the author

2019

2015

2011

2007

Year 2003

Table 5.1 (continued) Department Assembly 52 4 39 3 38 3 108 10 101 5 234 15 92 4 284 16 145 3 112 6 274 23 269 12 City Mayor 15 3 30 6 52 4 215 39 177 24 293 59 162 20 323 64 210 38 234 65 467 121 392 73

City Council 236 64 622 150 719 90 2888 405 3411 258 5892 650 4332 368 6982 731 5073 314 4897 387 7317 705 6498 512 Total 305 72 692 159 811 97 3220 455 3696 288 6430 728 4596 396 7601 812 5440 358 5255 460 8081 857 7175 601 1918/20,511

1566/17,637

1016/10,126

552/4031

Total elected officials/ Total candidates 231/997

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Table 5.2  Number of candidates and elected officials of Indigenous organizations at the Senate (1991–2018) Year Political Party 1991 ASI Movimiento ciudadano ONIC Subtotal 1994 ASI MIC Movimiento ciudadano Subtotal 1998 AICO ASI MIC Movimiento ciudadano Nueva Fuerza Democrática Subtotal 2002 AICO ASI Frente Social y Político Huella Ciudadana Movimiento Comunal y Comunitario Movimiento Convergencia Ciudadana Movimiento Defensa Ciudadana Movimiento de Autoridades Tradicionales Wayu de Uribia PIC - Partido Indígena Colombiano Partido del Socialismo Democrático Subtotal 2006 AICO ASI Subtotal 2010 AICO ASI Movimiento Social Indígena PIN - Partido de Integración Nacional Polo Democrático Alternativo Subtotal

Candidates 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 1 1 6 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 10 2 2 4 3 3 2 1 3 12

Elected Candidates 1 0 1 2 1 1 0 2 1 1 0 0 0 2 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 1 1 2 1 1 0 0 0 2 (continued)

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Table 5.2 (continued) Year Political Party 2014 AICO As indígena Cabildo del Resguardo de calderas Asociación de Autoridades Tradicionales Indígenas “OPIC” Asociación de Autoridades Tradicionales y Cabildos Indígenas de Colombia Asociación Nacional Indígena de Colombia ANIC Cabildo Indígena de San Sebastián de los Lagos Comunidad Indígena de Barrancón Corporación Indígena Yanacona Dignidades Agropecuarias Indígenas Movimiento Alternativo Indígena y Social MAIS Multietnia Colombia Organización de los pueblos Indígenas de la Amazonía Colombiana OPIAC Partido Alianza Social Indígena Renovación Étnica de Colombia Subtotal 2018 Autoridad TradicionalCasiyouren AICO Movimiento Alternativo Indígena y Social MAIS Movimiento Político Soberanía Partido Alianza Social Indígena Renovación Étnica De Colombia Raíces Subtotal Total

Candidates 3 2 2

Elected Candidates 0 0 0

1

0

3 1 1 1 1 3 3 3

0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0

3 3 30 2 3 3 3 3 2 16 84

1 0 2 0 1 1 0 0 0 2 16

Source: Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil, elaborated by the author

nine, six, eight, sixteen and eleven different Indigenous options to be elected in the House of Representatives through the special constituency between 2002 and 2018 (see Table 5.3). At the same time, according to the ballot counting national office (Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil (RNEC), n.d.), data reveal that only between a third and a half of Indigenous people exercise their right to vote through the special constituencies. Likewise, there has been a trend towards an unequal representation of the Indigenous population, taking into account that the match between Indigenous presence and voting within special constituencies is stronger in regions marked by a more solid trajectory of the Indigenous movement. Lastly, although the electoral geography of the Indigenous constituencies corresponds broadly to the location of the Indigenous peoples, the vote from the main cities is also decisive—especially in the national capital, Bogota, as well as in the departmental capitals Cali and Medellin. Moreover, it is worth stressing—as the RNEC notes—that Indigenous

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Table 5.3  Number of candidates and elected officials of Indigenous organizations at the House of Representatives (2002–2018) Year Political Party 2002 AICO Cabildo Indígena de Pioya/ONIC Cabildo Indígena de Rioblanco Frente Social y Político Comunidad Indígena de Cristianía Movimiento Vía Alterna Macrorregión de la Amazonía ONIC Movimiento Asocbari Organización Gonawindua Tayrona Resguardo Indígena Zenú Huella Ciudadana Subtotal 2006 AICO ASI Movimiento Comunal y Comunitario de Colombia Movimiento de Participación Comunitaria Movimientos Únete Colombia Polo Democrático Alternativo PDA Subtotal 2010 AICO ASI Polo Democrático Alternativo Subtotal 2014 AICO “AIMAC” Asociación de Autoridades Tradicionales Indígenas “OPIC” Asociación de Autoridades Tradicionales y Cabildos Indígenas Embera Chami del Resguardo Indígena Dachi Agore Drua Movimiento Alternativo Indígena y Social MAIS Movimiento Unidad Indígena y popular por Colombia MUIPC Renovación Étnica de Colombia Via Nueva Subtotal 2018 AICO Autoridad Tradicional Casiyouren Fundación Taita Zipa Indígenas Zenúes UAIZSACOR Indígenas por Colombia Asociación Nacional de Cabildos MAIS Subtotal

Candidates 1 1 1 1

Elected Candidates 1 0 0 0

1 1 1 1 9 1 1 1 1 1 1 6 3 3 2 8 3 2 1

0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0

1

0

1

0

3 3

0 0

1 1 16 3 1 1 1 2

0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0

3 11

1 1

Source: Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil, elaborated by the author

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candidacies for the House of Representatives are likely to be more successful in ordinary territorial constituencies than within the Indigenous constituency in the case of departments with a low population and a high proportion of Indigenous people—such as the departments of the Amazon and Orinoco regions. This would contribute to reducing Indigenous political forces’ interest towards the reserved seat. Within this general framework, the special Indigenous constituencies for the Senate received an increasing number of ballots throughout the 1990s, reaching more than 225,000 votes in 2002. Subsequently, this flow fell—also because of the 2003 political reform formerly mentioned— before the Indigenous organizations recovered through new electoral strategies (see further, and Fig. 5.1). Such a tendency was similar regarding the House of Representatives, with a record vote of 207,217 in 2002; then only 74,019 in 2006; 94,581 in 2010; 77,550 in 2014; and 158,679 in 2018 (see Fig. 5.2). Beyond these core trends, it is important to discern dynamics that stand out among organizations—and/or parties—that electorally competed on behalf of Indigenous peoples. On that point, it is worth stressing, first, a series of internal rivalries within the Indigenous movement; and, second, a marked difference between the strength of Indigenous political forces that emerged from the “first generation” organization process of the 1970s, and a myriad of more recent low-experimented and ephemeral associations that attempted to enter the electoral scene on behalf of Indigenous peoples, especially for Congress election. In fact, after the adoption of the 1991 Constitution, the 1990s witnessed a renewal among the Indigenous organizations that emerged in the country 20 years earlier.

Votation Senate (Special Constituency) 171.218

158.915

142.618

96.948

95.519

2006

2010

67.482

1998

2002

2014

2018

Fig. 5.1  Vote for candidates in the Indigenous special constituency for the Senate. (Source: Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil, elaborated by the author)

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Vote House of Representatives (Special Constituency) 207.217

158.679

103.184 70.019

15.923

2002

2006

2010

2014

2018

Fig. 5.2  Vote for candidates in the Indigenous special constituency for the House of Representatives. (Source: Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil, elaborated by the author)

The context motivated then the projection of their aspirations on the electoral scene, and the multiplication of competitors in the name of political forces built on their foundations, with a relative equilibrium among the number of contenders registered for each of them along the last three decades. Since then, the “balance of power” between such Indigenous electoral organizations, as well as the number of entrants presented by each of them, have been linked to two main factors: on the one hand, to their own representation objectives and dynamics—especially focused on Indigenous peoples or more open to alliances; on the other hand, to a series of requirements imposed by national electoral engineering. Indeed, during the first 15 years that followed the 1991 Constitution, the nominees who obtained the highest number of votes and acceded to the seats secured by these constituencies were characterized by having a recognized trajectory inside the Indigenous movement and by having the endorsement of some of its electoral organizations consolidated regionally and nationally. In this way, they managed to secure both a support vote from their areas of origin and/or among an Indigenous electorate, but also a significant opinion vote, from the big cities, in an environment marked by the discredit of the “traditional parties”. They were then identified as promising alternative contenders. However, the introduction of a series of changes in the electoral system through Legislative Act 01—or Political Reform of 2003—marked a relative setback of the

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results of Indigenous organizations and contributed then to their restructuring. Such a reform modified the procedures used for the outline of the party lists, the counting of the votes and the distribution of seats. Moreover, with the objective to counteract party fragmentation and the multiplication of “electoral micro-enterprises”, it imposed on the competing forces the need to obtain a minimum number of votes— electoral threshold—in order to retain their legal status. These new rules of the game restricted then the capacities of Indigenous organizations to access positions in competition. For this same reason, they led them to rethink their strategies to face the following series of electoral contests: due to the impossibility of obtaining a sufficient number of votes to certify the election of their candidates in the ordinary constituencies, since 2006, Indigenous organizations proceeded to a “rearguard tactic” based on competing exclusively within the special constituency, for the Senate. Finally—and related to the previous points—, within the special constituencies, the way was opened to aspirations from multiple horizons, not always clearly linked to the Indigenous movement.16 Along with such actions focused on Indigenous representation opportunities at the local, regional and/or national range, the ways they are articulated with Indigenous interests, needs and authorities are numerous and different. Undeniably, there is a closer relationship between elected Indigenous representatives and Indigenous communities’ bases at local level. On the contrary, distance is usually higher with the representatives elected in Congress: not only because of a physical remoteness but also due to their parliamentary activity, often considered as far from always useful and focused on Indigenous priorities. On that point, it is to be noted that since the beginning, “Indigenous presence” in the Congress has revealed a series of contradictions: dissents between nascent Indigenous political forces and “traditional” and/or majority parties; internal divergences between Indigenous elected congress(wo)men17 and their grassroot and political organizations; jealousies among contenders for Parliament—between “winners” and “losers”—. In some extent, these contradictions may counterbalance the action of Indigenous representatives in the Congress, and disclose interpersonal fights and internal conflicts within the Indigenous movement. In fact, in more than one occasion Indigenous organizations’ members have clashed, because of their rivalries to ensure their access to a Congress bench, to compete for leadership positions, to justify or to impede sanctions professed against them. Moreover, parliamentarians elected on behalf of Indigenous political organizations had to face the persistence of an evident “inequality of opportunities” perceptible both in the Senate and in the House of Representatives due to the omnipotence of bigger parties. In fact, the number of senators and representatives elected on behalf of Indigenous organizations only corresponds to minimal percentages of the total of seats within  See further section “Parties and Ethnic Cleavages” in this paper for a more detailed perspective on that last point. 17  On that point, it is necessary to precise that only one Indigenous woman has been elected for a seat in the House of Representatives, in 2006. 16

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both corporations—even if are added those who get their mandate from ordinary constituencies. For the same reason, as first Indigenous senators would stress in 1992: We got representation in the Senate with much effort and sacrifice. But we found realities that perhaps we never thought of. We believed it was more democratic there, as Indigenous peoples do [politics, through their own assemblies]. But there, democracy is a game of forces, since only majorities decide. (Gabriel Muyuy, quoted in ONIC, Unidad Indígena, n°101, 1992: 5) The situation for the Indigenous movement has been very difficult, since the majority of Congress (…) has decided to form the commissions according to their interests. (Floro Tunubalá, Ibid) [T]he Senate has also discriminated against us. (Anatolio Quirá, Ibid)

In addition to restricting the margin of effective action of Indigenous senators, the disproportion between low opportunities for Indigenous delegates and powerful majorities in the Congress would lead to questioning the meaning of Indigenous representation within the legislative institution. Reduced to only formal inclusion, the Indigenous parliamentary presence would serve to legitimize a system where majority laws continue to prevail, and in which alternative political options are limited to a role of inclusion without substantive representation and participation. Furthermore, electoral mobilization implies—by delegating power—trusting certain individuals, probably recommended by Indigenous organizations but often poorly known by their electoral bases. When carrying out their functions, Indigenous politicians often have to move to the cities. This imposes a kind of double distance, on geographical but also social extents. In so far as such a condition limits the possibility of direct dialogue between communities, organizations and elected officials, it may reduce the feeling of responsibility of the latter towards their—grassroots— voters. For their part, electors sometimes feel misled by representatives who do not represent them. Actually, the questioning of elected officials—and particularly those who reach public office at regional or national level—has been a constant in Indigenous electoral experiences. They are repeatedly criticized for their inability to respect their electoral commitments and the directives of their political groups, their poor preparation to assume their duties, their easy tendency to ally with the “enemies”, and/or their aptitude for corruption. In response, representatives of Indigenous organizations often evoke a lack of resources, their limited possibilities, and the need to take rapid decisions which cannot be subject to consultation with all those they intend to represent.18 However, beyond these obstacles, Indigenous parliamentarians have been regularly presenting bills or have contributed, as speakers, to the explaining of statements in favour of—or against—the proposals made by their colleagues. In some few opportunities, they have played a central role by influencing the equilibrium between majority and opposition forces. And, above all, in addition to assuming a  Ser for example Chindoy (n.d.), Laurent (2005), Onic, Unidad Indígena, n° 101, 1992, Vasco (1995). 18

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strongly symbolic role—figured by their arrival to positions from which they were previously banned—, they have also come to exercise control responsibilities vis-à-­ vis government teams.19 In some occasions, at the regional and local level, electoral victories have coincided with spaces for Indigenous self-determination: for example, in several municipalities of Cauca, where, since 1994, mayors and councillors have been elected mostly on behalf of Indigenous organizations, and where the municipal management has been inspired by previously implemented community projects (such as the so-called Proyecto Global—Global Project, in Jambaló; Proyecto Nasa—Nasa Project, in Toribío; or Plan de Vida—Life Plan, in Silvia). Likewise, in some circumstances, broad alliances between diverse popular sectors made it possible to confront the so-called “traditional parties”; just as it happened, in the year 2000, with the coalition of local/regional, rural and urban, peasants, unions and black populations’ associations, in addition to some “independent liberals”, and alongside Indigenous organizations, within the framework of a Bloque Social Alternativo— Alternative Social Block. However, from a broader perspective, Indigenous electoral achievements tend to be relatively sporadic, and mainly restricted to this “cradle” area of the movement born in the 1970s. In other regions of the country, Indigenous electoral dynamics are more likely to be less encouraging, either because they do not reflect the construction of a clear political project, or because the power relation vis-à-vis other political forces is not favourable. At the same time, even in Cauca, there has been an inclination to cyclical pre-electoral pacts/post-electoral ruptures, which divulge the precariousness of the alliances.20 Furthermore, the combination between communal traditional authorities, Indigenous grassroots organizations and a kind of new elite that hold power from electoral victories is rather disparate. While some regions of the country have a long history of Indigenous struggles, with a close relation with state institutions, languages, and rules, others have remained much more isolated from national procedures. Likewise, the motivations for entering the electoral scene have varied from an area of the country to another. In this regard, the situation observed—for example—in three departments of the country from the early nineties can be useful as an illustration of such a phenomenon: Cauca (Andean area, southwest zone), Vichada (Orinoco, east zone) and La Guajira (Atlantic coast, extreme northern zone). These three cases can be studied as emblematic of different Indigenous experiences from the electoral perspective: Cauca and Vichada, for having distinguished themselves as “politically Indigenous regions”, based on electoral results but with different organizational trajectories (long and solid in Cauca, much more incipient in Vichada); La Guajira, on the contrary, because Indigenous peoples mobilization through their own political

 See for example Laurent (2005), and information registrated in https://congresovisible.uniandes.edu.co. 20  See for example Chilito (2018), Laurent (2005, 2023). 19

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organizations have remained weak despite the demographic strength and electoral potential that Indigenous population represents in this department. Thus, in Cauca—the already mentioned region that can be considered as the cradle of Colombia Indigenous movement—, there has been a noteworthy connection between the multiple dimensions of its political mobilization. The solidity and years of experience of such a land and identity claims process can be perceived in its electoral expressions. This is the department with the highest number of Indigenous elected since the beginning of the 1990s. Moreover, a strong link has maintained between the grassroots and community organizations, on the one hand, and their projections on the electoral arena, on the other, as well as a capacity for mutual questioning between communities, organizations and the elected representatives. In this region that played a precursor role for Indigenous peoples’ contest and fight for their rights, electoral participation looks like one more tool for effecting changes in society, together with other “excluded”. This resulted, for example, in the election—for the first time in the country’s history—of an Indigenous person for the department government in 2000. On the contrary, in Vichada, the Indigenous movement tended to decline throughout its electoral experience. There, Indigenous organizations were not as strong as those in Cauca. In fact, they were only created in the late eighties—that is, shortly before the opening of the electoral scene—and, little by little, they have weakened. Most of Indigenous elected officials shown their propensity to a kind of opportunism, repeating “bad customs” learned from the so-called traditional parties. They have been often acting without taking into account the recommendations coming from communal authorities, from departmental Indigenous organizations and from the political forces they are supposed to embody. In response, several of them were formally excluded from the latter. Therefore, Vichada gives a clear outline of some of the difficulties that have been affecting the Indigenous movement since its entry into the electoral competition: multiple divisions; rivalries for personal leadership; and weakness of the commitments of the elected candidates towards ancestral authorities, Indigenous organizations and a long-term political project. Finally, in the Guajira peninsula, the influence of the “traditional parties” is undoubtedly perceived—which, for years, have moved many votes among the Indigenous population, with repercussions until today in the scant mobilization of the Wayuu communities. However, other elements may be even more decisive to explain their low results in electoral battles. Actually, Wayuu people’s social organization system seems to influence such a tendency. Because it is built on a strong stratification based on family groups, it gives rise to multiple internal divisions. Moreover, among the Wayuu population, politics seen in the form of electoral participation would only be one element of the “alijuna [white] world”. For this same reason, it would not deserve special attention if not to obtain a material benefit in exchange for votes, these being often negotiated between the community authorities and those responsible for the parties. More generally, the mobilization of Indigenous peoples in electoral processes has been hampered by three main obstacles. First, should be recorded the obstacles that affect their own organizations due to a series of internal discords and

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fragmentation; to some extent, too, their limited ability to take on executive and legislative functions related to public administration, well beyond community range and responsibilities. Second, with few exceptions, representatives of Indigenous peoples have won minor positions among those awarded through elections—what of course significantly limits their room for action. Thirdly, it is necessary to take into account the weight of external pressures exerted within the Indigenous territories—and on their inhabitants—by various—legal and illegal—armed actors, which have been part of the social and political history of Colombia for more than half a century.21 Beyond electoral processes, it is also unavoidable to mention that other spaces of representation and participation for Indigenous peoples have been shaped in recent decades within the state institutions, which translated what were previously perceived as “Indigenous issues” into an official “Public Policy for Indigenous Peoples”. Launched in 1984, for the first time the Indigenous Development Program (PRODEIN) organized a consultation between Indigenous organizations and the state. Such an initiative acknowledged the errors committed in the past towards Indigenous peoples, called for their ethnic identity to be respected and proposed protecting their rights to their own collective territories and authorities, as well as their autonomy in education, health and internal development. After the Constitution of 1991, new negotiating bodies were ratified in July 1996, among which the Mesa Permanente de Concertación Nacional (Permanent Roundtable for National Policy Coordination) deserves special attention. Regulated by the Ministry of the Interior with the support of the Departamento Nacional de Planeación (National Planning Department), it has become emblematic of the dialogue led within the national institutionality. Invited to take part in the meetings are delegates of Indigenous organizations, Indigenous former members of the Constituent Assembly, congress(wo)men elected on behalf of the Indigenous movement and government representatives. Their role is to discuss core issues for Indigenous populations, such as territory, identity, autonomy, self-government and participation, prior consultation, socio-­ economic topics and other rights.22 For sure, this space of dialogue is one important tool of/for Indigenous peoples’ negotiations within the institutional framework. Notheless, it also led to different results, depending on the government teams. Juan Manuel Santos’ government

 On that point, see for example Gros (1991), Laurent (2005), Le Bot (1994), ONIC (2002, 2015), Pineda (2001). 22  The objective of Mesa Permanente de Concertación Nacional (Permanent Roundtable for National Policy Coordination) is to come to an agreement between the Indigenous peoples and the state about the administrative and legislative decisions that may affect them, to evaluate the implementation of Indigenous policies of the state and to follow up on agreements made there. ONIC [National Indigenous Organization of Columbia] (1996), Mesa Permanente de Concertación Nacional, accessed 21 March 2017, http://www.onic.org.co/noticias/2-sin-categoria/1185-mesapermanente-de-concertacion 21

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(2010–1018) showed a more “Indigenous peoples’ friendly” stance than those of his predecessor Álvaro Uribe (2002–2010) and successor Iván Duque (president elected in 2018). Although the issues discussed have always been the subject of multiple disagreements, the delegates of President Santos seem to have obeyed the mandate to “treat the adversary well”, in any case always in a respectful tone. On the contrary, Uribe and Duque’s relationships with social organizations, including the Indigenous ones, were particularly strained, the latter being frequently accused of having links to the guerrillas, by the representatives of the Executive.23 Finally, it is important to stress the role played by the Constitutional Court, which was also created along with the 1991 Constitution, and is known for its progressive judicial and emancipatory activism in favour of the protection of Indigenous peoples’ rights (García & Uprimny, 2004).24 Moreover, legal tools from the constitutional text itself have helped for a greater control over citizens in public affairs and with respect to their fundamental rights, such as “acción de tutela” (legal protection), “acción de constitucionalidad”,25 (constitutional action), and “consulta previa”26 (prior consultation). These mechanisms have often been the basis of legal decisions aimed at public bodies (ministries and other state offices), claiming respect of the principle of the nation’s diversity. In addition to judgments in favour of practices that are considered as ethnocultural particularisms, the Court declared unconstitutional laws voted without the prior consultation of the Indigenous peoples, and therefore has demanded their cancellation.27 At the same time, the court called on the state to honour its commitment to help end the marginalization of ethnic groups, and promote a “differential approach” to the problems associated with it.28  On Uribe’s character and politics, his purpose to implement a so-called “Democratic Security Policy” and to be perceived through the slogan of “mano firme, corazón grande” [firm hand, big heart], see González (2010). On his influence on state interactions towards indigenous peoples until Duque’s presidency, see Laurent (2019, 2020). 24  For an overview of the actions of the Constitutional Court, see http://english.corteconstitucional.gov.co/ 25  Tutela is a mechanism that allows every individual in Colombia who is jeopardized or threatened by any public authority or individual to appear before any judge in the Republic and claim immediate protection of his or her fundamental rights, without the need for a lawyer. The acción de constitucionalidad allows citizens to challenge national laws that violate the Constitution. 26  Enshrined in Convention 169 of the International Labour Organization (ILO) and incorporated into the Constitution of Colombia in 1991, the concept of “consulta previa,” that is supposedly also “free and informed,” requires that before adopting a decision that directly affects the destiny of an Indigenous peoples, the state initiate dialogue to examine the possible impacts that any project or legislative measure will generate. 27  Therefore, for example, the Forestry Law of 2006 (Sentence C-030 of 2008), the Rural Development Statute of 2008 (Sentence C-175/09) and the Mining Code Reform of 2011 (Sentence C-366 of 2011) were declared unconstitutional. 28  In this respect, see, for example, Información Víctimas 2012, http://www1.cundinamarca.gov.co/ PIU-2012/INFORMACI%C3%93N%20VICTIMAS%202012/CORTE%20CONSTITUCIONAL/ AUTOS%20ENFOQUE%20DIFERENCIAL/; Corte Constitucionale–Seguimiento sentencia T-025/04 y auto A004/09, http://www.corteconstitucional.gov.co/relatoria/autos/2010/a382-10.htm; 23

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 arties and Ethnic Cleavages: Indigeneity, Nation-Building P Project, and Electoral Challenges Along the three decades that followed the convocation of the National Constituent Assembly of 1991, various organizations have been vying for political-electoral representation on behalf of Indigenous peoples. Among them, the Movement of Indigenous Authorities of Colombia managed to maintain its influence in the electoral landscape since then, from its birth—in the southwest Cauca and Nariño highlands—to asserting itself nationally. As well as the National Indigenous Organization of Colombia, AICO mobilized for the first time in 1990 due to the exceptional episode of constitutional renewal. Its agenda insists on the importance of ancestral authorities for targeting political action, but also on the principles of diversity and interculturality (AICO, 1994, 2). Four years later, in 1994, three forces competed on the electoral stage on behalf of the Indigenous movement: while AICO remained a single organization, ONIC split into two parallel organizations. Created in 1991, the Alianza Social Indígena [Indigenous Social Alliance] (ASI) headed the representation of the Andean zone. For its part, the Movimiento Indígena Colombiano [Colombian Indigenous Movement] (MIC)—which emerged in 1993 and was present in the electoral arena until 1998—assumed the leadership of the lowlands area. Each of these organizations claimed for shaping an alternative political project enriched with ethnic and cultural dimensions in order to participate in the construction of a “nation where cultural diversity and respect for difference are a basic element” (ASI, n.d., 15) or to “guide and direct the [Indigenous] peoples and other sectors of the Colombian society, acquiring new relationships that […] allow the founding of spaces for participation and decision-making in accordance with [their] needs” (MIC, 1996, 6–7). More recently, in 2009, the Indigenous Social Alliance decided to change its name and become Independent Social Alliance. Indeed, the organization then resolved to discard the explicit reference of its designation to an ethnic and cultural belonging encapsulated by the label of “Indigenous”. By the way, it also preferred assuming a broader profile linked to the aspiration of present itself as a political party—instead of a political movement—and claims to be working for “a model of society in which human beings can coexist pacifically with their fellow human beings, with other living beings and with the environment” (https://alianzasocialindependiente.org, ASI, 2011). Even in its independent version, the parallel connection of the ASI with some Indigenous communities’ living experiences and electoral ambitions has not disappeared, reason why it still can be “partly” considered as a political party of Indigenous peoples. Around the same time, a sector of the former ASI—in disagreement with the decision of such a conversion—gave birth to a Movimiento Social Indígena [Indigenous Social Movement] (MSI), which took part in Congress election of and Seguimento al cumplimiento de la Sentencia T-025 de 2004, http://www.corteconstitucional. gov.co/T-025-04/A2013.php

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2010. A few months later, in 2013, this one was renamed Movimiento Alternativo Indígena y Social [Indigenous and Social Alternative Movement] (MAIS—which means “corn” in Spanish, a cereal of course very present and central in Indigenous life). MAIS states to be “based on the connection of spaces of political representation with the social bases (…), an Indigenous, social and inclusive postulate of different sectors of the Colombian Nation” (https://www.mais.com.co/perfil/ quienes-somos). Simultaneously, the organization stresses: MAIS was not created only for Indigenous peoples, its essence is directed to the whole world, promoting balance, harmony and the well-being of communities. MAIS sows, cultivates and reaps the cohesion of the different social and organizational processes, reaffirming a democracy [with] natural balance and harmonization in an equitable way. (https:// www.mais.com.co/perfil/quienes-somos)

Apart from these organizations, it is relatively difficult to know exactly how many forces have been running for election on behalf of “indigeneity” criteria— especially, at subnational level. In fact, numerous associations and/or leaderships which referred to themselves as Indigenous emerged and disappeared before and after the polling periods since the beginning of the nineties. Thus, it is worth spotting among those more or less structured and short/long-lived factions whose denominations seek to reflect a direct link with the Indigenous movement, the experience of some groups such as the Partido Indígena Colombiano [Colombian Indigenous Party], Visión Étnica- Huella Ciudadana [Ethnic Vision-Citizens’ Footprint], as well as numerous cabildos and other types of so-called “traditional authorities” (see Tables 5.2 and 5.3). Additionally, it is necessary to record that the joining of the latter in the electoral battles has not led to any noticeable outcomes, and that it has mostly been visible at the national level, within the special constituencies arranged for Indigenous peoples to obtain representation in the Senate and in the House of Representatives. Finally, it is to highlight that non-Indigenous parties not only have been all the time competing to gain Indigenous votes at local and regional level, but that in some opportunities they have also endorsed Indigenous contenders for the seats in the Congress. As former mentioned, the regulation of the special constituencies has been going through a series of electoral reforms and adjustments. Those contributed not only to introduce changes on Indigenous strategies to afford an access to the Senate—specifically through the special constituency—but also, to motivate the interest of a wide range of political forces from both sides of the ideological spectrum—left and right—for getting a chance to win a—supplementary—parliamentary space by supporting—at least, officially—Indigenous claims and nominees. In fact, after the passing of the 2003 political reform, the presumed “reserved” seats in the Senate and the House of Representatives were allocated to the candidates who obtain the most votes in the special constituencies, not among all of them, as individuals—as it used to work before—but among the winning political movements and parties. That meant an advantage for the biggest ones, which began to have their “own” Indigenous runners: for example, within the ranks of Polo

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Democrático Alternativo [Alternative Democratic Pole], Movimiento Huella Ciudadana [Citizens’ Footprint Movement], Cambio Radical [Radical Change] and Partido de Integración Nacional [National Integration Party].29 At the same time, it incited some leaders with a long history within Indigenous organizations to leave the latter and seek the support of such larger political forces. Already in 2002, because of the limited number of seats guaranteed through the special constituencies, three prominent former members of the AICO Movement and the Indigenous Social Alliance were aspirants for the Senate on behalf of the Democratic Pole—in this case, within the ordinary constituency. After the 2003 reform, such a trend became also tangible in the contend for the reserved seats (see Table 5.2). In general terms, the political-electoral forces born in the early nineties within the framework of the Indigenous movement of the former decades aimed then to define themselves on the basis of a double bet: to be “Indigenous enough”, but “not too Indigenous”, to articulate their aspirations with a non-exclusively Indigenous electorate. Actually, presenting themselves as Indigenous allows them to be perceived as distinctive vis-à-vis political parties and provides them legitimacy due to the close relationship they have—or are supposed to have—with the “community bases”, and with a long experience of struggles for recognition of their rights. However, Indigenous political options are also characterized by their contact with elements that go beyond any community belonging. By the way, apart from how advantageous the symbolic use of indigeneity may be to conquer votes, it is by no means viable to defend traditions in favour of behaviours of identity “confinement”. On the contrary, each of the Indigenous political electoral organizations claims to embody an alternative political project, enriched with ethnic and cultural dimensions. Therefore, alongside claims by and for Indigenous peoples, their political platforms include national issues: for example, strengthen participatory democracy, promote a solidarity economy, support initiatives in pro of peace or appeal for agrarian reform. For sure, differences between Indigenous organizations may have been in a certain extent related to ethnic and/or geographical origins; sometimes, also, to a kind of ideological discrepancies—between those which are eager to defend native and ancestral ways of exercising politics, and those that are more propitious to make alliances with other collectivities. In fact, these two tendencies were present within the Indigenous movement since its first steps on the public stage. On the one hand, regional organizations inspired by CRIC’s experience, as well as their federation inside the ONIC, were supporting a project shared with peasants, students and workers, and led from a unions’ know-how perspective. On the other, AICO’s initial basis was rather prone to defending what can be perceived as a more culturalist position, in order to carry out a fight with other societal actors following the refrain of “together but not scrambled”. Nonetheless, such nuances tended to vanish with

 Also present in the ordinary constituencies, the PIN was strongly questioned for being considered a “straw organization” for paramilitary politicians investigated by the justice. 29

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the projection of Indigenous movement into the political-electoral contends and with the new objective of participating in the nation-building project “from inside”— by getting votes to make possible the access to the law and decision-making—. Likewise—and due to the same stake—, Indigenous political forces group numerous non-Indigenous candidates and/or elected officials among their ranks. Most of them point to positions of low visibility: municipal councils or departmental assemblies. But some others have greater aspirations: to be elected as mayors of department capitals such as Bogota or Medellín; to become a councillor of Bogota; to acquire a seat in the House of Representatives through the special constituency for Afro-Colombian communities30; or even to win the first position as Colombia president.31 In some cases, the fact of “lending their name” to non-Indigenous runners known on the electoral scene—but isolated from the main political parties— allowed some outstanding victories for the Indigenous organizations. Thus, Alianza Social Indígena won the Mayor’s Office of Bogota in 2000 and that of Medellín in 2003, and in 2007. However, and as a counterpart—not only nationally, but also at the departmental and municipal levels—such a situation arises the question of the commitment of these “last minute converts” towards the organizations they supposedly represent. Simultaneously, the issue of political electoral endorsements originated strong disagreements and dissents, that sometimes gave rise to internal breakups—as it occurred in several occasions within ASI.

 lectoral Versus Alternative Representation Mechanisms: E Multiplicity of the Indigenous Political Mechanisms of Representation As one of the elected representatives of the Indigenous Movement once suggested, it is important to remember that beyond any promising and/or limited outcomes “the Indigenous project is not reduced to electoral participation”.32 Throughout the country, communal authorities—claimed and recognized as “traditional”—continue to govern and remain as reference characters among Indigenous peoples. Likewise, Indigenous organizations have not abandoned modes of mobilization that can be considered as less institutionalized than their participation in elections. On that topic, it is noteworthy to emphasize on the way(s) in which multiple spheres of—Indigenous—power connect, inside—and/or beyond—institutionality. On the first range, at local level, communal leaders have to guarantee order and

 On that point, it is worth stressing that, in 1994, Afro-Colombian parliamentarian Zulia Mena was elected on behalf of the Indigenous Social Alliance. 31  In 2006, the Indigenous Social Alliance had a “white” candidate—Antanas Mockus— for the presidential elections 32  Interview with Manuel Santos Poto (ASI Deputy in the Department of Cauca between 1994–1997), held by the author in Caloto (Cauca), Colombia, on October 12, 1996. 30

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harmony among their fellow people. Some of them are members of community councils—generally, cabildos, or equivalent kinds of “associations of traditional authorities” legally recognized by the state—commonly chosen each year through direct vote or consensus in collective assemblies; they often have to manage relations with the outside world too, and are the main interlocutors with state officials and national regulations. Some others are healers and hold their influence from their ancestral and spiritual knowledge. On an intermediary stage, Indigenous regional and national social organizations also fulfil a representation function of Indigenous peoples towards the state and, more generally, in front of the Colombian society. Their spokespersons are frequently expected to have high negotiation capacities fed by familiarity with the constitutional and legal framework. Finally, the opening of possibilities for an Indigenous participation in public debates through election contests similarly went hand in hand with the emergence of a new elite, endowed by a recognized status both inside and/or outside their communities of origin—although there may be criticism about their actions. For sure, taking into account the very internal diversity among what is generically referred to as Indigenous people(s)—as if they were link to a homogenous and permanent identity category—, the declinations of the interactions that arise between the different circles of their political dynamics are numerous and varied. However, their observation around the last three decades let perceive two main trends. On the one hand, the articulation between Indigenous representatives at political-communal, political-social and/or political-electoral levels sometimes has given rise to tensions, letting out frequent conflicts of generation between those who know and accept the institutions and rules of the state, and those who ignore or reject the latter. On the other hand, despite such tensions, these different orbs of expression of Indigenous political power can also be understood as complementary. And this is perhaps one of the main achievements of the Colombian Indigenous movement in the last 30 years: its institutionalization has been only partial, and it has been able to sustain a strong capability of contest. Actually, even after the approval of the 1991 Constitution, Indigenous organizations have not given up their tactics of mobilization—through protests—to assert their granted rights, and to insist on the necessity of their application by public policies. Known as mingas—in other words, collective efforts for the wellbeing of all—, such actions are claimed as resistance strategies towards state policies—and, especially, government positions that aim to defend national development versus native cosmovision and survival—as well as against armed groups that are still present and are a permanent threat within Indigenous territories.33 For example, there

 Because they are rich in natural resources, sometimes difficult to access and able to host illegal activities, Indigenous territories are exposed to the interests of multiple actors. They appear at the centre of priorities that are difficult to reconcile, what trigger off disputes with national and multinational companies considered “driving forces” of the country’s economy (such as building infrastructure, agribusiness, mining and the exploitation of natural resources), but often opposed by the communities who live in the areas concerned on the grounds they are harmful to them. On the different problems that call into question the principle of Indigenous territorial autonomy, see, for 33

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was a peaceful occupation of the headquarters of the Episcopal Conference in Bogotá for more than 30 days and protests undertaken simultaneously throughout the country, already in July 1996.34 Later mobilizations also attracted attention: among them, the blocking of the Pan-American Highway in June 1999, which led to the signing of a Decree by then President Andrés Pastrana, “by which the National Government creates a Commission for the comprehensive development of Indigenous politics [and] measures are adopted to obtain the necessary resources”; a great march between southwestern cities of Popayan and Cali in September 2004, known as Minga por la Vida, la Justicia, la Alegría, la Autonomía y la Dignidad [Minga for Life, Justice, Joy, Autonomy and Dignity]; and, especially, the Minga Nacional de Resistencia Indígena y Popular [National Minga of Indigenous and Popular Resistance] that began on October 12, 2008. This initiative was a significant milestone in the capacity of Indigenous organizations to bring together broad sectors of the population, not just Indigenous peoples, but also Afro-Colombians, peasants, students and women, as well as many other sympathizers. In turn, it reflected the articulation of demands made specifically in relation to Indigenous peoples with broader claims for change of Colombian society as a whole, thereby offering a space for open discussion between everyone in Colombia. From then on, the minga meetings have been held over time, to claim respect for the rights of Indigenous peoples but also to reject regional and national policies when they are considered to be contrary to democracy and equity. Recently, such collective project reloaded with force, especially with the Minga por la Defensa de la Vida, el Territorio, la Democracia, la Justicia y la Paz [Minga for the Defense of Life, Territory, Democracy, Justice and Peace], in March, November and December 2019, as well as in October 2020, and in the context of a massive social uprising that took place in 2021. In each of these opportunities, the Indigenous movement insists in its proximity to other social actors and proclaimed its willingness to take part in a shared struggle alongside with them. At the same time, it gains support and respect among wide sectors of the population. In articulation with demands of other groups of the Colombian society that gather around specific identities and demands—for example, as African-Colombians, peasants, women or students—, Indigenous social mobilizations led from remote areas of Colombia reach wide population settings in urban milieu, that are connected by the current use of social media.35 Hence, the configuration of indigeneity and politics based on more than 30 years of multiculturalism in Colombia and in the era of the new technologies reveals some example, ACNUR Colombia (2008), ONIC (2002, 2015), Rodríguez (2010). See as well, among others, the portals of Indigenous organizations: ACIN (http://www.nasaacin.org/); CRIC (http:// www.cric-colombia.org/portal/); ONIC (http://cms.onic.org.co/); and OPIAC (http://www.opiac. org.co/) 34  This mobilization of 1996 contributed to the creation of the aforementioned Permanent Roundtable for National Policy Coordination. 35  For an overview about these different episodes of Minga, see, for example, Archila (2008), Laurent (2005, 2010, 2019, 2020, 2021a, 2022a).

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effects on the material and symbolic relationships of Indigenous peoples towards the state, within their communities of origin and with the entire society—what is, also, creating a thought-provoking paradox. On the one hand, Indigenous communities and leaders are claiming for Indigenous autonomy within their territories. On the other hand, they are strengthening their links in urban milieu, within the main cities of Colombia and all around the—global—world.

Final Thoughts Since the early 1990s, the Indigenous movement in Colombia has confirmed its insertion into the electoral arena. Beyond ups and downs in its results and despite internal divisions, changes introduced in the electoral system and/or pressure from the armed actors, it has managed to ensure its presence in that new set-up. Such an outreach has been perceived not only through the special constituencies that function for Congress, but also at the subnational level. In part, the willingness of the Colombian Indigenous movement to compete in electoral battles can be interpreted as being associated with the country’s opening up to multiculturalism in 1991. As a result, there has been a redefinition of the relationship between Indigenous peoples’ organizations and the state. For the same reason, many of the initial Indigenous petitions in favour of a relative territorial and political autonomy are now—at least officially— ratified through the constitutional recognition of the principle of an equilibrium between “equality and difference”. Such a change could also have been translated into a subsequent absorption and ongoing vanishing of the Indigenous movement within the national frames. However, Indigenous peoples have not given up on dissent. On the contrary, they still call for legal mobilization to uphold their rights, and they maintain their own authority figures and the dynamics of their political struggles by means of protest, in order to be heard—and listened to—as significant performers of public debates. Thereby, their political action is fluctuating between institutionalization and resistance. Moreover, Indigenous peoples’ political mobilization is so expressing itself sometimes against the state but also, each time more since the new configuration offered by the 1991 Constitution, within the state and/or with the state, including to question its actions or omissions—more precisely, those of some of its institutions and agents. Regarding this topic, it is important to keep in mind, on the one hand, the heterogeneity of Indigenous peoples in Colombia—and the idea of diversity within the diversity; on the other, the multiform nature of the state. With them, it is necessary to take into account the variety and complexity of the situations that their combination is likely to generate, for the analysis of the practices to which they bear witness. From one and other perspectives of their political mobilization, there is no doubt that Indigenous peoples have to be considered as unavoidable actors of national debates and hot topics in Colombia. And, although racism, discrimination and the

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violation of their rights have not disappeared, the statement once shared by former Indigenous elected representative of the Constituent Assembly, Lorenzo Muelas, speaks for itself: “Now I am considered ‘honorable’... Thirty years ago you felt lower than the sole of your shoe, and now people call you ‘honorable’”.36

References ACNUR Colombia. (2008). El derecho de los pueblos indígenas a la consulta previa, libre e informada, una guía de información y reflexión para su aplicación desde la perspectiva de los derechos humanos. ACNUR. http://www.acnur.org/biblioteca/pdf/7602.pdf?view=1 Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined communities. Reflection on the origin and spread of nationalism. Verso Edition. Agudelo, C. (2005). Retos del multiculturalismo en Colombia. Política y poblaciones negras. La Carreta Social, IRD, ICANH, IEPRI. Agudelo, C., & Boullosa-Joly, M. (2015). Dossier Paradoxes et ambiguïtés des politiques multiculturelles. Problèmes d’Amérique latine, 92, 7–10. https://doi.org/10.3917/pal.092.0011 AICO – Movimiento de Autoridades Indígenas de Colombia. (1994). Estatutos. AICO. Archila, M. (2008). La Minga: “llegaron al corazón del país para quedarse”. Consejo Regional Indígena del Cauca. URL: http://www.cric-colombia.org/noticias/index. php?content=detail&id=200 ASI – Alianza Social Indígena. (n.d.). Perfil político y programa de la ASI. Mimeo. ASI  – Alianza Social Indígena. (2011). Estatutos vigentes de la Alianza Social Independiente ASI. ASI-IRI. ASI – Alianza Social Independiente. Website https://alianzasocialindependiente.org Basset, Y. (2011). Las circunscripciones especiales: ¿unas instituciones obsoletas? Análisis Político, 72, 43–59. Bayart, J.-F. (1996). L’illusion identitaire. Fayard. Benhabib, S. (2002). Political theory and political membership in a changing world. In I. Katznelson & H. V. Milner (Eds.), Political science: The state of the discipline (pp. 405–432). Norton y Company. Bocarejo, D., & Restrepo, E. (Eds.). (2011). Dossier “Hacia una crítica del multiculturalismo en Colombia”. Revista Colombiana de Antropología, 47(2), 7–13. Bonfil, G. (1977). El concepto de indio en América: una categoría de la situación colonial. Boletín Bibliográfico de Antropología Americana, 39, 17–32. Borrero, C. (2003). Multiculturalismo y derechos indígenas. CINEP. Center for Justice and International Law. (2018). Risk of extinction of indigenous peoples of Colombia is evidenced before the IACHR. https://www.cejil.org/en/ risk-extinction-indigenous-peoples-colombia-evidenced-iachr Chaves, M. (Ed.). (2011). La multiculturalidad estatalizada. Indígenas, afrodescendientes y configuraciones regionales de estado. ICANH. Chindoy, M. (n.d.). Algunas reflexiones sobre la situación de las autoridades tradicionales de los pueblos indígenas, In Órgano informativo del equipo de trabajo del Movimiento de Autoridades de Colombia en el Congreso de la República, Bogota, Congreso de la República, boletín n° 5. Chilito, E.  A. (2018). Poblaciones indígenas y elecciones locales en cuatro municipios del Departamento del Cauca 2003-2015. Colombia Internacional, 94, 143–175. https://doi. org/10.7440/colombiaint94.2018.06

 Author’s personal interview with Lorenzo Muelas, Silvia-Cauca (Colombia), May 2, 1999 (own translation). 36

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Laurent, V. (2009). Movimiento indígena y retos electorales en Colombia. Regreso de lo indio para una apuesta nacional. Revista Elecciones, 9, 87–114. Laurent, V. (2010). Con bastones de mando o en el tarjetón. Movilizaciones políticas indígenas en Colombia. Colombia Internacional, 71, 35–61. Laurent, V. (2012a). Dans, contre, avec l'Etat : mouvement Indien et politique(s) en Colombie, vingt ans après. In C.  Gros & D.  Dumoulin (Eds.), Le multiculturalisme ‘au concret’. Un modèle latino-américain ? (pp. 147–158). Presses de la Sorbonne nouvelle. Laurent, V. (2012b). Multiculturalismo a la colombiana y veinte años de movilización electoral indígena: circunscripciones especiales en la mira. Análisis Político, 75, 47–65. https://revistas. unal.edu.co/index.php/anpol/article/view/43506 Laurent, V. (2013). Cultures en conflit(s) ? Peuples indigènes et politiques publiques en Colombie, vingt ans de réflexions. Cahiers des Amériques Latines, 71, 75–94. URL: http://cal.revues. org/2674 Laurent, V. (2015). Elecciones 2014 y movilización política indígena: apuestas, ajustes y ¿(re) consolidación? In M. Battle & F. A. Barrero (Eds.), Elecciones presidenciales y de Congreso en Colombia, 2014 (pp. 169–205). Konrad Adenauer Stiftung. Laurent, V. (2016). Élite(s) e indianidad en Colombia: retos de democracia en contexto de multiculturalismo. Colombia Internacional, 87, 145–169. https://revistas.uniandes.edu.co/doi/ full/10.7440/colombiaint87.2016.06 Laurent, V. (2017). Opciones políticas indígenas y batallas (post)electorales –o como pelear con (el arbitraje d)el Estado. In M.  Chaves (Ed.), La multiculturalidad estatalizada. Indígenas, afrodescendientes y configuraciones regionales de estado (2nd ed.). Instituto Colombiano de Antropología e Historia – ICANH. Laurent, V. (2018a). Elecciones 2014 y organizaciones indígenas. Candidaturas, resultados, respaldos. In F. Botero, M. García, & L. Wills (Eds.), Polarización y Posconflicto: Las Elecciones Nacionales y locales En Colombia, 2014–2017 (pp. 55–80). Universidad de los Andes. Laurent, V. (2018b). Entre tradición e innovación: ejercicios indígenas de poder en Colombia. In O. Hoffmann & M. T. Rodríguez (Eds.), Los retos de la diferencia. Los actores de la multiculturalidad en México y Colombia (pp. 111–143). New edition [on- line]. IRD - Publicaciones de la Casa Chata. Disponible en https://books.openedition.org/irdeditions/20427?lang=en. Laurent, V. (2019). Colombia’s Minga protests demand justice, but president Duque isn’t listening (https://nacla.org/news/2019/04/16/colombia%27s-minga-protests-demand-justice-presidentduque-isn’t-listening-translation). Laurent, V. (2020). La Minga del Suroccidente es política (https://razonpublica.com/la-minga-delsuroccidente-politica/). Laurent, V. (2021a). Peuples indigènes, territoires et résistances en Colombie. De la lutte pour la terre à la libération de la Madre-Tierra. Les Cahiers D’Outre Mer, 284, 263–294. https://doi. org/10.4000/com.13123 Laurent, V. (2021b). Constitución de 1991 y multiculturalismo a prueba de la experiencia. Entre la institucionalización y la resistencia, los pueblos indígenas ‘llegaron para quedarse’. Análisis Político, 101, 23–46. https://doi.org/10.15446/anpol.v34n101.96557 Laurent, V. (2022a). 50 (y más) años de resistencia indígena desde el Cauca, Colombia. De la lucha por la tierra hacia la construcción de otro mundo. Colombia Internacional, 111, 3–29. https:// doi.org/10.7440/colombiaint111.2022.01 Laurent, V. (2022b). Dinámicas políticas indígenas en contexto de transición en Colombia. Apuestas y resistencias alrededor de las elecciones de 2018–2019. Estudios Políticos, 63, 159-184. https://doi.org/10.17533/udea.espo.n63a07 Laurent, V. (2023). Pueblos indígenas, guerra y ¿paz? Cinco años después del Acuerdo del Teatro Colón. In L. Betancourt & A. Rettberg (Eds.). A los 5 años del acuerdo: ¿cómo va la paz en Colombia? (pp. 57–70). Universidad de los Andes. Leal, F., & Zamosc, L. (Eds.). (1990). Al filo del caos. Crisis política en la Colombia de los años 80. Universidad Nacional de Colombia  – Instituto de Estudios Políticos y Relaciones Internacionales – IEPRI, Tercer Mundo Editores.

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Sarrazin, J.-P. (2010). Représentations et valorisation de l’indigène par les élites en Colombie. Une construction locale de l’altérité dans un contexte globalisé. Université de Poitiers – UFR des Sciences humaines et Arts, Laboratoire MIGRINTER (UMR 6588 CNRS/Université de Poitiers). Van Cott, D. L. (2003). Cambios institucionales y partidos étnicos en América Latina. Análisis Político, 48, 26–51. Van Cott, D. L. (2005). From movements to parties in Latin America: The evolution of ethnic politics. Cambridge University. Vasco, L. G. (1995). El movimiento indígena de hoy frente a lo nacional. Lecturas de la Cátedra Manuel Ancízar: Colombia contemporánea-Universidad Nacional de Colombia. Wills, M. E. (2007). Inclusión sin representación. La irrupción política de las mujeres en Colombia 1970–2000. Norma. Wieviorka, M. (1993). La démocratie à l’épreuve. Nationalisme, populisme, ethnicité. La Découverte. Wieviorka, M. (Ed.). (1997). Une société fragmentée? Le multiculturalisme en débat. La Découverte. Yashar, D. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America: The rise of indigenous movements and the postliberal challenge. Cambridge University Press. Yashar, D. (2008). Política indígena en los países andinos: patrones cambiantes de reconocimiento, reforma y representación. In A. M. Bejarano, S. Mainwaring, & E. Pizarro (Eds.), La crisis de la representación democrática en los países andinos (pp. 387–438). Norma. Virginie Laurent holds PhD in Sociology Political Science (Sorbonne University, Paris III, France) and is an associate professor, Universidad de Los Andes, Bogotá, Colombia.

Chapter 6

Indigenous Political Representation in Mexico: Myths and Realities Alejandro Natal

Introduction The largest indigenous population in the Americas live in Mexico. With allegedly 25.7 million of indigenous people, distributed in at least 68 ethnic groups and with 364 languages, this country is the most pluriethnic and diverse nation of Latin America. This, the mere fact that indigenous people are between the 10% and the 16% of the Mexican population,1 should make indigenous Mexicans an important political force or at least a desired political capital. Paradoxically, this is not the case, and indigenous people are meagerly represented and are practically ignored by political parties, not only at the federal but even at the regional level. This paper will discuss on the main reasons for this. One main difference of Mexico and some other Latin American countries is that social and cultural miscegenation is not an issue. Mexicans perceive themselves as the “race of bronze”, and Mexico as the Land of the Cosmic Race,2 a melting pot where ethnic identities miscegenated have constructed a pan-racial democracy, a “race for the future”. This is in part, because in the symbolic imaginary of Mexicans, indigenous heritage is a central element of Mexican modern identity. Aztecs and Mayas are systematically romanticized as a part of a glorious imperal past,  Porcentages differ on what is considered indigenous people (language, self appreciation, ethnicity and so on. The National Institute for Statics and Geography (INE) reports 10.4% in 2020 (https:// www.inee.edu.mx/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/CS04-2005.pdf), but the International Working Group for Indignos Affairs (IWGIA) reports 15.1 for the same year (https://www.iwgia.org/es/ mexico/3745-mi-2020-mexico.html). 2  This most probably was orginated by the thesis presented by José de Vasconcelos in. his book, The Cosmis Race, La Raza Cósmica. 1

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prehispanic ruins are very much visited and pieces from Mesoamerican cultures are highly appreciated in museums. Moreover, in the foundational myth of the Mexican nation, the indigenous component is central, with the Malinche, an indigenous woman who became the lover of the Spanish conqueror Hernan Cortes. In the same vain, social imaginary has it that the Independence process of Mexico was shepherded by an indigenous dark skinned virgen, the Virgen of Guadalupe. Additionally, soon after, the first constitution of Mexico (1824) recognized citizenship and full rights to all indigenous people, emerged another myth, that of an indigenous Zapotec peasant that became president. This is the much idealized but certainly powerful figure of Benito Juárez, who was president from 1857 to 1872, and that is the founding father of the Nation. Furthermore, indigenous people are recognized as central actors in other key moments of the consolidation of Mexican sovereignty, such as the fanciful defeat of the powerful French army by the Zacapoaxtlas indigenous group. Nowadays, formally, indigenous people are entitled to participate in politics and in public institutions, and there are in place several mechanisms to respect traditional indigenous forms of elections (Cargos y costumbres); and several programs currently being undertaken to guarantee the rights of indigenous communities. Furthermore, there exists a National Indigenous Council that dialogues directly with Congress, and recently electoral districts were reorganized to guarantee more indigenous political representation, and in 2017–2018 an indigenous woman aspired to be candidate to the Presidency. After this brief summary, the reader could rightly conclude that Mexicans much acknowledge the cultural diversity and pluriethnic character of their nation. One could reasonably expect that this recognition has made Mexico a country with institutions that respect this pluriethnic character, and therefore had a significant indigenous representation, a real pan-racial democracy. However, the reality is rather different. Speeches and myths apart, indigenous are seen by large parts of Mexican society as relics of the past, as a folkloric present, or as the poor side of the family that is preferable to ignore. Hallmarks in which indigenous people participated in the conformation of the nation have been so romanticized into a mythical constructum, only to disguise a rancid racism and shadow the structural marginalization and abandonment in which Mexican democracy has maintained the contemporary indigenous people. Thus, common citizen’s recognition to their cultural richness is rather superficial and has little reflection on the issue of the lack of representation of indigenous people and their rights. This even after the 1994 Zapatista uprising which revealed that, indigenous people in most parts of Mexico do not feel represented by the status quo, and brought to light a number of serious problems that hindered indigenous rights. Indigenous Mexicans face problems like the multifaceted practices of discrimination and social, economic, and cultural exclusion. They also face a conundrum of structural social and political-economy constraints that make them live pervaded with anomy, poorly educated, and trapped in poverty. They are confined to remote and ill-communicated regions, scattered throughout the country. This, added to the more than 364 different languages they speak, makes them sometimes incapable to

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communicate among themselves, what inhibits horizontal bonding among indigenous groups. Lack of bonding, with few exceptions, results in that the few indigenous associations that succeed to emerge are poorly integrated at national, or even subnational level. This makes difficult to build up an ample and shared indigenous grass-roots agenda. Furthermore, to a large part, the presence of different forms of caciquism in many indigenous communities and regions results in the absence of local indigenous political parties. There also exists a vacuum interest of national parties in indigenous affairs, and the few indigenous candidates that run for offices, do so within the national parties, not publicizing their ethnic background and surrendering their agendas to the parties. All this, drags down the presence of indigenous people in the legislative, and their participation in government offices, and explains, in part, why the indigenous movement is today a marginal actor in the Mexican political scene. This complex panorama and the variegated results of the institutional instruments put in practice so far have resulted in little consensus on the alternatives to the main drawbacks that arrest indigenous representation. Much of the discussion is plagued with utopianism or is charged with obsolete ideology, ignores the claims of indigenous people, or focuses in the technicalities of electoral sections. Therefore, we analyze drawbacks and alternatives from a fresh standpoint. Henceforth, we detach from radical primordialists blind to cultural change, and framed in ideas that most indigenous people would hardly support today; as well as, from simple rational and structuralist explanations that cannot anticipate behaviors or think indigenous people out of the poverty trap. Though we do not expect to refute them entirely, it will be our contend, that it is of much use to follow an approach in which individuals are understood as subjects with agency inserted in complex arenas, with plural and diffuse identities, socially constructed and dynamic; which have demands on poverty, authoritarian rule, respect to cultural values, resources or political rights. Thus, besides filias, fobias, or ideological standpoints, we would analyze processes and results and separate expectations from reality, in order to add to the discussion on how to improve and design the mechanisms needed to finally empower indigenous people and aid them to overcome the drawbacks that hold them back. This is critical since, despite its importance, indigenous representation is a largely understudied area in political analysis and a pending need to understand postliberal democracies; but it is also, an urgent requirement, since it is a procrastinated demand that can menace the stability of the Mexican democracy. In this chapter, we will first, chronicle the struggle of indigenous people to be respected and gain voice; as well as their clashes with the Mexican state. This brief historical analysis looks to show that there is a continuum in history that explains why despite some institutional efforts, the political inclusion of indigenous people is still far from acceptable. The second part analyzes some data that may help the reader to understand the richness, diversity, and complexity of indigenous Mexico. Here we present a series of elements that help us to comprehend the human geography of indigenous politics, what we call the Indigenous Universe in Mexico. We show how many of these elements make of indigenous political representation a defying affair by itself. In the third part, we present a brief analysis of the

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consuetudinary systems that exist nowadays in the country, and also discuss the relation of parties and electoral system with indigenous people. We end this chapter with a brief conclusion to summarize some of the possible alternatives to improve the existing mechanisms of indigenous representation.

History Before the Spanish conquest, a large part of what nowadays constitutes the territory of Mexico was the Aztec Empire then known as Anahuac. Aztecs had subdued a large number of indigenous groups that lived in this territory, though they left them live accordingly to their own cultures and languages. However, subdits were forced to pay high taxes and to live under the fierce Aztec oppression. The resultant animosity made that some groups ended up helping a tiny bunch of Spaniards to conquer the Aztec Empire and then the rest of Mexico. Nonetheless, several groups, like Mayas and Yaquis, of which we will talk about later, were never conquered by the Spaniards, since they lived in remote and aggressive terrains. The new conquerors organized the administration of this highly indigenous populated colony, which then outnumbered Spaniards, 10 to 1 (Guzmán Urióstegui, 2010), through an strict mechanism of racial differentiation. This was in fact an apartheid system, the Sistema de Castas. Part of the Indians lived in “Republics” were they were granted the possession of their communal lands, were governed by their indigenous nobility and had de facto internal autonomy and self-government, which permitted their ethnic and cultural reproduction insofar they accepted to be baptized, to pay the Indian Tribute and to oblige other duties with the Crown. Soon when interest in indigenous land grew, Spanish rule organized the Encomiendas. These were composed of, (a) land given to a peninsular Spanish, the Encomendador, to administrate; and (b) with the land all the indigenous people living in it, so they would be evangelized. But Encomendadores soon subjected indigenous people to depredatory labor systems, what gave rise to a number of indigenous uprisings such as the Mayas in Sacalum in 1635, Bacalar in 1636, and Kistell in 1761, this last commanded by a reverentiated leader, Jacinto Canek (Guzmán Urióstegui, 2010). The independence of Mexico did not improve these conditions. Though the Constitution gave Indians full citizenship with all rights under the law, in reality this initial legislation, being a liberal one, treated and talk about citizens, ignoring the social category of “Indian” and, thus, all the limitations they would have in exerting their new citizenship rights (Bartra & Otero, 2008). Moreover, as social order did not change in independent Mexico, the situation of oppression over indigenous people maintained as they kept being subject to the racist white supremacism of their fellow Mexican Spaniard-descendants. Such culture brought about the idea that indigenous people were lazy and indolent, and therefore, an hindrance for development; whereby the only way to integrate them to Mexican society was not by granting them rights but by taking them as available workforce that needed to be

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re-educated (Guzmán Uriostegui, 2010). This was a common perception throughout the nineteenth century. The Laws of Reform were promulgated between 1855 and 1863, marking a hallmark for Independent Mexico since they separated the State from a very strong Catholic Church, a factic power and the largest landlord at the time. These laws, and their successive reforms (1883, 1884), claimed Church’s land for the Mexican State, and provided also the legal instruments for indigenous people to be free of any relation of labor dependency with the Church, which in many cases operated as a feudal system. Paradoxically, since the new reforms, also included a chapter on unproductive lands, soon they also became a new threat to indigenous territories. This is because, the ample rail network that was the spine of Porfirio Diaz (1877–1911) development policy brought interest to previously isolated places, most of them indigenous territories. Furthermore, the strong support of Diaz’s government to capitalists made him a vigorous actor in the depriving of land to indigenous people, and by the end of his government, 90% of all indigenous land had been destituted from them (Bartra & Otero, 2008). In this manner, lands taken from the Church and from indigenous communities largely passed to private owners that became latifundistas; and indigenous people freed from their labor commitments with the Church, passed rather to be a large offer of cheap labor force, a new available proletariat ready to work for the expanding agricultural industry of the Mexican Industrial Revolution (Bartra & Otero, 2008). These policies were met with tenacious resistance, as was the case of Mayos and Yaquis which increasingly and violently mobilized between 1869 and 1871.

Confrontations with the State In 1825, Juan Banderas, a Yaqui leader declared the war against the Yoris (mestizos3) and was followed not only by the Yaquis indigenous group but by a number of other groups. Though, after some scarmishes the State Congress recognized self-­ government to the Yaqui, confrontations followed and in 1875, José María Leyva, better known as Cajeme,4 fiercely opposed the colonization process launched by the law of “unproductive lands” (Abbondanza, 2008). Cajeme governed for a long while in an autonomous manner until he was killed in 1887. A new leader, Tebiate would continue his struggle to reclaim their lands. By 1901, the Mexican army had in the Yaqui Valley, 26 military bases to support the colonization, pushing Yaquis to live in remoter areas or to become employees of the Yori farms (Gouy-Gilbert, 2015). As Yaquis did not surrender, in 1907 federal government displaced 23 thousand of them from their lands in the north, Sonora, to southern Mexico, Campeche and  White or misgenated Mexicans.  Cajeme, “he that does not drink”, was a Yaqui leader with a formal governmental office as “Mayor of the Yaqui River”, with the mandate to control de Yaquis, but that seeing the unfairness and encroaching intentions of Yoris decided to rebeld against the government. 3 4

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Yucatan, to work practically as slaves in the henequen Haciendas. This is nowadays recognized by the Mexican government as a genocide. Something similar happened in Yucatan, with the Guerra de Castas (Castes War). It started in 1847 led mainly by Antonio Ay, Cecilio Chi, Jacinto Pat, Venancio Pec and certainly by the Queen, priestes, and military Chief, Maria Uiacab (Rosado & Santana, 2008; Vadillo Buenfil, 2017). They were stocked by the English which after forcing their way into what is now Belice had an interest in the Peninsula resources. By 1848, when Yucatan decided to lose its independence and reincorporate to Mexico, Mayas occupied four fives of the Peninsula and have their own capital, in Chan Santa Cruz. In 1901, the Mexican Army fiercely crushed the Mayas ending this conflict, which costed more than 250 thousand deaths. In a way the Castes War was the fight of Mayans to maintain their way of life, but also a movement to oppose the growing agrarian capitalist system and certainly a way to claim back indigenous land. After winning the war, Diaz’s government allowed Mayas to be maintained in a near to slavery situation in the henequen haciendas, while Merida became one of the most classy cities in Latin America (Guzmán Urióstegui, 2010; Peniche, 2002). Though Mayas and Yaquis were groups that tenaciously and fiercely confronted the state, social resentment was not exclusive of them. It is known that Mixes in Oaxaca did not allow withe people among them since they were resentful and suspicious of mestizos, to which they called ladinos (see El Republicano, 1879). With this social resentment by the indigenous population started the Mexican Revolution. It was initiated in 1910 by a liberal Francisco Madero and other hacendados of Northern Mexico marginalized throughout the more than 30 years of Díaz dictatorship. Though depending on the region, indigenous participated in different manners, either supporting government, rebelds or even hidding, their participation in central Mexico represented a hallmark for the Revolution. Since 1908, Nahuas in Morelos had started to organize themselves to protect their lands from hacendados (Womack Jr, 1969). Their leader was Emiliano Zapata who decided to ally with Madero to fight the system in exchange of a full agrarian reform at the end of the conflict (Bartra & Otero, 2008). Neither their ethnic condition or language were a flag of the movement. Once in office Madero, a conservative himself, was very slow in attending the promises of agrarian reform made to indigenous people. Whereby, in 1991, Zapata rose up in arms again against the State, flagging the Plan de Ayala (Ayala Plan) which included the Agrarian Reform as its main plea. In the civil war that followed, the hacendados of the North fought Zapatist and eventually defeated them, but were forced to take up agrarian reform to cease the conflict and ease social resentment. Thus, with the enactment of the 1917 Constitution, its article 27th on agrarian reform became one of the pillars of the new regime. Agrarian Reform was based in the so-called Ejido system, which gave peasants possession of the land. They could usufruct it and even inherit it, but never sell it, since the ultimate ownership of land remained the state’s. In this way, indigenous people were to be owners of their own land and, consequently, their dependence from the hacienda was dissolved enabling them to grow their own products. Some governors, immediately applied agrarian

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reform in their states (Paoli & Montalvo, 1977). Most notably, Felipe Carrillo Puerto governor of Yucatan,5 a socialist himself, gave land back to Mayas, and organized the “return to corn” policy (a strategy to break indigenous people alimentary dependence from haciendas), as well as other activities to recover the language and culture. But at national level it was only until the 1930s when socialist President Lazaro Cardenas took power, when the agrarian reform was fully applied and a significative land redistribution took place (Bartra & Otero, 2008). After the Revolution, the Mexican state tried to build up a homogenous metizo society, with the new national shared identity (Natal, 2010a). As this new identity project was an integrationist one, all Mexican were portraited as Mestizos. The ethnic condition of indigenous people was portraited as part of the past, a historical richness to be proud of. Nonetheless, it was tacitly associated with backwardness and therefore not as a desired present neither as the common future to be constructed. Thus, indigenous people were subsummed in one of the categories of the corporatist system that Mexico undertook after the revolution, the peasant sector. Therefore, in order take part in the agrarian reform, indigenous people needed to recognize themselves as peasants and accept to be organized through the Confederación Nacional Campesina (CNC) and the Liga de Comunidades Agrarias. Through these organizations government controlled insurrection and rewarded loyalty of indigenous people while assimilated them (see Natal, 2010a). Nevertheless, as soon as 1940s, it became obvious that to force indigenous people to recognize themselves as peasants had not waned their ethnic component. Thus, to attend the ethnic question, the government created the National Indigenist Institute (Instituto Nacional Indigenista, INI), a paternalist project that focused on the social and economic needs of indigenous people but that did not pay attention to demands of identity neither to indigenous rights. But to be fair, the lack of attention to indigenous rights was also a consequence that these rights were not clearly and fully articulated by the indigenous themselves. Thus, even in the 1970s, when several indigenous organizations started to appear, they were not putting forwards their ethnicity, but were more focused in agrarian issues and land claims. This was the case of organizations such as the Unión de Comunidades Indígenas de la Zona Norte del Istmo (Ucizoni); the Union de Comunidades Indigenas de la Región del Istmo (UCIRI); the Union de Campesinos Independientes 100 Años (UCI 100 Años); the Asamblea de Autoridades Mixe (Asam), in Oaxaca. In Chiapas, there was the Organizacion de Representantes Indigenas del Estado de Chiapas. In Central Mexico: the Frente Democrático “Emiliano Zapata” (FDOMEZ); and the Consejo de los Pueblos Nahua de Alto Balsas (Bartra, 2000, 2001), among many others. In Mexico City, neighbors of Milpa Alta and Xochimilco, and in Michoacan those of Santa Fe. All these associations organized mainly in defense of their land,

 Felipe Carrillo Puerto, was a socialist leader of the Partido Socialista del Sudeste also organized also a seires of cultural and educative activities that promoted the recovery of language and indigenous culture. This was ended when the “Divine Caste”, the landlord class of Yucatan, got him killed in Merida (Paoli & Montalvo, 1977). 5

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forests, and water, against economic interests, and also to fight local politicians and caciques. Then also in 1974, an important hallmark of the indigenous organization took place, as the Congress of the State of Chiapas, in southern Mexico, promoted the formation of Supreme Councils by ethnic group. In this way was born the First Indigenous Congress of the State of Chiapas. This Congress had meetings held in Chol, Maya, Tzeltal, Tzoltzil, and Tojolabal indigenous languages, and produced a revealing diagnostic and powerful proposals on communities and linguistic groups. Though it was expected that the Congress would put the ethnic question at the front, the conclusions were more oriented to the peasantry problems, like land and trade. Other issues appeared like education and health, but not necessarily from an ethnic standpoint. This Congress, became the inspiration for the later formation of the Congreso Nacional de Pueblos Indios (CNPI), in 1975. Though both structures, the Chiapas and the National were meant to be subordinated to the Mexican State, in 1976, the CNPI fiercely criticized the Law for Agrarian Promotion and even demanded the dismantling of the Indigenist Institute. From then on CNPI had a number of years of autonomy and seemed to be a way to advance indigenous agendas, but in 1985, the government finally coopted it and transformed it into the Confederacion de Pueblos Indigenas, affiliated to the then ruling party, the PRI6 (see Bartra, 2000). Nevertheless, at grassroots, a number of indigenous associations continued to emerge. Particularly important were the cases of UNORCA and CNPA. UNORCA (Union Nacional de Organizaciones Campesinas7), which emerged in the 1980s with the objective – among others – to coordinate the fight of indigenous groups. UNORCA had presence of important organizations such as Tosepan Tititaniske, the Unión Regional de Ejidos y Comunidades de la Huasteca Hidalguense, and the Union of Uniones of Chiapas, among many others. In 1982, emerged also the Coordinadora Nacional Plan de Ayala (CNPA). The CNPA organized a powerful national encounter of indigenous independent associations with representation of several indigenous groups, such as Amusgos, Chatinos, Chinantecos, Huastecos, Mazahua, Nahuatls, Otomi, Purepecha, Toztziles, Teztzales, Triqui, and Zapoteca, among others. This encounter can be considered as the first signs of Neozapatism, the bringing back of the plea of Zapata, and one of the first exercises of intergroup bonding. However, as can be deducted by the names of the organizations, in both cases, the identity of the organizations was still rather based on the peasant condition of their members (Bartra & Otero, 2008). But the 1980s would see a shift in the organization objectives. This was in part the result of the influence of indigenous intellectuals, but also the result of migration of indigenous people to work in northern Mexico or the USA.  As the decade advanced, one can appreciate a growing number of indigenous organizations, in which there is a shift from an autoperception as peasants associations, to citizen

 Partido Revolucionario Institucional.  National Organization of Peasants Asociations.

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rights associations. (a) A number of organizations very much helped to reinforce identity and to build up new and potent leaderships. As happened with Mayas in Guatemala (Warren, 1998), the 1980s and 1990s in Mexico would also see a number of indigenous intellectuals informing organizations (Gómez Peralta, 2005).8 With the help of these intellectuals, organizations for the very first time presented demands related with respect to community life and language, as well as political autonomy, and control over land and its resources. Oaxaca was probably the state where more of these types of organizations appeared, as was the case of the indigenous Zapotecs organizations, Coalición Obrero Campesino Estudiantil del Istmo (COCEI), and the Organization for the Defensa de los Recursos Humanos y el Desarrollo Social Sierra de Juarez. Other groups organized as well as the Organización de Yacaltecos de la Sierra de Juarez; or other multiethnic such as the Coalición de Promotores Indigenas Bilingues, the Comite para la Defensa de Recursos Naturales y Humanos (CODREMI) and the Comite de Organización y Consulta para la Union de Pueblos de las Sierra del Norte de Oaxaca (CODECO). Also for the first time, indigenous organizations reacted and presented statements rejecting the so-called “national development”;9 and openly confronted the states’ policies first, in 1980  in the Primer Encuentro de Organizaciones Indígenas Independientes in Puxmecatan, Oaxaca; and then in the second in Cheran Atzicurin, Michoacan. (b) Migration and new problems and the learnings indigenous had in their new environments, also played a significant role in indigenous associations shift to rights organizations. This is the case of the Asociación Recuperando la Tierra, 414 de Pueblos Explotados y Oprimidos, which later, in 1991, became the Frente Binacional Mixteco-Zapoteca, and finally the Frente Indígena Oaxaqueño Binacional (FIOB), when it also included Mixes, Triquis, and Chololtecas (Kearney, 1996, 2000). This was also the case of Comite Civico Popular Mixteca and the Asociacion Civica “Benito Juarez”. The fights of these new organizations were more oriented to problems, that implied rights issues, such as deportation, sending of remittances, exploitation in the USA, the linking of families, and so on.

 This was the case of Jaime Martínez Luna (Zapotec) and Floriberto Díaz (Mixe), who was also leader of the indigenous movement in Oaxaca. For more recent indigenous intelectuals see for instance the work of Francisco López Bárcenas, Legislación y derechos indígenas en México, Centro de Orientación y Asesoría a Pueblos Indígenas/Ediciones Casa Vieja–La Guillotina/Red– es/Centro de Estudios Antropológicos, Científicos, Artísticos, Tradicionales y Lingüísticos, Ce– Ácatl, México, 2002, pp. 158–159. This has also been reported by Warren for the case of Mayans in Guatemala. a clear account of how indigenous groups transcommunity plus national and international civil society networking interweave and empower indigenous movements. Warren highlights the crucial role that Mayanist played in constructing a multicultural democracy (Warren, 1998). 9  This was a declaration presented in the ODRENASIJ, CODECO AND CODREMI Declaration. It can be read in this document “…We demand absolute respect for our community self-determination, over our lands, over all the natural resources and forms of organization that we wish to give ourselves… we demand respect for our expressions of community life, our language, our spirituality… we demand respect and promotion of our form of community government because it is the only guaranteed way to avoid the centralization of political and economic power”. 8

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After the earthquake of 1985, which devastated Mexico City and some indigenous areas, Mexico became a focus of international aid. Several NGOs, specially related to Churches, became more interested in indigenous people.10 A number of projects were casted to them and the relations of groups and indigenous organizations with NGOs became stronger, as was the case of Foro Internacional Matias Romero, Equipo Pueblo, and some others. Nonetheless, for many this new relation of NGOs with indigenous organizations was more seen as intrusion and a new way of decaffeinating the movement. But by the 1990s, the force of the indigenous movement made redundant the need of NGOs. They were already presenting wellarticulated demands, in particular the right to elect their own authorities. This happened in several states, like Hidalgo, Guerrero, Mexico, Michoacan, and Nayarit (Tejera Gaona, 1994). These demands were enhanced in March 1990, with the Primera Asamblea Nacional de Pueblos Indígenas y Organizaciones, in Milpa Alta, in which emerged the Frente Nacional de Pueblos Indios (FRENAPI), with a clear agenda: right to autonomy, cultural identity, rights to land and natural resources, rights to political autodetermination and to consuetudinary law (Bartra & Otero, 2008). In an intent to control political effervescence around these demands, in 1991, the government created the Congreso Indigena Permanente (CIP), which coopted a number of indigenous organizations with the carrot of an Indigenous Fund, which distributed millions of pesos and put an end to indigenous unrest. However, something had become evident, indigenous people were fade up and were more and more interested in the recognition of their cultural rights and autonomy. By the 1990 s, for the celebration of the Encounter of the Two Worlds, there were two distinct ways of preparation. On one hand, there were academics, politicians, and public opinion in general, which recognized the significant debt with indigenous people and engaged in the discussion of whether or not to concede them consuetudinary law and self-government (Brysk, 2000; Van Cott, 2000). As a response to this debate, in 1990 Mexican Senate ratifies the ILO’s, Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention (No. 169), committing the Mexican state, to foster indigenous identities, languages, and religions,11 and to recknown their right to have their own institutions, and decide on their own ways of living and develop. Similarly, in 1992, Mexico reform the article 4th of the Constitution, recognizing the pluricultural composition of Mexican society, and its grounding in her indigenous nations (Gil Villegas, 1996). However, these changes were more symbolic concessions that did

 This was not totally new. Since 1936, the Instituto Linguistico de Verano, founded by William C. Townsend, with the suppor of the then president Gral. Lázaro Cárdenas, had been working with indigenous groups in Mexico. Under the coverage of studying the langugaje and developing dictionaries in indigenous languages, the Institute, however, had a deeper agenda: the translation of the Bible and Christian evangelization. In many indigenous communities the evangelization of the Institute has affected traditions and culture, and has been seriosly disruptive as it has created tensions and rivalries within the groups (Santoyo & Arellano, 1997). It has also calmed redirected political unrest of indigenous groups (Rus & Wasserstrom, 1979). 11  See https://www.senado.gob.mx/comisiones/desarrollo_social/docs/marco/Convenio_169_PI.pdf 10

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not create secondary regulation to make them operational and did not fully address important issues such as the control over indigenous lands, a historical plea of indigenous people. On the other hand, there were the preparations of indigenous people that run in parallel, as outsiders. During the whole decade, in Latin America indigenous groups were promoting International bonding and encounters as the Encuentro Continental de Pueblos Indigenas and the Primer Foro Internacional sobre los Derechos Humanos de los Pueblos Indigenas in Matias Romero, Oaxaca, which counted with more than 96 indigenous organizations of 23 indigenous groups, and with representation from Guatemala, Honduras, Peru, Bolivia, as well as several Universities and NGOs (Bartra & Otero, 2008). In this Forum was created the so-­called Campaña Mundial 500 Años de Resistencia Popular Indigena.12 The second meeting, held in 1990 in Mexico City ended, as well, with the creation of the Frente Nacional de Pueblos Indígenas (FRENAPI),13 with clearly defined demands: autonomy and determination, cultural identity rights, rights and control of land and natural resources, as well as traditional law. For the day of the anniversary of the Encounter, the 12 of October of 1992, indigenous groups organized some very significative collective action activities. For instance, in Mexico City, they marched from the Zocalo (main central plaza) to the Basilic of the Virgen of Guadalupe, in order to ¨forgive¨ the Catholic Church for the excesses of the colonization; in Michoacan vandalized the statue of Tata Vasco, a missioner who had ironically supported indigenous causes; and in San Cristobal Chiapas, destroyed the monument to Diego Mazariegos, the Spanish conqueror of the region. In sum, the 500  years brought indigenous organizations to put more attention to bonding which then after became one of its central objectives (Consejo Mexicano 500 Años, 1991). However, after the 12 of October of 1992, the fashion ended, and the organizations that participated in Congresses and populated the plazas, drastically debilitated; something similar happened with the NGOs, international interest and public opinion which simply vanished. Nonetheless, some candles kept lit and in 1993, took place an almost empty Encuentro Nacional de Sociedad Civil y Pueblos Indígenas,14 where it was clear that, though indigenous people were not in the streets, they were not satisfied. This will soon be proven by a collective action event with no precedent in the history of Mexico, the Zapatist Indigenous Movement.

Zapatismo As we have shown in the previous paragraphs, throughout the 1990s, a wave of indigenous organizations had been acting to voice and being heard, with no results. The resulting unrest brought up, the Zapatismo, a neozapatist movement which was  World Campaign 500 Years of Indigenous and Popular Resistence.  National Front of Indigenous Nations. 14  National Encounter of Civil Society and Indigenous Nations. 12 13

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the first indigenous armed uprising in contemporary Mexico. This was not a simple guerilla, nor a conjectural explosion of social strife that could be contained, neither a local dissension that could be coopted, or a “vulnerable group” that could be attended with an ad-hoc program. This was a movement that had been building up during the previous years, and that finally exploited in a climax of rebeldy and dignity with the Ejercito Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN).15 The EZLN was a complete political earthquake that shaked the statuo-quo, and forced the state –and society in general– to rethink the monocultural, centralist, and discriminatory character of the Mexican nation. However, it did so, not by entering into ethnic clashes, nationalistic claims or declarations to redefine boundaries, but just by “declaring the war” against the Mexican State, from within. The movement started the first of January of 1994, with the war declaration and the taking over of five municipalities of Chiapas. Then, after 12 days of fighting, president Salinas de Gortari declared an unilateral cease of fire, and 21 days later, peace negotiations started in San Cristobal de las Casas. Though the conflict was made by indigenous grassroots, in the first moment, it seemed more a peasants revolt, since their flags were “tierra, pan y libertad”,16 or “land, bread and freedom”, as was the original plea of Zapata. However, when negotiations started (specially 1995 and 1996), demands shift so as to pay special attention to multiculturalist issues, such as autonomy, and the redefinition of the forms of intermediation so as to bring indigenous people an effective participation in decision-­making and political representation. One of the slogans of the EZLN during negotiations was to accept not “little mirrors” (shining concessions with no meat) that didn't represent a real change in political representation. Thus, on June 10, the EZLN rejected the government proposals since, for them, did not offer real political changes. In August 1994, some days of difference of the arrival of Ernesto Zedillo to the presidency, the Consejo Estatal de Organizaciones Campesinas e Indigenas de Chiapas (CEIOC),17 and the Asamblea Estatal del Pueblo Chiapaneco (AEPCH),18 called for the creation of Multietnic Autonomous Regions, and thus 10 municipalities were taken by CIOAC to conform the Autonomous Region of the North; while the Movimiento Campesino Regional Independiente19 (MOCRI), established the independent municipality of ¨Marquez de Comillas¨, at the same time the Coalicion de Organizaciones Autonomas de Ocicingo (COAO) conformed several independent governments. In Las Margaritas, it was also proclaimed the Region Autonomica de la Frontera.20 Similarly the Organizacion Indigena de los Altos de Chiapas (ORIACH), the Movimiento Democratico de Chalchihitlan (MODECH), and the

 National Liberation Zapatist Army.  see Orgambides, Fernando, 02 March 1994, Acuerdo entre Zapatistas y gobierno Mexicano, El Pais. https://elpais.com/diario/1994/03/03/internacional/762649216_850215.html 17  Peasant Organizations Council of Chiapas. 18  State’s Asambly of the People of Chiapas. 19  Pesant Independent Regional Movement. 20  Border Autonomic Region. 15 16

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Organizacion Indigena de Cancun (OIC), as well as the Organizacion Indigena Samel Satik (OIS), declared their territories as autonomous. Meanwhile, negotiations with the EZLN resumed. As it had become clear that the EZLN demands on indigenous rights would imply constitutional reforms, in March 1995, was created the Congress Commission for Peace and Concord (COCOPA21). This Commission was in charge of structuring the conclusions of the negotiations with the EZLN in feasible law proposals. Negotiations went on and, the February 16 of 1996, the Agreements of San Andres Larrainzar were signed. In November the same year, the COCOPA initiative was presented to Congress. It included – among others – reforms to articles 4th (autodetermination of indigenous people), 18 th (imprisonment for indigenous people), 26th, 73th, 115th (be part of decision making on development policies), 53th and 116th (reorganization of electoral districts).22 Proposed reforms on articles 4th, 26th, 73th, and 115th were particularly controversial in terms of autonomy.23 Because, while some indigenous groups are the size of a small nation like the Nahuas or Mayas, others are very small, for instance, 22 are smaller than a thousand and 5 don’t even reach 100 inhabitants (Sonnleitner, 2012). Moreover, there were other problematic questions such as the level autonomy that should be granted. To this respect there were two main positions: (a) the  communitarianist, which propose an autonomy at community level, and (b) the which propose it at regional level (Díaz Polanco, 2005). The former is complicated since with more than 28,338 communities, autonomy may rather become anarchy. The second, regional autonomy, is also problematic since in the same region groups have long-term conflicts difficult to resolve (triquies in Oaxaca, for instance), as well as, internal problems and rivalries; ethnic regions cross states boundaries, or some subgroups do not even recognize as part of the same ethnic group. Reforms to the last two articles, 53th and 116th, would assure indigenous representation in their States’s Congress by the relative majority principle, and also increase indigenous representation in National Congress. However, because some reforms were particularly controversial, as the one regarding autonomy, the then president Ernesto Zedillo, vetted the reforms and proposed a renegotiation of all that concerning “Rights and Indigenous Culture” (specially contained in Articles 4th, 26th, 73th, and 115th), something that obviously the EZLN rejected.24  COCOPA stands for Comisión de Concordia y Pacificación and it was created by congressmen federal and the State’s of Chiapas, as well as representants from the Presidents office and the Governor. 22   The COCOPA proposal can be consulted at https://www.nacionmulticultural.unam. mx/100preguntas/pregunta.php?c_pre=50&tema=7 23  One hot issue was always this: autonomy. It was present in the negotiations and for the EZLN, authonomy implies to recknown of indigenous people as subject of law and not of public policies, a way of relation with the State in a new plural and democratic manner, the interruption of intervention of any manner of the national state and her institutions. This autonomy understood selfdetermination became, as can be deduced, a very constroversial issue to deal with in Congress. 24  The response of the EZLN to the government can be seen in https://www.jornada.com. mx/1997/01/12/comunicado.html 21

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Four years later, in December of 2000, the government of President Vicente Fox, would send the COCOPA initiative, highly modified, to Congress. Then, on February 25th, the so-called Zapatist Caravan, started to march the more than 3000 kmts, from Chiapas to Mexico city. Meetings were held in every city the march passed by, and public participation was outstanding. There was no doubt of the total support from citizens that crammed plazas and forums where the Zapatistas spoke. In the same vein, during this Caravan, Zapatismo was harbored by national and international civil society,25 which facilitated networking and helped to lay the groundwork with discussions on human and indigenous rights; as well as with debates on the environment, poverty alleviation and democracy from an indigenous standpoint. Thus, paving the road to build up public opinion. In this environment, on March 28, the 23 indigenous Chiefs of the EZLN, spoke in the Congress to ask for the approval of the law, which was finally approved in April 2001. Nonetheless, specially the Senate added even more substantial reforms to the many the presidency had made, totally decaffeinating the proposal and making it rather different from the Agreements of San Andres. For instance, the Senate reforms did not recognize indigenous peoples as subjects of rights but as “entities of public interest”, what meant they would continue being subjects for social assistance and of policies planned from above and not authors of their own development (Díaz Polanco, 2005). There was neither a recognition on collective rights, nor of their own judicial systems or their sovereignty on their natural resources or territories.26 And even when the reform recognized the right for self-determination the law was extremely vague and transferred to local Congresses the responsibility to establish regimentation on that, providing no mechanisms on how to make autonomy really operational. Thus, the ambiguities, lack of practical substance and lack of enforcement mechanisms made these reforms dead letter (Burguete et al., 2008). For these reasons, the EZLN declared the law was an offense to indigenous people in Mexico and suspended all contact and negotiations with government. Some parts of the EZLN organized Juntas Autónomas de Gobierno, Autonomic Government Councils in several municipalities of Chiapas. From then on, the Zapatism, kept quiet and retired from public life, mostly enclustered in Las Margaritas, which remained as their sanctuary. This would change the first of January of 2006, when during the period of campaigning for the presidency (2006–2012), the EZLN started a “no-campaigning” called “la Otra Campaña”, OC, which toured the country to bring together the non-­ partisan left. The Subcommander Marcos emphasized that he campaigned not for him as a candidate for the presidency, nor to get involved in the electoral battle. Rather, OC was oriented to bring attention to the indigenous plea and to invite other  In Mexico, the support of national and international inteligentia to the EZLN, was notable. Among many others there were, for instance, Daniel Miterrand, widow of the french expresident, was present at the arrival of the Caravan to Mexico City; and the literature nobel, Jose Saramago wrote ¨Soy Zapatista¨, supporting the indigenous cause in Mexico. 26  This was a particularly controversial point as indeed it might represent a problem in terms of private property rights an economic certainty in determined regions. 25

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sectors of Mexican society to organize so as to bring about awareness of the need for a real social change and to create a wider social movement. Thus, different sectors of society, such as alternative unions, peasants, social organizations and leaders, students, and cultural groups, among others, started to adhere (Rodriguez Alonso, undated). Though the Otra Campaña tried to reconcile with old allies, recognize failures and the need for a more ample support, it nonetheless can be criticized for giving again to much weight to Marcos as leader, of dividing the political left and of being specially harsh against the Party of the Democratic Revolution (PRD) (Gómez Peralta, 2005). Similarly, critics comment on the incapacity of the OC, for building bridges with future allies, of being intolerant of those who think differently, and of being utopical and disconnecting change from political arena (Rodriguez Alonso, undated). Probably, by reflecting on these critics, some years later in 2017, the CNI and the EZLN, created an organization called Llego la Hora del Fortalecimiento de los Pueblos (The Time for the Fostering of the Pueblos has Arrived). This social organization tried to register, as candidate for the upcoming presidential elections of 2018, to the spokesmen of the Congreso de Gobierno Indigena (CGI),27 the Nahuatl indigenous woman, Maria de Jesus Patricio, better known as Marichuy. For the first time in Mexico, a recent reform of the Constitution allowed independent candidates to run for a presidential election. By law the conditions for the registration of an independent candidate, were to present evidence of the support of at least the 1% of the electoral list, what was equivalent to 866,593 voters, distributed at least in 17 States. Thus, with the support of several intellectuals and artists, and no budget, Marichuy campaigned for 4 months in the regions of 60 indigenous groups, most of them remote and of difficult access, trying to get the firms of support. However, the system through which the National Electoral Institute (INE28) had established this proof of support had to be collected and submitted, was through a mobile telephone application. This was a major drawback for Marichuy, as most indigenous people are poor or extremely poor to have a mobile phone of their own, since it implies to spend at least three times the minimum salary. Moreover, even when they have a mobile, connectivity in remote regions, where most indigenous people live, is difficult, not only because many times there is no signal but because sometimes there is not even electricity. Therefore, at the end of the campaign, Marichuy reached only 280,000, supporters that accept to sign for her, which represented the 30% of the required quota (Villoro, 2018). In many ways, to say the least, this was a discriminatory policy against indigenous people political participation. After the miscarriage of Marichuy’s campaign, the EZLN retired again to Las Margaritas, where it has been silent and living a de facto autonomy in the region that government seems to tolerate. This retirement does not mean that there is no more indigenous social unrest. Resistance has continued but now it is being channeled through non-conventional spaces, like focalized social movements and

27 28

 Congress of Indigenous Government.  From the Spanish Instituto Nacional Electoral.

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community-­based organizations, this is the case of Mayos, for instance. However, the truth is that Zapatism has lost its momentum. Ex-post it is easy to highlight errors that can be cast in many directions, lack of political networks with other actors, their incapacity to create opportunities to make their voice heard in Parties, and other spaces, as well as their ineffectiveness to build up broad collective action, are only some of them. Once the above said, it is important to think that historically, the success of Neozapatist causes should not be only measured by its capacity to actually modify the law or in creating an ample political alliance. Zapatist legacy should be recognized in the cultural earthquake it produced to the Mexican society and which results from only history will be able to properly evaluate, as happened with the students Movement of 1968  in this country (Natal,  2010a). Part of this cultural legacy can be summarized as follows: (a) The Neozapatist movement showed the failure of Mexican state in reaching all regions and sectors of her society evenly and fairly and providing services and justice, revealing the forsaken of indigenous people. This abandonment explains, in part, the resilience of forms of traditional governance and justice that still can be found in many indigenous communities. (b) It exhibited the corporatist means of subordination to which indigenous people had been subjected; and the exhaustion of the government model of control of indigenous, largely a consequence of the crisis of rurality and of liberalization policies. (c) It made evident that the project of Nation had privileged a set of defined political identities and provided incentives for actors to align into determined cleavages. Indigenous groups had been pushed to adopt a civic identity vis-a-vis other actors, as peasants, leaving the expressions of ethnic identity for private forums. (d) The EZLN conflict challenged the commonly accepted idea that the relative peaceful democratic environment that enjoyed Mexico, was the result of the liberal project that build up the nation, by showing that the liberal “social contract” was not fully shared by some citizens. The “declaration of war” exhibited that indigenous people were against their will in this contract, as it was detached from notions of community, traditions or shared history, which were central to them. Thus, it obliged Mexican society to revise a number of political ideas that, until then, were taken for granted, such as nation-state, citizenship (as liberal citizenship), equality, national culture, and so on (Mulhall & Swift, 1992). And by so doing, it called attention to the urgent need of Mexican state and society to adopt a more open understanding of a democratic nation, one related to the free will of its citizens to be part of a social contract, with respect to their heritage, traditions, history or language; a more advanced model of citizenship, that recognizes the right to be different and choose one’s own way of living; or in other words, a multicultural citizenship (Kymlicka, 2003) or “ethnic citizenship”.

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(e) Even when the reforms were decaffeinated the EZLN, brought the Mexican state to modify the country’s Constitution and accept that: The Mexican nation has a multicultural composition based originally on its indigenous peoples, which are those who descend from populations that inhabited the current territory of the country at the beginning of colonization and who retain their own social, economic, cultural and political institutions, or part of them …. [and that]… The right of the peoples to self-determination shall be exercised within a constitutional framework of autonomy that ensures national unity. The recognition of indigenous peoples and communities will be made in the constitutions and laws of the entities, which must take into account, in addition to the general principles established in the previous paragraphs of this article, ethnolinguistic criteria and physical settlement (Article 2, amended on August 14, 2001). Finally, a less pinpointed issue that is more exogenous to the movement is the indifference of Mexican society. Though, as we have shown before, Zapatist causes had legitimacy vis-à-vis public opinion, common citizens' support to build up collective action was always rather mediatic and conjunctural. And though there were some interesting discussions on the demands of the movement during the uprising and the OC, it is also true that they did not pass from the intellectuals circle of opinion and very little permeated society in general. This is despite the efforts that Zapatist made, specially Marcos, to actually explain the indigenous problems and demands to common citizens. Thus, if there is any wrongdoer it is Mexican Society in general, which lost an historical window of opportunity to solve pressing issues that jeopardize not only the quality of justice and democracy for a large part of Mexican population, but also the very stability of this democracy.

Understanding the Indigenous Universe of Mexico Mexico’s indigenous people's human geography is extremely complex. With 364 indigenous languages,29 this country is one of the linguistically richest in the world only below China or India.30 Additionally with more than 68 recognized indigenous groups (INEGI, 2020) scattered throughout the territory with diverse and sometimes diverging sociodemographics, the indigenous map of Mexico, is an universum difficult to apprehend, a human geography map in which there are no absolute truths and generalizations are risky.  Being precise, there are 364 idiomatic variants grouped in 11 linguistic families. However, some of the variants of the same family are as different as Spanish and Portuguese and hardly communicate. 30  This when one relates number of spoken indigenous languages to the size of actual populations that speak them. 29

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For 2020, there were roughly in Mexico 126 million people, of which according to INEGI, 25.7 million people (21.5% of the total population), considered themselves31 as indigenous (INEGI, 2020). This number needs, however, to be reconsidered since it shrinks to 12 million people (10% of total population), that report to live in indigenous homes (understood as a home where an indigenous language is spoken). Though indeed part of the difference may be the result of indigenous people migrating to urban areas, and therefore not living anymore in an indigenous home, which for some groups like several in the Maya family, the Oto-Manque and Chochimí-Yumana, is very high (see Codice Mexico, 2020), it also maybe the case that many Mexicans still perceive themselves as indigenous, though they have lost their language. This seems to be a possible explanation since, when it comes to speakers the number reduces to 7.4 million people (6.5% of the total population) in 2020. When taking of speakers there is a systematic reduction in its number, at least since 1930, when Mexico started to register that data,32 shrinking in 300% since that year. Nonetheless, when it comes to indigenous languages, nothing is absolute as most things in the indigenous universe in Mexico. Thus, the decrease of monolingual population does not apply to all indigenous languages, since a number of them are very alive and even expanding, as is the case of Nahuatl, Maya, Tseltal, Tsotsil, Mixteco, Zapoteco, or Otomi, among others (see INPI, 2021). Moreover, some data indicate that the number of Mexicans above 5 years that speak an indigenous language has increased in the last 120 years,33 specially most recently passing from 2,477,781 (2000), to 2,654,043 (2005), and to 2,908,439 (2010),34 probably a success of the Bicultural Education policy. Indigenous language speakers are mostly concentrated in the South,35 but there are also large populations of some groups in the East36and in the Center.37 In these regions is concentrated the 83% of the total indigenous population of the country (CEDRSSA, 2015). In the North of Mexico population is far less numerous, but in the last two decades has significantly increased due to a growing number of indigenous migrants from southern states, that concentrate mostly in urban areas. This is also the case of Mexico City.38

 This is an autoadscription, the perception of one’s own identity, and may not necesarily relate to an ethnic origin. 32  INPI available in http://www.inpi.gob.mx/codicemexico/ 33  INPI available in http://www.inpi.gob.mx/codicemexico/ 34  Datos propios elaborados a partir de estadisticas del INALi, https://www.inali.gob.mx/es/transparencia/datos-abiertos.html 35  Oaxaca, Chiapas, Yucatan and Quintana Roo. 36  Mainly, Veracruz and Puebla. 37  Mostly in Guerrero, Mexico, Hidalgo and Michoacan. 38  See https://www.cultura.cdmx.gob.mx/storage/app/uploads/public/5b9/16c/736/5b91 6c736f902459118382.pdf 31

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However, most indigenous population in Mexico is still rural, 82%,39 and live in small highly scattered communities throughout the country. Just to give an idea of the size of these communities: of the 34 thousand communities with more than 40% of indigenous population, 22 thousand have less than 100 people (CDI, 2014). Most of these tiny communities are situated in remote, ill-communicated marginalized areas, where lack of services and unemployment are constant. For instance, the 179 municipalities where the 30% of population have no access to potable water (mainly in Guerrero, Tabasco, and Chiapas), there was indigenous population (INEGI, 2018). Similarly, its being reported that 21% of those who speak an indigenous language exhibited problems in accessing to water. This represented a problem to follow the sanitary measures during the COVID-19 pandemic (Hernandez, 2020). In the same manner, 43% of the speakers of indigenous languages did not conclude elementary education, while 55.2% work in very low-qualification jobs (OXFAM, 2018). Therefore, it is not surprising that 69% of indigenous population are poor, with an 8.4% under the poverty line and 27.9%, 3.4 million, live in extreme poverty, according to the Council of Evaluation of Social Policy (CONEVAL, 2020). Poverty is an important factor explaining migration, particularly from the 1980s onwards, either to the United States, the Mexican States of the North, or the big cities in Mexico. Migration consequently is accelerating the process of cultural extinction, as the rate of ethnolinguistic replacement lowers40 (see INPI, 2021). Therefore, in general terms, to be Indian in Mexico, means that you most probably live in a small community in a remote rural area of the south of Mexico, that you are poor, marginalized, and ill-educated. If you are lucky to have a job you have a scanty salary, and most probably you are on the verge of losing your language and/ or migrate. Nonetheless, this again is not an absolute, and in terms of indigenous representation, one has to carefully attend to a number of nuances that need to be taken into account in the design and implementation of representation mechanisms. There are five issues that, in particular, need to be considered. 1. In Mexico, an indigenous person is not the one that identifies him/herself as one. As we discussed before roughly 25 million Mexicans identify themselves as indigenous, but this is a “self-perception ” (“autoadscripción” in Spanish) that has been actually increasing, passing from 5.3% in 2000, to 14.9% in 2010 and to 21.5% in 2015 (INEGI, 2000, 2010, 2015).41 Most of these individuals may identify themselves as indigenous but not be able to trace their ancestry to an ethnic group in particular, nor speak an indigenous language. It is also possible  Of those that speak an indigenous language 62% live in rural areas and 20% in transitional areas according to Center of Studies for Sutainable Rural Development and Alimentary Sobereignty (CEDRSSA). 40  This is the case for languages as important as the Otomi, Matlatzinca, Mayo, and even the Yaqui, Zoque and Tarasco, amongother (see INPI, 2020). 41  The Barometer of the Americas give similar numbers when asking the question, “Do you condier yourself a white, mestizo, indigenous, black, mulatto or another:”, 6.9% (2012), 11% (2014) y 9.5% (2017) (LAPOP, 2012–2017). The difference in 2017 with the data of INEGI 2015 is something that needs attention. 39

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that due to ample miscegenation of Mexican population, some individuals have started to identify themselves as Indians just because of the color of their skin. This, as the indigenous movement, specially the EZLN, brought more attention to this issue, increasing awareness and making it easier for an individual to auto perceive him/herself as Indian. Therefore, if one attends to self-perceptions of belonging to an indigenous group, there is in Mexico a risk to overcalculate the actual size of this population. 2. Although, in Mexico, indigenous is not only the one that speaks an indigenous language. Language is the more used criterion in statistics and by scholars, as indeed it is the fundamental way to transmit a living culture and its particular way to perceive the world. It is therefore, a good way of knowing whether or not a culture is alive. However, though language is central and losing it, is to lose a key component of ethnicity, the adoption of Spanish may have been a resistance strategy to avoid discrimination and be able to maneuver in a land that, thought is their own, speaks an alien language. This is evident, in many indigenous communities where people have lost most of their language, but not their traditions, sense of belonging and cultural identity. Therefore, it has to be recognized that attending to language as a main indicator of belonging to an indigenous group, has in Mexico the risk to undercalculate the actual size of the indigenous population. This is why, we in particular, prefer the indicator “live in an indigenous home42”, which is a better way to approximate the size of the indigenous population and its groups in Mexico. By living in an indigenous home an individual is able to continue to live cultural practices, traditions and ways to perceive the world, which is also a way of ethnic belonging though language may have been replaced. This is the case of 11, 938, 749 people who declared to live in indigenous homes in 2015, what accounts to the 10% of all Mexican population (CDI, 2017). However, we have to recognize that, this indicator, has still the risk to undercalculate the actual size of indigenous population, since migration is a growing phenomenon, specially for some groups as Kiche, Mixteco, Triqui, Huasteco, Nahuatl, and Zapotecos, among many others, and therefore may be a number of indigenous individuals that do not live in an indigenous home anymore. 3. Another issue one has to be cautious with is the understanding of indigenous nations. If one wants to trace the boundaries of one of the 68 recognized indigenous groups (INEGI, 2020) things complicate again. There is a historical meaning of ethnic group, that corresponds to the nations that existed in prehispanic times, and that can be traced to the “Indians Republics”, guetos established by the Spaniard conquerors where Indians were allowed to organize themselves insofar they remain loyal to the crown (Warman, 2003). However, it is difficult to establish which groups really still fall under this characteristic, since the aftermaths of the conquest, Mexico has had significant sociodemographic transfor-

 An “indigneoues home” is such where at least one member of the family declared to speak an indigenous language. 42

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mations that have profoundly affected indigenous groups. Therefore, it is difficult to talk about pure “original nations” nowadays. Moreover, to trace the boundaries among the different groups recognized today is also complicated. This since, ethnic identities are intersubjective sociopolitical constructions related to contingency and relational situations (Barth, 1969), and therefore, social dynamics such as miscegenation between groups and with the mestizo population, migration, forced displacement, and population growth, among many others, have largely remodeled the life, culture, the socio-demographics, and the auto perceptions of indigenous groups. Moreover, it is also difficult to generalize as some have fairly integrated more than others making it difficult, again, to talk in absolute terms. 4. Likewise, to determine if a community is an “indigenous community” is a complicated affair. In most communities coexist indigenous-language speakers with mestizo peasants. In few cases one can tell that a community is totally indigenous, or that it belongs to a specific ethnic group. For instance, the 2010 census registered 803 municipalities,43 4394 electoral sections, and 28,338 localities, in which 64 ethno-linguistic groups were concentric, but many of these communities had more that one group living in them (INEGI, 2011). This complexes the distribution of electoral districts. 5. Not all indigenous people support what we call here the indigenous movement for analysis purposes (but that is rather a series of events sometimes isolated and unconnected). Despite that in Mexico there have been important indigenous movements, as the Neozapatist, not all indigenous people have participated in them. Furthermore, not all indigenous groups are outsiders, not all of them reject existing state institutions or have demands for autonomy. But certainly, all have expectations on the realization of their political goals and look to gain representation so as to better defend their interests. All this, and some other issues, as will be discussed hereafter, make it difficult to design efficient mechanisms for a substantial indigenous political representation.

Indigenous Representation Though, it is true that as recently as the 1990s there were not many options for the participation of indigenous groups in politics out of their communities, some things have changed since then. This is the case of the constitutional reforms recognizing Mexico as a pluricultural nation, as well as the signation of the OIT C169 and the recognition of indigenous rights (Galván Rivera, 2014; Hernández Díaz, 2011; Hernández Narváez, 2010). The signation of the 169 gives origin to Constitutional reforms of articles second and 53th, which have been central for the impulse of  As said before there are far more groups, but geographical concentration by language misses small groups or isolated speakers. In 2015 the Intercensous Survey would add six langugages more. 43

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indigenous electoral participation. Reform to article second and to the Ley Indígena Federal of 2001 produced some important transformations as the rearticulation of districts and modification of the concentration of municipalities located in a single district. Reform to article 53th, fixed the criteria to the limits of districts based on the Census, what will allow to better reflect the demographic dynamics (Ruiz Mondragón & Osorio, 2005). These brought up the creation of 28 new indigenous districts with at least 40% of indigenous population (see Sonnleitner, 2013). At regional level there have been also advances and similar reorganizations have taken place at regional level, as in the State of Chiapas where districts have been reorganized to better include indigenous people. Additionally, also in Chiapas there has been a reorganizing of municipalities and in Yucatan, Veracruz, and Michoacan, similar proposals are in debate for the incorporation of indigenous people. In Oaxaca, there exist the Usos y Costumbres, traditional consuetudinary systems; similarly in Guanajuato exists the Reconocimientos Indígenas that recognize collective rights (Gómez Llano, 2022). All these reforms, represent somehow a legitimation of indigenous people's continued struggle for land and territory,44 as well as their plea for autonomy and self-governance. And, one cannot deny, they represent a first step of advance for a better indigenous representation in Mexico. However, it is also true that most of these instruments have serious downfalls and need to be very much improved in order to allow indigenous to more broadly participate and assure that this participation will traduce in an ample efficient and substantial representation. In the next part of this chapter, we will analyze some downfalls of the currently existing mechanisms in order to be better positioned to discuss how could they be improved. For purposes of analysis, we will group them into two parallel systems, the consuetudinary ones, Usos y Costumbres, and those of the liberal electoral system. We now turn to this.

Usos y Costumbres It was the State of Oaxaca which first opened the floor to an alternative system of representation and a new possibility for democracy and indigenous inclusion in Mexico (Flores Cruz, 2009). Oaxaca’s hallmark transformations started in 1995, with the recognition of the system of “usos y costumbres”, as a mechanism to conduct elections in the State;45 and then in 1998, with reforms to the law for the Rights of Indigenous Groups and Communities (Canedo Vasquez, 2008), and to the Regulations on Parties and elections of the State (Código de Instituciones Políticas

 However, there were also some other pieces of legislation that may somehow conflict with indigenous rights, like the agrarian legislation passed in 1992, a change in the Article 27 of the Constitution, which offered communities the possibility to divide and sell communitarian lands. 45  Reforms in the States Constitution to articules 16, 112 y 113,V. 44

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y Procedimientos Electorales).46 These reforms allowed municipalities, with an indigenous majority, to elect their authorities either through the parties system or through consuetudinary mechanisms called usos y constumbres. Notably, from 570 existing municipalities in Oaxaca, 418 opted for the second. This option was somehow logical to the communities, since the political organization of most of them had historically been based on a system of cargos or chairs, organized in a pyramidal hierarchy of intermingled, political and religious non-paid community-service jobs. These goes from the topiles to alguaciles, mayordomos, gobernadores and finally to municipal presidents (Navarrete Linares, 2008). Therefore, throughout their live, members of a community, most generally men, meritocratically ascend in the layer of chairs, acquiring with this, more experience, reputation and prestige within the community. Thus, the election of a municipal president (within the system of Usos y Costumbres) makes sense in these communities since – theoretically– they can select the more adequate candidates based on belonging, continued participation, and cooperation with the community (celebrations, tequios, or community service activities), as well as efficiency in the attention to collective problems and honesty (Melgar, 1991). This is why, some scholars see in western democracy (plural, contested, and competitive elections) a force against indigenous traditions, usages, and observances; and foresee that political parties may destroy communities’ unity and heritage. These authors exalt the goodness of usos y costumbres, as an electoral system that guarantee more certainty for the voters, without manipulation and excessive expenditure of the political campaigns (Flores Cruz, 2009); and that, they believe, socializes local problems through participative democracy, with social participation, social networking, and solidarity; which pave the road for the advance of political and plural debate (Singer Sochet & Sirvent, 2007), creating a real deliberative democracy. However, besides these optimistic expectations, that most of the times are inductive reflections from isolated case studies, evidence shows that this Hollywood version of Usos y Costumbres, not always takes place. Independently of one’s position towards Usos y Costumbres, this system has important downfalls that need to be addressed. It has to be recognized that decisions on who is to participate are taken generally by a top structure, a Council of Elders or a Community Assembly. In this structure, elders have more voice as well as the more educated individuals, such as teachers. In general, only men participate and are elected to chairs, women and young’s participation is extremely rare. As a result of the coexistence and intermingling of public and religious chairs, as well as, due to the interaction with State and Federal agencies, caciquism may arise and the candidates to the municipality may not necessarily be the ones that have served the community more and better (see Navarrete Linares, 2008). Moreover, factionalism and the capture of the process by a group are common, what puts pressure on voters, generates the trading of votes or some forms of cohersion (real or symbolic) in order to legitimate community agreements (see Natal, 2010b). This, is mostly because decisions are based in reaching a consensus, but also, because the act of voting is public and, therefore, exposes individuals to the complex web of power relations of 46

 Reforming articules 105, 225 to 268.

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factions and families in their community (Recondo, 2007). As can be deduced, this does not contribute to build up democracy, neither participative or deliberative. Furthermore, instead of diminishing electoral conflicts, one of the reasons for which Usos y Costumbres was originally created, this factionalism has made them increase significantly from 1995 onwards (Flores Cruz, 2009). Additionally, Usos y costumbres conflicts not only with the building up of democracy but also with human rights, since it has been systematically reported that communities may limit the political rights of certain groups, such as women, the young, and individuals with non-heteronormated sexual preferences (see Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos, s/f; Bonfil Sánchez et al., 2008). Thus, so far, it seems that Usos y costumbres, as referred before, has not represented a significative change in the real life of communities (Nahmad Sittón, 2009; Recondo, 2007), and though more evidence needs to be systematized, there are cases were it looks more as a new form of caciquism and domination. Besides, if one individual of a municipality has an electoral claim, it has to be dealt within the realm of the community institutions. Precisely those he/she may be trying to question. But let's suppose that this individual have the knowledge of his/ her rights and the resources to escalate upwards his/her claim. Then, the claim will pass to positive law institutions which will have problems on harmonizing a model of citizenship which is based on collective rights supported by consuetudinary law, with another which is based on individual rights. Thus, this road is paved with lots of disencounters among both systems and the solutions to individual claims are difficult either legislatively and organizatively. This is the case of the election of a women in Cheran, which for being a woman, the elders of the community invalidated the election since it was against the Usos y Costumbres. Because of all of this, to this date there are reasonable doubts on whether the Usos y Costumbres can rather become modern form of authoritarism hidden behind a false legitimation of tradition.

Electoral System Indigenous people can vote and be voted in Mexico since the day of birth of the nation, and so, throughout the history of this country there have been a number of indigenous people that have been elected for diverse offices. The paramount of these indigenous people elected for office is the much repeated daydreamed story of a poor indigenous little peasant that became president and the father of the Nation, Benito Juarez. However, this happy story needs to be contrasted with facts on the quality of this representation, its substantiality and the electoral barriers that indigenous people actually face. In terms of voting, indigenous people have had the right to vote guaranteed since the constitution of 1824. However, it was until the 1990s that the municipalities with electoral districts with high indigenous population still voted massively for the ruling party (until 2000), the PRI.  During this period the indigenous vote was

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controlled through the corporatist system through which the PRI organized Mexican society (Natal, 2010a). First, the parties’ clientelism conditioned indigenous votes to services and agricultural credits. Second, when and where this was not enough, government used repression and control. Things have not much improved unfortunately. Nowadays, even when numbers of the indigenous population that vote have increased, a large part of their vote is still coopted. Now, not necessarily by the PRI, but also by other parties, specially the actual ruling party MORENA.47 In terms of being voted, it persists a notable shortage in indigenous representation in both the legislative and executive at all levels. For instance, in 2004 electoral law was reformed to create 28 indigenous districts, where indigenous population was above 40%. This was expected to increase the representation of indigenous people, and so it did when in 2006 there were elected 18 indigenous deputies. However, in 2012–2015, from a total of 500 deputies, they had reduced to 14 (Cabrero, 2013). Then in 2017, the National Electoral Institute (INE)48 approved an agreement to inst parties to present indigenous candidates to Congress in at least 12 of the 28 districts with more than 40% of indigenous population (INE, 2017). That same year the Electoral Tribunal (TEPJF),49 made obligatory to present indigenous candidates to the 13 districts with more than 60% of indigenous population (TEPJF, 2017). Paradoxically, only 7 indigenous candidates resulted elected. Thus, from 18 indigenous candidates in 2006 they have systematically shrinked despite measures to increase them. Thus, it is evident that mechanisms put in place to foster indigenous representation are not yielding the expected result. Another problem is that, the few indigenous deputies elected, mostly responded to the agendas of their parties and did not have an indigenous agenda of their own, neither pushed forwards indigenous people's demands. The problem increases when it comes to women participation. For instance in the legislation 1994–2006 of the only 5 indigenous senators only one was female, Cirila Sánchez Cruz, from Oaxaca (Sonnleitner, 2013). Similarly, in the Chamber of Deputies (2012–2015) indigenous women represented only 1%, while women in general were 37.4%. At the local level, many women do not participate because for some indigenous groups, it is culturally perceived, that political participation is the realm of man, and therefore it is not adequate for women; but many others because there are political barriers, discrimination and political violence that jeopardize their participation (PNUD, 2012; PNUD-­CONAMI, 2012). These cases, as many others, make evident that electoral reforms have, so far, had ambivalent results in terms of political inclusion. Therefore, even if indigenous citizens systematically vote, the feebleness of their representation persists. This, it is  MORENA, is the acronym for Movement of National Regeneration in Spanish. At the time of writing this paper there were significant claims on their corporatist practices in Oaxaca were local elections were going to be held. See https://www.elsoldemexico.com.mx/republica/sociedad/ descubren-en-oaxaca-bodega-con-despensas-presuntamente-de-morena-eleccio nes-2021-6798446.html 48  Instituto Nacional Electoral (INE). 49  Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación (TEPJF). 47

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our content, is the result of a series of challenges for the electoral participation of indigenous people. Some of them are related to the internal dynamics of their communities: divisions and rivalries, lack of preparation, weak articulation with community bases and/or risks of a “fake representation”. Others are linked to the institutional framing of the country, changes in the rules of the electoral system, pressures from organized crime, complex peace building process, and so on. Finally, a third set of barriers are the structural, such as poverty, ill education, migration, discrimination, and so on. Hereafter, we will briefly analyze some of what we see as the main of these problems, classifying them as local and national.

Local Barriers Sociodemographic In many districts, specially in those where several indigenous groups coexist, there are a number of ethnolinguistic and cultural factors that complicate the functioning of reforms. Issues, such as monolingualism, number of ethnic groups living together, belief systems, gender discrimination, and many others make political representation much complex (Aguilar et al., 1999; see Ruiz Mondragón & Osorio, 2005). This is because indigenous groups may not be willing to vote for an indigenous candidate of a different ethnic group, religion, or gender. Sociodemographics also add to these complexities. For instance, take the case of San Juan Chamula in Chiapas, with 16 thousand people in 1940 and with 87 thousand nowadays. Population growth, throughout the years, has produced new settlements, that have entered in a conflictive relation with their mother locality in terms of services but also of religion, since there have been significative changes mostly to Christian denominations but also to Islam (Gutierrez & Suarez, 2021). Another issue is that marginalization has forced thousands of indigenous people to migrate to urban centers or abroad. And even when sometimes individuals remain close to their communities, there is an uprooting that may reduce political interest.50

Territorial Dispersion As we have shown before, ethnic groups in Mexico are not placed in a contained area. Balbuena y De la Paz (s/f), in their project “Estadísticas censales a escalas geoelectorales”, highlighted that a number of indigenous groups are not settled in a  This is not always the case. In Zacatecas for instance paisanos are very attentive of the situation in their communities, through their Clubs, and have spaces of participation even when they are abroad. This is the case of the deputy for migrants. It is also the case of some communities in Oaxaca where migrants have brought to their communities new practices of accountability. 50

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focused area that is comprehended in a single electoral district. Rather, they are scattered through wide areas, what implies they are present in different districts, and many times even in different States, and generally they are intermingled with other ethnic groups with the same characteristics.

Political Offer in the District In most indigenous communities there is a high level of pre and postelectoral conflicts. Most of the times, these are the result of factionalism, interethnic conflicts – not always minor –, caciquism, and differences with mestizo population (see Ruiz Mondragón & Osorio, 2005). This shows that indigenous people are interested in local affairs and have opinions and positions on them. However, parties have not been able to capitalize this interest and when they intervene they generally do not present a relevant political offer, neither a local indigenous agenda. Moreover, even when a native candidate is supported by the community, the pressures of the party, crowd his/her agenda with affairs of little importance for the community.

National Barriers Discrimination, Social and Economic Exclusion Though in other countries of Latin America one could say that there is a system of inclusion but not of representation (Htun, 2015), in Mexico, the structure of existing institutions has created a system of exclusion and lack of representation for indigenous groups. There is a lack of sensibility, in policy makers, legislators, and the Electoral Institute, to the problems we have highlighted above that seriously inhibit indigenous participation. In parallel there is a systematic institutional myopia and in some cases structural discrimination, as shown in the case of Marichuy, referred above, the indigenous woman who intended to aggregate firms to register her candidacy to the presidence, but fall short. Part of the problem is also one of autoexclusion, due to resistance to a political system that historically has oppressed and marginalized them, and lack of interest in a national agenda that ignores indigenous problems.

Political Parties Several authors have reported an increasing electoral participation, that, for instance in Chiapas, has even surpassed mestizo urban and rural voting (Sonnleitner, 2012). Similarly, it has been reported that in some districts pluripartidism has also radically

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increased since 1991, as has differentiated voting (Lartigue et al., 2008).51 However, this growing interest in politics, indigenous people have acquired, has not been accompanied by national political parties. Most parties state in their platform of principles the inclusion of indigenous people, specially the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI),52 but also the Partido Acción Nacional (PAN)53, the Partido de la Revolucion Democratica (PRD) and others. All of them, in speeches54 and in several documents consider the representation of indigenous people in their internal governance, however, so far indigenous participation in their governance bodies is null. PRI, for instance has even an Indigenous Secretariat,55 that replicates in several states.56 But these offices have little knowledge and do not systematized and/or disaggregated information on ethnic groups, as has also been reported for other political parties in Mexico (Bonfil Sánchez et al., 2008; Bonfil Sánchez, 2010a). As a consequence, parties can not be close to the needs, interests, and demands of indigenous people, and therefore, have not a clear program to attend the growing complexities that face indigenous communities (Lartigue et al., 2008).57 Consequently, speeches aside, they don’t include an indigenous agenda in their campaigns, neither they have real interest in revising legislation so as to increase indigenous representation. Declarations apart,58 they neither have a real interest in the postulation of indigenous candidates, for instance, in the 2006 elections, only 3% of total candidates were indigenous. But even when they rarely do, indigenous candidates do not necessarily are those that represent the interest of their communities. As stated, Xóchitl Gálvez, at the time director of the Commission for the Development of Indigenous People (2000–2006), who pinpointed that in the candidates postulation, parties utilize criteria not necessarily vinculated to ethnicity, but rather that which adjust to their own interests (González Galván, 2008).

 However, this is motley since there are regions where pluripartidism is null. For instance, of the 28 districts, 10 are multipartidist, while the rest, multipartidism is low (Lartigue et al., 2008). 52  PRI. “Declaración de Principios, Un México compartido.” 2013. http://pri.org.mx/ JuntosHacemosMas/Documentos/DeclaracionDePrincipios2013.pdf (date: 10 Feriar 2022). 53  PAN. “Proyección de Principios de Doctrina del Partido Acción Nacional.” 2012. https://www. pan.org.mx/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/Principios-de-doctrina-2002.pdf (accessed February 2022). 54   See for example, https://pri.org.mx/ElPartidoDeMexico/Saladeprensa/Nota.aspx?y=37151; https://pri.org.mx/ElPartidoDeMexico/saladeprensa/Nota.aspx?y=35497 55  PRI. “Secretaría de Acción Indígena.” http://www.indigenas.pri.org.mx/ (accessed February 2022). 56  See https://pri-hidalgo.org.mx/secretaria-de-accion-indigena/ 57  Lartigue et al. (2008), built up a table in which place the indigenous districts according to their complexity in terms, of social, political and economic problems, identifying of the 28 districts, 14 of high complexity, 9 medium and 5 of low. Complexity is the result of the accelerated and dinamyc changes that indigenous communities are facing. 58  See, Sandoval Alarcón, Francisco. “Busca PAN impulsar candidaturas indígenas.” Animal Político. May 7, 2014. http://www.animalpolitico.com/2011/05/busca-pan-impulsar-candidaturasindigenas/ (accessed February 2022). 51

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But it gets worse regarding political parties practices towards indigenous voters. Parties continue with corporativist practices (Natal, 2010a) and see indigenous communities in a clientelist manner, either buying their votes or conditioning them to government subsidies. Unfortunately these practices have also been rooted deeper and culturally in indigenous groups (Franco & Lartigue, 2001). This is more severe in, remote and highly marginalized communities, which are more vulnerable to these predatory practices since they significantly depend on government support. Moreover, their dependence also makes them prey of caciques and local party leaders. Thus, corporatist culture represents a major hindrance for a truth significative participation of indigenous people and certainly a major conundrum for democracy. However, once said this, one needs to bear in mind that indigenous people are not naïve agency-less individuals. In some indigenous regions, communities utilize parties as franchises, just to make their leaders chosen and access to representative offices. This is an instrumentalization of parties, since local committees or candidates, do not represent the party ideology orientation or principles (Hémond & Recondo, 2002). Nowadays in Mexico, regarding indigenous parties the panorama is not hopeful. Two things would be needed, an agenda to gain support and official registration. As for the agenda, one would need to pay attention to the interests of indigenous people. And in this issue one can see that interests diverge for a number of cultural, sociopolitical, historical, organizative and geographical factors, as have been documented by Valle et al. (2006) and Lartigue and Morales (2008). These studies show that issues such as type of land property (communal, property, ejido), migration and access to mass media (chiefly TV), among others, are determinant for political choices. Thus, differences in these factors throughout the country make that indigenous people vote radically different from one region to another, or even from one community to another if the type of land tenure, for instance, changes. Therefore, it is a challenge to build up a federal or even regional agenda that could be of interest to most groups. Another difficulty for indigenous parties is that in certain regions there exist several languages, and specially for monolingual indigenous, is difficult to make sense of an agenda that is not in their language and that might be unfamiliar to them. This is also why most parties' agenda may result alien to indigenous people, and explains why they are far from many of the national debates, and campaigns may result irrelevant to them (see Aguilar et al., 1999). As for the official registration of political indigenous parties, it needs to be said, that though Mexican law does not impede the creation of indigenous parties, neither at the local or federal level fosters them. Nonetheless, there are many factors that inhibit their formation and registration, and that may become rather a barrier of entry (Balbuena y De la Paz (s/f)). Federal legislation, for instance, ask for 2% of membership of the electorate register and committees in a number of states, to obtain registration and public financing. This, added to different languages, scattering of communities, plus lack of networking and bonding, makes difficult for a national indigenous party to organize and register. At the regional level, things are not very different.

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But besides all the barriers, the problem for the creation of indigenous parties is not lack of leadership. There have been indigenous people that have decided to get involved in politics in an independent manner. However, they have passed unadverted, since lack of resources and support make them difficult to compete in elections. Nonetheless, there is one reassuring case in Oaxaca, the Partido Unidad Popular (PUP). The party has been presenting candidates for state elections since 2004. In 2015, PUP only received 2.6% of the votes for their candidate for governor, and won only 5 out of 153 municipalities and one deputy out of 42 seats in the State’s Congress.59 Though, results of the PUP have been modest, it has to be recognized that it has given indigenous communities a voice vis-à-vis the government. PUP is now interested in the creation of a national political party exclusively for indigenous peoples. This is promising but, to this date, the future scenarios seem not to give reasons to be optimistic. Though in other countries of LA one could clearly see how indigenous movements evolved to conform political parties, with a clear cleavages and therefore a vote (Grey Postero, 2006; Romanowski, 2009) in Mexico this is difficult for the reasons here before exposed.

Conclusions Despite a massive indigenous population, Mexican indigenous peoples experience extreme degrees of political exclusion. Though anchored in small remote and ignored places, this is a big issue, and what makes it big is not only the size of the excluded population, but the inequality of a democracy plagued with entry barriers to indigenous political participation. Here, we chronicled the fight of indigenous Mexicans in their struggle to overcome such barriers and analyze some of the major problems that hinder a substantial indigenous political representation in Mexico. We started by challenging the commonly assumed myth that since its birth as a Nation, Mexico guided by a liberal ideology, have become a melting pot where all races live harmonically and are democratically represented. We discussed how after the Mexican Revolution, an homogeneous, monolithic mestizo national identity was established and how the ethnic issue was ignored and swallowed by the category of peasantry, in which Mexican corporativism largely subsumed indigenous people. However, after the years, indigenous resistance started to challenge this national identity project. Until the 1980s the main aspect of the indigenous struggle was the access to land, but during this decade, demands of collective rights, autonomy and consuetudinary law, started to appear, though land remained a pivotal issue. These new demands corresponded also to a change in ethnic identities, that adjusted accordingly to new sets of interests. Indigenous groups had acquired new demands as a result of being exposed to a context of globalization, the wave of democratization and changes in the regimes of Latin America of the 1980s and

59

 See https://www.ieepco.org.mx/elecciones-2016

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1990s, that created a more open political associational space (Yashar, 2005), further enriched by technologies of information and communication, and indigenous people own migration and bonding experiences (Natal, 2010b). These new interests brought them to understand and reshape themselves in a more politically empowered manner and to articulate with new societal and political actors. In this manner, indigenous groups created first grassroots networks and gained force; then, they connected with other political actors and civil society organizations (that had paved public opinion with discussions on indigenous rights and democracy), and gain legitimacy. This, fueled collective action and allowed indigenous people to voice out and be echoed in their long-held claims for effective political representation. Thus, helping to build up more politicized indigenous identities, that by the 1990s saw a perfect window of political opportunity to make themselves heard in Mexico, the EZLN. This pressure forced Mexican State to turn to indigenous people. Throughout history they had been totally neglected by the state, but from the 1990 s onwards, political pressure brought up a new approach to the indigenous issue, with constitutional changes, and reforms that intended to enhance indigenous inclusion and representation. Though for some these were cosmetic changes and a soft way of dealing with the matter, it is undeniable that the discussion somehow permeated and some steps were taken. Progress on indigenous political participation can be better appreciated at the local level with several institutional arrangements, as Usos y costumbres, electoral rules reforms, as well as the rearticulation of districts. These new institutions have given as result that now, in Mexico, traditional consuetudinary systems of indigenous governance (formally recognized) coexist with the parties system of liberal democracy. This has brought up some conflicts, since there is an incompatibility between the individualist spirit of liberal democracy civil rights and the communitarian spirit that aims the indigenous laws (Fernando Escalante en Recondo, 2007). However, the coexistence of the two systems, in many forms makes of nowadays Mexico, an interesting laboratory on indigenous representation. Though much research would need to be undertaken to fully understand whether or not these two systems can create an operative and successful model, so far, they both have given very mixed results in properly capturing the diversity and plurality of the indigenous communities while providing effective representation. Moreover, the Mexican case shows that all this new institutional infrastructure, as well as the embracing of international norms, and the respecting of usos y costrumbres, among other mechanisms, does not necessarily translate into a larger and substantial political representation for indigenous people. It was our argument that this happens because there are a number of barriers such as sociodemographic, territorial, cultural, and political discrimination among many others, that create a huge implementation gap that, despite laws and institutional reforms, maintain indigenous groups under severe levels of social and political exclusion. To reduce these barriers government needs to actively work towards aligning its practices with written promises and to improve existent and create new mechanisms, both in the law and especially in public policies, in order to build up a

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more inclusive environment for indigenous peoples. We believe, that because of the nature of these barriers, a great deal of the solution to the indigenous problem of representation, can be faster and more effectively advanced by improving the existing mechanisms of liberal democracy so as to make them multicultural, inclusive, and fair for indigenous people. It seems more feasible to strengthen the electoral system, which as data show, year and year is more and more used by indigenous. This said, we do not mean, that the question of indigenous representation should only be reduced to a question of achieving nominal representation. We rather do believe that mechanisms of representation should be improved with a discussion of a new social contract or “politics of recognition of ethnic diversity” (Taylor, 1994). With this in mind is that we think in several mechanisms that could be implemented immediately as part of this recognition of diversity and that from our point of view may help to reduce the barriers outlined here above. First, it is imperative to reorganize municipalities and districts so as to better capture ethnic-linguistic identities and the socioterritorial heterogeneity, taking a close consideration of sociodemographic conditions of communities and groups as we discussed here above. Though some reorganization and significant changes have been engineered to make districts more representative of indigenous people, urgent attention is needed to improve the cartographic problems that still exist and the reorganization of electoral demarcations that conform the 10% of the total, as well as the creation of new districts that respond to multiethnic regions with more precision (González Galván, 2008). Particular consideration, should be taken at the States level, where could be implemented, a campaign to facilitate the registration of indigenous candidates with special attention to language. Another paramount change is the adoption of quotas in Congresses at the local and national level, as has been pinpointed before. At States´ level, is far more feasible and easy to increase representation and to reserve a chair for the groups that inhabit that particular state. To this date there is not any regulation in the COFIPE, not at national, not at the state level, to guarantee indigenous representation, while there is on gender. Additionally, Mexican State, also needs to develop a program for civic education directed to indigenous groups, with special attention to women. It is also vital, an active promotion of civic culture and vote in electoral indigenous sections. Last but not least, it is imperative to think in indigenous groups not as voiceless actors, but as intelligent rational individuals who have developed alternative forms of doing politics and voice out their demands, like collective action (mostly local, but also regional level) legal mobilization, and even violence. These are the mechanisms which in many cases are echoed and/or supported by other groups of society. Government agencies need to be more sensible to these ways of political expression. On the other side, that of indigenous groups, they have to effort themselves in creating more local collective action and bonding. This may help more effectively in reducing negative externalities and barriers to their political empowerment and to create transcommunity networking, which may gain them voice at regional level. As

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this point has proved to be central for the improvement of local democracy (Yashar, 2005), the support and fostering of indigenous grassroots organizations should be a most, and government programs should be put in place to increase the number and potential of indigenous grassroots civic organizations. In parallel, we would need to document and systematize which of these organizations fail or success in creating or promoting leadership and/or catalyzing new forms of representation locally. In sum, these solutions are urgent for Mexican democracy to be more open, fair, receptive so as to allow fresh, real, and equalitarian schemes of indigenous representation. The quid of the question is, (a) at the local level be sure that we are supporting fair and democratic mechanisms of representation, that guarantee the participation of all actors, including women, the young, and diverse people (religion, sexual preference, etc.). These democratic arrangements need to guarantee respect to traditions and cultural heritage, but not by encapsulating diversity, pluralism and dissidence in a false authoritarian tradition. (b) On the other hand, Mexican democracy needs to develop forms of effective articulation between indigenous communities and national state. But for that, indigenous people need to be seen as citizens with rights not as entities of social interest. Mexican state has to acknowledge that not because indigenous people are ill represented, means that they are agency-less individuals, neither idealized portraits of the good savage, but members of complex social and economic groups, which intelligently decide when to act on an individual or collective basis. Indigenous people, need to be understood, as well, as citizens living in a particularly complex world where their internal social relations and culture determine many of their choices and much of their behavior, but that are also framed by larger contexts of collective political marginalization, migration choices and personal decisions on how to deal with poverty and exclusion. Finally, Mexico has historically exhibited an incapacity to achieve the ideals of liberalism, the pan-racial democracy based in equality and universality in which the Nation was originally founded. As a consequence, among other faults, representation of indigenous people has been – to say the least – weak and irrelevant. The much barriers to participate have made for indigenous people extremely problematic to organize themselves, to conform an indigenous party, or even to aggregate a set of specific political demands. This is more obvious at national level, where difficulties escalate. And as we show here above, this has been a constant motor for social effervescence and political struggle, that has been seen as an isolated skirmishes, rather than a social uproar calling for the improvement of the quality of democracy and an issue of ethnic politics. Thus, we have put emphasis in this chapter that most solutions should be implemented at local or regional level. We believe that it is there, where the political dynamism of indigenous people, as their resistance mechanisms and capacity to adapt to sociopolitical events, should be empowered. We expect that this understanding can add to the pressing discussion of how to construct more effective regulations and how to structure representation mechanisms capable of politically integrate the ethnic diversity of Mexico.

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González Galván, J. A. (2008). La redistritación electoral y la participación política de los pueblos indígenas en México. Balance y perspectivas (2006–2009). Boletín Mexicano de Derecho Comparado, XLI, 121. Grey Postero, N. (2006). Now we are citizens: Indigenous politics in postmulticultural Bolivia. Stanford University Press. Gouy-Gilbert, C. (2015). Una resistencia india: Los Yaquis. México: Centro de estudios mexicanos y centroamericanos. Gutierrez, D., & Suarez, C. (2021). Les Chamulusmanes de San Cristobal: Appartenance Ethnique et Conversion Religieuse. In S. Taussi (Ed.), L’islam au Mexique et en France. Maisonneuve and Larousse. Guzmán Urióstegui, J. (2010). "De bárbaros y salvajes". La Guerra de Castas de los mayas yucatecos según la prensa de la ciudad de México. 1877–1880. Estudios de cultura maya, 35(1), 111–130. Hémond, A., & Recondo, D. (2002). Dilemas de la democracia en México. Los actores sociales ante la representación política. IFE. Htun, M. (2015). Inclusion without representation in Latin America: Gender quotas and ethnic reservations. Cambridge University Press. Kearney, M. (1996). Reconceptualizing the peasantry: Anthropology in global perspective. Westview Press. Kearney, M. (2000). La Comunidad Rural Oaxaqueña y la Migración: Más allá de las Políticas Agraria e Indígena. Cuadernos Agrarios, 19/20(1), 11–23. Kymlicka, W. (2003). La política vernácula. Nacionalismo, multiculturalismo, ciudadanía. Paidós. Lartigue, F., & Morales Canales, L. (2008). Diag-nóstico para la operación de procesos electorales en ocho regio- nes indígenas de México. Fundación Ford. Lartigue, F., et al. (2008). Diagnóstico sobre ciudadanía, representación y par- ticipación política en los distritos electorales uninominales con más del 40% de población indígena. CIESAS/IFE. Melgar, R. (1991). Las categorías utópicas de la resistencia étni- ca en América Latina. Cuicuilco, 27(1). Mulhall, S., & Swift, A. (1992). El individuo frente a la comunidad. Temas de hoy. Nahmad Sittón, S. (2009). Reflexión sobre el acontecer de la au- tonomía indígena y la soberanía nacional en el caso de la ley indígena de Oaxaca. In D. C. Altamirano & M. B. Corres (coords.). ¿Una década de reformas indígenas? Multiculturalismo y derechos de los pueblos indíge- nas en México. CNDH/IIHUABJO. Natal, A. (2010a). La Sociedad Civil Mexicana como Actor de Cambio Social. Un recuento de su constribución a la Transición Democrática. In H. Millan, M. Morales, & L. A. Fernandez (Eds.), Cambio Político y Régimen Democrático en México. Miguel Angel Porrua. Natal, A. (2010b). To cooperate or not?... That is the Questiion. The costs of cooperation in community participatory development. Lamberth Academic Publishing. Navarrete Linares, F. (2008). Los pueblos indígenas de México. Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas. Paoli, F., & Montalvo, E. (1977). El Socialismo Olvidado de Yucatán. Siglo XXI Editores. Peniche, P. (2002). Oponiéndose al capitalismo en Yucatán. La causa de los rebeldes de la Guerra de Castas (1847–1850). Desacatos, 9(1), 148–160. Recondo, D. (2007). La política del gatopardo. Multicuturalismo y democracia en Oaxaca. CIESAS. Romanowski, A. (2009). Electoral systems and indigenous representation. VDM Verlag. Rosado, G., & Santana, L. (2008). María Uicab: Reina, Sacerdotisa y Jefa Militar de los Mayas Rebeldes de Yucatán (1863–1875). Mesoamérica, 50, 112–139. Ruiz Mondragón, L., & Osorio, A. E. (2005). Para una mejor representación política, los Distritos Electorales Federales Indígenas. Apuntes Electorales, 5(21). Rus, J., & Wasserstrom, R. (1979). Evangelización y Control Político: el Instituto Linguistico de Verano (ILV) en Mexico. Revista Mexicana de Ciencias Politicas y Sociales, XXV, 141–160. Santoyo, M., & Arellano, J. (1997). El Instituto Lingüistico de Verano y el Protestantismo En Mexico. Convergencia, 14, 231–262.

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Singer Sochet, M., & Sirvent, C. (2007). Multicultralismo de- mocrático: evidencias y debate. In M.  S. Sochet (Ed.), México, democracia y participación política indígena. UAM/Ediciones Gernika. Sonnleitner, W. (2012). Elecciones chiapanecas, del régimen posre- volucionario al desorden democrático. El Colegio de México-Centro de Estudios Sociológicos. Sonnleitner, W. (2013). La representación legislativa de los indígenas en México. De la representatividad descriptiva a una representación de mejor calidad. Serie Temas Selectos de Derecho Electoral, 32. Taylor, C. (1994). The politics of recognition. In A. Gutmam (Ed.), Multiculturalist exanining the politics of recognition (pp. 25–73). Princeton. Tejera Gaona, H. (1994). Indígenas y cultura política, democracia y participación política en las regiones étnicas de México. In J. Alonso (Ed.), Cultura política y educación cívica. México. Vadillo Buenfil, C. (2017). La Guerra de Castas en La rebelión de los Cruzoob, de Miguel Ángel Suárez Caamal: de la veracidad histórica a la ficción novelesca. Península, 12(2), 29. Valle, F., et al. (2006). Diagnóstico político electoral de los pue- blos indígenas. CDI/FEPADE/ PNUD/TEPJF. Van Cott, D.  L. (2000). The friendly liquidation of the past: The politics of diversity in Latin America. University of Pittsburgh Press. Warren, K. (1998). Indigenous movements and their critics: Pan-Maya activism in Guatemala. Princeton University Press. Warman, A. (2003) Los indios mexicanos en el umbral del milenio. Fondo de Cultura. Económica, México. Womack, J., Jr. (1969). Zapata and the Mexican revolution. Vintage Books. Yashar, D. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America. In The rise of the indigenous movements and the posliberal challenge (Cambridge studies in contentious politics). Cambridge University Press.

Official Documents CDI (Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas). (2017). Indicadores socioeconómicos de los pueblos indígenas de México, 2015. CDI. CDI. (2014). Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas Programa Especial de los Pueblos Indígenas 2014–2018 [text]/Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas. CDI. CEDRSSA (Centro de Estudios para el Desarrollo Rural Sustentable y la Sobernía Alimentaria). (2015, Abril). La Población INdigena en el Mexico Rural: situación actual y perspectivas. CONEVAL (2020), Informe de Evaluacion de la POlitica Social 2020, Available in https://www. coneval.org.mx/Evaluacion/IEPSM/IEPSM/Paginas/IEPDS-2020.aspx Consejo Mexicano 500 Años de Resistencia India y Popular. (1991). “Declaración de Principios y Objetivos” en Cuadernos Agrarios. Nueva Época, 2, 127–129. Galván Rivera, F. (2014). Democracia y justicia electoral en los pueblos indígenas de México. Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación. Available in: http://portal.te.gob.mx/ sites/default/les/democracia_justicia.pdf. Date Jan 30, 2020 Hernández Díaz, J. (2011). Derechos indígenas en las sentencias del TEPJF (Cuadernos de Divulgación de la Justicia Electoral 6). Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación. Available in: http://www.te.gob.mx/ccje/material_academi-­co/material/cuaderno_6_je.pdf. Date: Jan 1st, 2022. Hernández Narváez, J. R. (2010). Derechos indígenas y candidaturas plurinominales: Acción afirmativa indígena en la selección de candidatos por el principio de RP, Serie de Co- mentarios a las Sentencias del Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación. Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación.

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INEGI (2000). Censo General de Poblacion y Vivienda 2000, Available in https://www.inegi.org. mx/programas/ccpv/2000/ INEGI (2010). Censo General de Población y Vivienda 2010, Available in https://www.inegi.org. mx/programas/ccpv/2010/ INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). (2015). Encuesta intercensal 2015. INEGI. INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Geografia e Informatica), Press Memo. 132/18 20 March 2018 Page 1/5 “ESTADÍSTICAS A PROPÓSITO DEL DÍA MUNDIAL DEL AGUA”. INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). (2011). Censo general de población y vivienda, 2000. INEGI. INEGI. Encuesta nacional de gobierno, seguridad pública y justicia municipal, 2009 (p. 2010). INEGI. INE (2017), Memoria del Proceso Electoral 2018-18, Available in https://www.ine.mx/ memoria-del-procesoelectoral-federal-2017-2018/ INEGI (2020), Censo de Población y Vivienda 2020, Available in https://www.inegi.org.mx/ programas/ccpv/2020/ INEGI (2021). Comunicado de Prensa No 24/21 25 January 2020: EN MÉXICO SOMOS 126 014 024 HABITANTES: CENSO DE POBLACIÓN Y VIVIENDA 2020. Available in https:// www.inegi.org.mx/contenidos/saladeprensa/boletines/2021/EstSociodemo/ResultCenso2020_ Nal.pdf OXFAM. (2018). Por mi raza hablará la desigualdad. Efectos de las Caracterísitcas étnico-­ raciales en la desigualdad de oportuunidades en Mexico. Oxfam. PNUD. (2012). Violencia contra las mujeres en el ejercicio de sus derechos políticos. PNUD/ ONU/TEPJF. PNUD/CONAMI. (2012). Agenda Política. Mujeres Indígenas de México. PNUD. TEPJF (Tribunal Electoral del Poder Judicial de la Federación). (2017). Recursos de apelación y juicios para la protección de los derechos político electorales del ciudadano. Sentencia de la Sala Superior del TEPJF, exp. SUP.RAP-726/2017. Available in: https://www.te.gob.mx/genero/media/pdf/06c8a68b6e6ea9b.pdf. Date: Dec 16 2020.

Periodistic Notes Hernandez, M. (2020). CONEVAL, Prioritario atender falta de acceso al agua, La Jornada, Number 153, June 20 2020. https://www.jornada.com.mx/2020/06/20/delcampo/articulos/ falta-­agua.html HN, El Republicano, op.cit., Thursday 24 April 1879, number 91, p.2. Available in: https://www. iwgia.org/es/mexico/3745-­mi-­2020-­mexico.html Villoro, J. 24 of February 2018, Prohibido Votar por una indígena, Opinion, The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/es/2018/02/24/espanol/opinion/opinion-­villoro-­marichuy.html

Alejandro Natal  has PhD in Development Studies (London School of Economics, UK). He is a former fullbright scholar, McNamara fellow, and scholar at the El Colegio Mexiquense, Mexico. He is also a member of the Mexican National System of Researchers (SNI).

Chapter 7

Participation and Political Representation of Indigenous Peoples in Paraguay: Numerous Pending Challenges Sara Mabel Villalba

Introduction The Paraguayan National Constitution, in force for three decades, recognizes a series of rights for indigenous peoples, including the right to political participation in the country. However, until now no indigenous person has held an elective position at the national level and there have been few elected authorities at the regional level, even in the departments with the largest indigenous population. The same occurs with positions in municipal boards. Therefore, there is a significant underrepresentation of indigenous men and women in elective positions in the country. The main objective of this chapter is to analyze the central aspects of the participation of indigenous peoples in electoral processes and the occupation of elective positions at the municipal, departmental, and national levels. Some legal and institutional obstacles that limit the political representation of indigenous peoples in Paraguay are also addressed. The methodology is supported by the analysis of primary and secondary sources. The first consisted of in-depth semi-structured interviews with key informants, as well as documents systematizing events from indigenous organizations and communities, reports from state institutions, publications from indigenous organizations, and newspapers. Secondary sources included Paraguayan and international legislation on the rights of indigenous peoples, political rights, and the right to identity. The structure of the text is divided into five sections. First, the general characteristics of the indigenous population in Paraguay are presented, including population and geographic data for each of the 19 towns, as well as indicators that show a general state of exclusion of indigenous peoples throughout the country.

S. M. Villalba (*) Universidad Católica “Nuestra Señora de la Asunción”, Asunción, Paraguay © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_7

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The second section examines the current legal framework regarding the right to participation of indigenous peoples in the country. After the coup d’état, in 1989, against the dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1954–1989), the Paraguayan State has signed the most relevant international treaties to guarantee the rights of indigenous peoples. In the third section, the situation of indigenous representation and the elective positions obtained by indigenous candidates in Paraguay at the national, regional, and local levels are analyzed. Then, in the fourth section, some legal and institutional obstacles to the effective political representation of indigenous peoples in the country are explored. Finally, some brief conclusions are presented.

Indigenous Peoples in Paraguay: General Aspects The indigenous population in Paraguay reaches 122,461 people, according to the latest Permanent Household Survey of 2017. In total, there are 19 indigenous peoples, grouped into five linguistic families: Guaraní, Mataco Mataguayo, Zamuco, Maskoy Lenguge, and Guaicurú (see Table 7.1). Table 7.1  Indigenous population in Paraguay Linguistic family Guaraní

Mataco Mataguayo

Zamuco

Maskoy

Guaicurú

Group Guaraní Occidental Aché Mbya Guaraní Ava Guaraní Paï Tavyterä Guaraní Ñandeva Nivaclé Manjui Maká Ayoreo Ybytoso Tomaräho Toba Maskoy Enxet Sur Enlhet Norte Guaná Angaité Sanapaná Toba Qom

Population 3.587 1.884 20.546 17.921 15.494 2.470 14.768 582 1.888 2.461 1.915 152 2.072 7.284 8.167 393 5.992 2.866 1.939

Source: III National Population and Housing Census for Indigenous Peoples. 2012

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Indigenous peoples live in 13, of the 17 departments of Paraguay. In the Western Region or Chaco they are found in the departments of: Presidente Hayes, Boquerón, and Alto Paraguay. In the Eastern Region they are distributed in the departments of: Canindeyú, Caaguazú, Alto Paraná, Itapúa, Caazapá, Guairá, Amambay, San Pedro, Concepción, Central, and in Asunción. In terms of its demographic distribution, specifically in the departments of Boquerón, Alto Paraguay and Presidente Hayes, the indigenous population reaches 40%, 37%, and 24% respectively, according to data from the III National Population and Housing Census for Indigenous Peoples. According to the aforementioned 2012 Census, there are 493 communities and 218 indigenous villages or neighborhoods, totaling 711 communities, villages, or neighborhoods. The territorial distribution by region includes 371 communities and 45 neighborhoods in the Eastern Region and 122 communities and 173 villages in the Western Region or Chaco . Statistics show the high level of exclusion of indigenous population in general. According to the 2017 Permanent Household Survey, 66% of the population (81,016 people) is below the poverty line and 34% (42,145 people) is below the extreme poverty line. The average monthly income of employed indigenous population is barely 983,000 thousand guaraníes (approximately 142 dollars). Regarding education, illiteracy affects 37.6% of indigenous people over 15 years of age, 42.7% of indigenous women, and 32.8% of men (DGEEC, 2014: 59). The national average of illiteracy in the country is 6.3% (DGEEC, 2016: 16). The average number of years of study approved by the indigenous population over 15 years of age is 3.3 years of study (DGEEC, 2014: 61), compared to a national average of 8.4% years of study on average. Regarding access to basic services, only 31.2% of indigenous homes have electricity coverage and only 15.1% have running water provision service (DGEEC, 2014: 74). The situation of generalized exclusion of indigenous peoples in Paraguay is closely linked to the dispossession or lack of access to their original lands, territories, and natural resources, which has implied the loss of their means and ways of life without providing them with access to the general economic system (ONU, 2015). According to data from the 2012 Census, the lack of land affects 134 of the 493 indigenous communities. This situation is due to the usurpation of their lands, which goes back centuries. This appropriation of indigenous territories intensified in the 1960s with the construction of a road that would cross part of the Eastern Region of Paraguay, toward Brazil and the Paraguayan-Brazilian Itaipu hydroelectric plant. These works implied the colonization of the area and the massive sale and appropriation of indigenous ancestral lands, especially by Brazilian settlers (Meliá, 2011: 328). Indeed, during the dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1954–1989) a total of 7,851,295 hectares had been adjudicated irregularly (CVJ, 2008). Subsequent governments continued this practice and one million hectares were illegally handed over since the end of the dictatorship (Barreto, 2017: 17–19; Guereña & Rojas, 2016: 13).

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 egal Framework on the Right to Indigenous L Political Participation The rights of indigenous peoples contained in the legislative corpus of the international legal regime have been replicated to a great extent in the National Constitution itself, as well as in the national legal framework. The National Constitution contemplates “Chapter V On indigenous peoples” that includes six articles, from 62 to 67. Article 62 maintains that the existence of indigenous peoples is recognized, it is defined as “culture groups prior to the formation and organization of the Paraguayan State”. The other articles include the rights to preserve ethnic identity, organizational systems, community ownership of land, customary law, exemption from military, social and civil service. Specifically, the right to participation of indigenous peoples is stipulated in article 65, which establishes the following: Indigenous peoples are guaranteed the right to participate in the economic, social, political and cultural life of the country, in accordance with their customary uses, this Constitution and national laws.

Even before the approval of the National Constitution, during the military dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1954–1989) the law 904/81 Statute of Indigenous Communities was promulgated,1 which is the first law to recognize the rights and existence of indigenous peoples in Paraguay (see Table 7.2 for a summary of the laws that guarantee the right to indigenous political participation in Paraguay). Specifically, with respect to participation, it declares: “This Law has as its objective the social and cultural preservation of indigenous communities, the defense of their heritage and their traditions, the improvement of their economic conditions, their effective participation in the national development process …”. Other national laws that protect indigenous rights include Law 234/93 that ratifies by the Paraguayan government Convention 169 on indigenous and tribal peoples in independent countries. Said ratification implies that the Paraguayan State is committed to complying with it internally through the aforementioned law and also in the international arena. Convention 169, approved in 1989 by the International Labor Organization (ILO) is the most important legal instrument to safeguard indigenous rights. It stipulates that indigenous peoples must enjoy “without discrimination the general rights of citizenship” (Art. 4) and that the members of said peoples must “exercise the rights recognized to all citizens of the country” (Art. 8). Furthermore, it stipulates that indigenous peoples have the right “to participate fully, if they wish, in the political, economic, social and cultural life of the State” (Art. 5).

 This law recognizes the legal autonomy of the indigenous communities, their legal personality and their representation through their leaders, and provides for the transfer of land to the communities free of charge. It also includes the functions of the Paraguayan Indigenous Institute (INDI), an organization that has the power to establish policies and programs on indigenous matters. 1

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Table 7.2  Legal framework that guarantees the right to indigenous political participation Instrument Law 904/81 Statute of Indigenous Communities Law 1215/1986 Approving the convention on the elimination of all forms of discrimination against women Law 1/89 Approving and ratifying the American Convention on Human Rights or Pact of San José de Costa Rica National Constitution Law No. 05/92 Approving the adhesion of the Republic to the “International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights”, adopted during the XXI period of sessions of the General Assembly of the United Nations Organization, in New York City on December 16, 1966 Law No. 2128/92 Approving the International Convention on the Elimination of all forms of racial discrimination Law 234/93 That ratifies by the Paraguayan government ILO Convention 169. Protocol for the process of consultation and free, prior and informed consent with the indigenous peoples living in Paraguay Law 6279/19 Establishing the mandatory incorporation of people belonging to indigenous communities in public institutions

Year 1981 1986 1989 1992 1992

1992 1993 2018 2019

Source: Author’s Elaboration

As an instrument that facilitates participation, the Convention169 established the obligation of the State to implement procedures and mechanisms that allow indigenous peoples to exercise the right to be consulted in all cases that affect them by administrative and legislative measures (Articles 6, 15, 17, 22, 27 and 28). In accordance with the same law 234/93, the State has the obligation to ensure indigenous participation in public policies at the national level. At the end of 2018, the “Protocol for the process of consultation and free, prior and informed consent with the indigenous peoples living in Paraguay” was approved. Another law that constitutes an instrument for a modality of political participation is Law 6279/19, which establishes “the compulsory nature of the incorporation of persons belonging to indigenous communities in public institutions”. On the other hand, after the coup against the dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1989–1954), Paraguay has approved different international treaties and conventions regarding political rights and political participation in general. These treaties apply to the Paraguayan population in general and also to indigenous peoples in the country. Along these lines, the first law approved in the country was Law 1/89, which approves and ratifies the American Convention on Human Rights or the Pact of San Jose, Costa Rica. Said Convention states, in its article 23, that all citizens must enjoy the right and the opportunity “to vote and be elected in periodic and authentic elections, carried out by universal and equal suffrage and by secret ballot that guarantees the free expression of the will of the voters… Likewise, Law 5/92 approves the adhesion of Paraguay to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which in its article 5 states that “All citizens shall enjoy (…) and without undue restrictions, the following rights and

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opportunities: b) Vote and be elected in periodic, authentic elections, carried out by universal and equal suffrage and by secret ballot that guarantees the free expression of the will of the voters…”. Also, through Law 2128/03, Paraguay is a signatory to the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, approved by the UN in 1969. Article 5 states that, the signing States undertake to prohibit and eliminate racial discrimination in all its forms and to guarantee the right of everyone to equality before the law, without distinction as to race, color, and national or ethnic origin, particularly in the enjoyment of political rights, “in particular the right to take part in elections, to elect and be elected, through universal and equal suffrage, to participate in government and in the direction of public affairs at any level, and that of access, under conditions of equality, to public functions”.

 lectoral Participation and Indigenous E Political Representation The electoral system of Paraguay establishes that the authorities are elected directly in two elections. In the general elections, votes are taken to elect the President and Vice President of the Republic, the members of the Chamber of Senators (45 titular senators and 30 alternates), the Chamber of Deputies (80 distributed by department), 17 governors and members Departmental Boards. The municipal mayors and the members of the Municipal Boards are elected for one municipal period, in each of the 263 districts of the country. In the national territory, there are 17 departmental constituencies and one national constituency. For the election of executive positions (national, departmental, and municipal) the majority system is used and for legislative positions the proportional system is used, with the D’Hond formula. The contact of the indigenous communities with the political parties was minimal during the dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner, since the victory of the ruler and the ruling party, the ANR, was assured due to the fraudulent elections. However, this situation changed radically after the coup in 1989, because the leaders of the country’s traditional political parties realized the wealth of votes represented by the indigenous communities. Then, they began to realize proselytizing campaigns and party affiliation processes for indigenous people. For this, they even resorted to the provision of food and alcohol, to influence on community leaders and teachers. This, in addition to the promises to carry out road works, which have mostly not been fulfilled (Kidd, 1997: 32 and ss). In the elections held in the years of the democratic transition period, some political parties have included indigenous people in their lists of candidates for elective positions for Municipal Boards and Departmental Boards. However, until now the representation of indigenous peoples is extremely low and even non-existent at the national level. The only exception has been the election of an indigenous Maskoy,

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from the department of Presidente Hayes, as constituent conventional representative of the PLRA (Horst, 2011: 135). Mainly, in the last two decades there have been a few candidacies of indigenous people for national offices, especially for the Senate. These postulations were sponsored by left oriented parties. However, in no election have they been able to obtain enough votes to occupy seats in the National Congress. In the 2018 national elections, the Plurinational Indigenous Political Movement of Paraguay (MPIP) even participated, which is the first indigenous political movement to present itself autonomously (without the sponsorship of another party) in the general elections and to run for office in the Chamber of Senators and for the Chamber of Deputies (for Capital and the Central, Caaguazú, Caazapá, Itapúa, Alto Paraná departments). The movement called itself “plurinational” because it was made up of indigenous and non-indigenous members. The list for the Chamber of Senators obtained 25,000 votes, but it was not enough for them to win a seat. The same happened with the other national positions for which they had applied (Villalba, 2020: 539). Once the elections were over, the Movement was dissolved in accordance with the electoral law.2 For the general elections to be held in April 2023, the Plurinational Party of Paraguay is in the process of being formed. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the indigenous peoples created the April 19 Movement (M19) in 2000 and the October 11 Movement (MIO) in 2001 in the departments of Presidente Hayes and Boquerón, respectively. Both movements participated in the national elections in 2003 and presented candidates for departmental boards in the departments of Boquerón and Presidente Hayes. In the 2008 national elections, only the M19 participated. However, on neither of the two occasions, the groups were able to present themselves autonomously and independently, but rather under the auspices of other political parties. The reason is that they did not have the recognition of the Electoral Justice because they could not meet all the requirements demanded by the Electoral Law (statutes, registration in the Permanent Civic Registry, among others) (Villalba, 2007). At the regional level, there have been very few positions held by representatives of indigenous peoples. Two examples are the election of Faustina Alvarenga, originally from the Guaraní Occidental people, who became the departmental councilor of Central for the National Encounter Party (PEN), in the first elections for governors and departmental boards held in the country in 1993. Likewise, in 1998, Hipólito Acevei, from the Guaraní  Occidental people, obtained the position of departmental councilor in Boquerón, through a postulation from the same party. At the municipal level the first elections in the country took place in 1991. Indigenous people managed to get elected to some municipal council positions in this area, but not yet for the position of municipal mayor. Specifically, in the second municipal elections held in the country, in 1996, several indigenous peoples of Maskoy and Yshir were elected as municipal councilors in the districts of Puerto  The Paraguayan Electoral Code establishes several causes for the extinction of political movements, among which is “the end of the elections for which the political movement has been constituted” (Article 78). 2

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Casado, Bahía Negra and Fuerte Olimpo, department of Alto Paraguay, and in the municipality of Mariscal Estigarribia, department of Boquerón. In this last department there were also elected indigenous peoples of Nivaclé and Guaraní Occidental (Agüero et al., 2017: 36). In turn, Susana Pintos and Severo Flores, from the Guarani Occidental people; Cirilo Pintos, from the town of Nivaclé and Juan Giménez, from the town of Enxet, were municipal councilors of the Mariscal Estigarribia district, representing the National Encounter Party (PEN), in the period 2001–2. Similarly, an indigenous person was elected as municipal councilor by the PLRA in the district of Minga Porá, in the period 2003–2008 (Villalba, 2018: 27). Subsequently, in the 2010 municipal elections, in four municipalities in the Western Region, they were elected as municipal councilors, indigenous peoples of Nivaclé, Guaraní Occidental, Maskoy, and Enxet Norte (Soto, 2014: 16). In the 2015 election there was elected a councilor of the village of Enlhet Norte, in the district of Irala Fernández, by the Authentic Radical Liberal Party (PLRA) (Agüero et al., 2017: 34). In the last municipal elections held in 2021, a total of 20 candidates and candidates from indigenous peoples have managed to occupy positions for municipal boards, especially in several districts of the department of Boquerón, which has a 40% indigenous population, according to data from III 2012 National Population and Housing Census for Indigenous Peoples.

Legal and Institutional Obstacles Undocumented Indigenous Population The identity document is essential to exercise the right to vote and to present a candidacy for elective positions. In Paraguay, people require this document to register in the Permanent Civic Registry in order to vote in municipal and national elections. In the case of indigenous populations, the difficulties in registering their identity and their subsequent inclusion in the electoral roll constitute a long-standing problem in Paraguay. The last Indigenous Census of 2012 estimates that 36,187 people (30%) of the total indigenous population in Paraguay did not have an identity card (DGEEC, 2012: 255). Likewise, the report of the UN Rapporteur on Indigenous Rights indicated that, “there are still problems with the provision of national identity documents to indigenous people” (ONU, 2015: 8). After this census, no other study that allows us to have precise data has been carried out, therefore we have only estimations made by some indigenous organizations.

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Currently, there are coordinated actions by various state institutions − Civil Status Registry, the Paraguayan Institute for the Indigenous and the Identification Department of the National Police − to optimize the provision of identity documents to indigenous peoples. Access to indigenous documentation constitutes a recurring claim by indigenous organizations, which even request that the Registration of Persons service can also be transferred to indigenous communities and urban indigenous nuclei, as well as the creation of a Registration Area for indigenous peoples in the Civil Registry, in the Identification Department and in the Electoral Registry (Villalba & Echague, 2018: 22).

 ack of Identification of Indigenous Origin of Voters L and Candidates The Electoral Register in force in Paraguay does not include  – in any of the ­constituencies – distinctions regarding the condition of the voters. For this reason, there is no precise data on the participation of indigenous peoples in general and municipal elections. Therefore, from this source, it is not possible to know the sociopolitical characteristics that structure indigenous participation in the electoral system. The absence of official information on the indigenous vote and its zero visibility limits the bargaining power of indigenous candidates within the sphere of political parties in the national political system (Prieto, 2013: 85–86). Regarding the 2018 general elections, the report of the European Union Electoral Observation Mission (EU EOM) maintains that the lack of official figures on the registration of indigenous voters “makes it difficult to analyze their inclusion in public life” (EU MOE, 2018: 10). Likewise, the Electoral Observation Mission of the Organization of American States, regarding the 2021 municipal elections, recommended exploring mechanisms to incorporate information on ethnic self-identification in the electoral roll and generate statistics on the electoral participation of these populations, in addition to including in the candidacy registration form an optional box for ethnic self-­ identification (MOE OEA, 2021: 8–9). In addition to the observations and recommendations of international organizations to the Paraguayan State, the indigenous organizations themselves have also raised on several occasions the creation of an indigenous electoral registry, which could contribute to count with information on the electoral participation of indigenous peoples in the country (Agüero et al., 2017; Soto, 2020).

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Huge Requirements for the Formation of Political Parties In Paraguay, the Electoral Code establishes numerous requirements for the recognition of political parties. In order to be recognized by the Electoral Justice, the promoters of a new political party must present the founding act, the declaration of principles, the statutes, and the payroll of the board of directors. In addition, the parties in formation must have a number of affiliates of no less than 0.5% of the valid votes cast in the last elections to the Senate and must prove that they have organizations in Asunción and in at least four departmental capital cities throughout the country. Likewise, all the pertinent steps and the delivery of documents must be carried out in the Electoral Tribunal of the Capital, which implies a need for human and economic resources for the indigenous candidates, who must travel from their communities. In addition, the political parties in formation, that is, those that have not completed all the procedures, cannot present candidacies for general, departmental, or municipal elections. Along these lines, the report of the European Union Electoral Observation Mission (EU EOM) regarding the 2013 general elections indicated that the aforementioned requirements make it difficult for regionally concentrated or minority groups and indigenous populations to register parties (EOEM)., 2013:18). Also, the OAS Electoral Observation Mission, regarding the 2021 municipal elections, maintains that it “observed with concern the difficulty that indigenous populations face in constituting their own political parties or movements”. It recommended that the Paraguayan State evaluate the possibility of reducing the procedures and costs for the constitution of indigenous political groups (MOE OEA, 2021: 9). Paraguayan electoral legislation allows the formation of political movements specifically for general and municipal elections, but these are transitory. Therefore, its formation requires enormous resources, since each election requires repeating the entire process of recognition of each movement. Likewise, political parties are obliged to hold internal elections to choose candidates and they expire legally if they do not hold these elections for two consecutive periods. In addition, current electoral regulations do not contemplate independent candidacies for any position. Those who intend to be candidates for an elective position of a national nature must have been elected through internal elections of their political parties, movements, or agreements registered and recognized in the Electoral Justice.3 Candidacies can also be presented through alliances (two or more parties) and agreements (union of parties and movements). In addition, the National Constitution itself prohibits the formation of regional parties, and only temporary alliances and agreements are allowed. This provision constitutes a barrier to the formation of indigenous parties in geographical areas with a high concentration of indigenous population. In general, the formation of  https://tsje.gov.py/partidos/preguntas_frecuentes/

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regional parties implies fewer resources (transportation and publicity, organization of campaigns, etc.) and the possibility of a subsequent projection at the national level. Indeed, on repeated occasions, indigenous candidates for elective office in Paraguay have emphasized that the scarcity of economic resources has been a problem for visiting indigenous communities throughout the country (Villalba, 2018: 53–55).

 bsence of Affirmative Action Mechanisms A and Differentiated Legislation Paraguay’s legal framework does not include any affirmative action mechanism that facilitates the participation of indigenous peoples such as electoral quotas, reserved seats, special constituencies, or exceptional electoral thresholds. Therefore, to run for any elective office at any level in the country (municipal, departmental, or national), indigenous candidates must do so through political parties and through internal candidate selection mechanisms. The main purpose of affirmative action mechanisms is to counteract biases for participation and accelerate access to political decision-making positions for social groups that have been marginalized, excluded, or disadvantaged (Ríos, 2015). They are framed within the so-called “inclusive electoral systems” (Van Cott, 2003) and seek to promote the participation of indigenous peoples in local, regional, or national legislative bodies, when this cannot be achieved through the regular channels of the electoral systems. In short, they constitute the main means to express multiculturalism in different countries. In November 2021, a bill was presented in the Senate to create seats reserved for indigenous peoples in Congress. The approach consists of allocating two seats, with the principle of parity (half men and half women), in the Chamber of Deputies, two in the Senate, in the Municipal Boards (of each district), and in the Departmental Boards (of each department). The proposal implies the legal creation of indigenous electoral districts, one for each region of the country (Eastern and Western).4 Until now, Paraguay lacks a differentiated electoral legislation for indigenous peoples. The Electoral Code does not contain any special clause on the registration and voting of indigenous people. The legislative framework that regulates elections in Paraguay includes the National Constitution, the Electoral Code (Law No. 834/96), the Electoral Justice Law (Law no. 635/95), and the resolutions of the Superior Court of Electoral Justice.

 Until May 2022, the bill was being studied in various committees of the Senate.

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Conclusions This chapter makes it possible to appreciate that, despite the advances in terms of rights translated into national legislation, there are still numerous and complex challenges regarding electoral participation and the representation of indigenous peoples in Paraguay. This situation is expressed in the non-existent or scant presence of indigenous representatives in legislative bodies at the municipal, departmental, and national levels. This is especially evident at the national level, given that up to now no indigenous person has been elected to a seat in the Chamber of Deputies or in the Senate. The analysis carried out shows that in the country indigenous peoples face various barriers caused by their legal frameworks or bad institutional practices, in addition to socioeconomic and educational conditions that limit or even prevent them from effectively exercising their political rights. The main obstacles include the number of undocumented indigenous people, the lack of identification of indigenous origin of voters and candidates, the enormous requirements for the formation of political parties and the absence of affirmative action mechanisms and differentiated legislation for the electoral participation of indigenous peoples in Paraguay. The aforementioned situation has had a negative impact on the Paraguayan political system, and has excluded a social group with historical and cultural importance in the process of formation of the Paraguayan nation, constraining the full citizenship of the indigenous peoples and hindering the possibilities of intercultural democracy.

References Agüero, A., Ayala, O., Cabello, J., & Morínigo, R. (2017). La participación de los pueblos indígenas, sus derechos individuales y colectivos. La experiencia de las comunidades del Chaco. Tierraviva. Barreto, V. (2017). Sintomatología de la agudización neoliberal en agravio a los pueblos indígenas en el Paraguay. Derechos de los pueblos indígenas. En: CODEHUPY. Derechos Humanos en Paraguay 2019. CODEHUPY. CVJ (Comisión Verdad y Justicia). (2008). Informe final y Recomendaciones de la Comisión Verdad y Justicia del Paraguay. Anive Haguá Oiko. DGEEC (Dirección General de Encuestas, Estadísticas y Censos). (2012). III Censo Nacional de Población y Viviendas para Pueblos Indígenas. DGEEC (Dirección General de Encuestas, Estadísticas y Censos). (2014). Pueblos Indígenas en el Paraguay. Resultados Finales de Población y Viviendas 2012. III Censo Nacional de Población y Viviendas para Pueblos Indígenas. Fernando de la Mora. DGEEC (Dirección General de Encuestas, Estadísticas y Censos). (2016). Atlas Demográfico del Paraguay, 2012. Fernando de la Mora. Guereña, A., & Rojas, Q. (2016). Yvy Jára. Los dueños de la tierra en Paraguay. OXFAM. Horst, R. (2011). El régimen de Stroessner y la resistencia indígena. Centro de Estudios Antropológicos de la Universidad Católica.

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Kidd, S. (1997). Tierra, política y chamanismo benévolo. Los indígenas Enxet en un Paraguay democrático. Suplemento Antropológico (Py), XXXII(1–2), 9–59. Meliá, B. (2011). Mundo indígena y Estado paraguayo. In D. Abente & D. Borda (Eds.), El reto del futuro. Asumiendo el legado del Bicentenario. Ministerio de Hacienda de la República del Paraguay. Misión de Observación Electoral de la Unión Europea en Paraguay (MOEUE 2013). Informe final. (2013). Asunción. Misión de Observación Electoral de la Unión Europea en Paraguay (MOEUE 2018). Informe final. (2018). Asunción. OEA. (2021). Informe preliminar de la Misión de Observación Electoral. Asunción. Disponible en. http://www.oas.org/fpdb/press/Informe-­Preliminar-­MOE-­Paraguay-­2021.pdf ONU. (2015). Informe. Situación de los pueblos indígenas en el Paraguay. Naciones Unidas. Asamblea General. Consejo de Derechos Humanos. Prieto, E. (2013). Ciudadanía indígena en Paraguay. Universidad Técnica de Comercialización y Desarrollo (UTCD). Ríos, M. (2015). Representación indígena en poderes legislativos. Claves desde la experiencia internacional. PNUD. Soto, L. (2014). Mujeres indígenas y política en Paraguay. Centro de Documentación y Estudios. Soto, L. (2020). Mujeres indígenas y política: “quise voz, porque las mujeres indígenas no tenían voces”. Asunción. Van Cott, D. (2003). Cambio institucional y partidos étnicos en Sudamérica. Revista Análisis Político, 48(1), 26–51. Villalba, S. (2007). Organizaciones políticas indígenas en Paraguay. Suplemento Antropológico, 42(1), 155–270. Villalba, S. (2018). Participación electoral indígena en Paraguay. Semillas para la Democracia. Villalba, S. (2020). Expresiones de la participación política de los pueblos indígenas en Paraguay. In: H.  Gaska (org.), Medio siglo caminando junto con los pueblos indígenas. Centro de Estudios Antropológicos de la Universidad Católica (CEADUC). Villalba, S., & Echague, I. (2018). Propuestas de Políticas Públicas. Desde y con los pueblos indígenas en contextos urbanos. Asunción. Coordinación Nacional de Pastoral Indígena (CONAPI). Sara Mabel Villalba   has PhD in Contemporary Political Processes (Universidad de Salamanca, Spain). She is a lecturer at Universidad Católica (Paraguay) and researcher to the Nacional Council for Science and Technology (CONACYT, Paraguay). She is also the member and founder of the Asociación de Investigadores Científicos de Paraguay (ADICIP).

Chapter 8

Indigenous Representation in Chile Victor Tricot

Introduction In the middle of the October uprising,1 many of the statues and symbols of the colonization of the Indigenous peoples in Chile were destroyed, long before this would happen in the United States or Europe. This iconoclast wave demolished the images that were part of the symbolic and homogenic construction of the country’s identity, mainly constructed by a ruling elite. Images related to colonial violence were destroyed in different cities of the country; statues of Cristóbal Colón, Pedro de Valdivia, Teodoro Schmidt and José Menéndez (V. Tricot, 2020) fell under the protesters’ protests against the system. On the other hand, from the uprising, alternative symbols were put forth, being in this context the use for example of the mapuche flag or Wenufoye iconic. Its struggle AND repression that the Mapuche people have been subject to during the past several decades, and overall since the conquest of their territory at the end of the nineteenth century, has in one way or another positioned the Mapuche flag as a symbol of resistance against injustice. Its waving in protests has been evident throughout the second decade of the century, as a recognition of a denied history and of a persecuted people who have been able to resist the state, which has insistently tried to quash the Mapuche movement (Pairican, 2020).

 Since October 18 and until COVID-19 forced quarantines. Chilean institutional politics was questioned from the streets and repressed with violence and human rights violations. Even though people stopped directly protesting, because of the pandemic, a clear outcome of these protests was the announcement of a plebiscite who would decide whether Chileans want to change the constitution and how this would be carried out. 1

V. Tricot (*) University of Girona, Girona, Spain SIT Study Abroad, Brattleboro, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_8

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Chile has a longstanding history of the abuse and invisibilization of the Indigenous peoples who live in the country. Even during the emergence of Indigenous rights and mobilization during the 1990s, the country’s evolution in this regard was far short compared to that of some of its neighboring countries. The relationship between the Chilean state and Indigenous peoples in the country is arguably that of a dominator–dominated dynamic that has different empirical correlations and expressions. This dynamic has multiple expressions in practice and is only one of the relationships discussed in this chapter. Here, we will study how this endocolonialism (T. Tricot, 2013) directly influences the way Indigenous peoples in Chile have been represented—or to be more accurate, have been almost entirely excluded from representation—in the political system. The roles that Indigenous peoples have played on the front lines of Chilean institutional politics have been, to say the least, secondary. With few exceptions, a diachronic analysis allows us to see how Indigenous peoples have been relegated to secondary positions in electoral and institutional politics in Chile. This chapter aims to describe these issues in depth and to show the concrete difficulties that Indigenous representation has encountered in the country since the end of the dictatorship. The democracy that has consolidated since then was unable or unwilling to change the way that the state has related to Indigenous peoples and more specifically their necessity for representation, recognition and collective rights. This paper shows how political representation has taken form in Chile since 1990, describing its sociodemographic configuration; legislation on Indigenous peoples; how the state has related to them; Indigenous demands; and the main ways that Indigenous peoples in Chile have sought political representation.

Indigenous Peoples as Political Actors in Chile In the last decades of the twentieth century, we saw what has been called the emergence of Indigenous peoples in the political arena (Bengoa, 2000; Marti i Puig, 2010; Yashar, 2005). In this context, different movements with Indigenous roots emerged within Latin America, positioning their demands, demonstrating in the streets and overall becoming active and influential political actors—even becoming, in some countries through their own political parties, members of the government, such as Pachakutik in Ecuador (Mijeski & Beck, 2011) or MAS led by Evo Morales in Bolivia (Postero, 2010). Another direct consequence of the emergence and active political participation of Indigenous peoples was the recognition and consolidation of their constitutional and collective rights (Marti i Puig, 2007). These advances took place mainly through legislative and constitutional arrangements. In this context, we can see the proliferation of ad hoc legislation, constitutional recognitions and the ratification of the ILO 169 Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention of 1989 by the majority of the Latin American states and of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples of 2007.

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Chile, probably owing to its relationship of domination with the Indigenous peoples, was late in its starting to be part of a continental trend toward the development of Indigenous rights. The country was late in enacting reforms, becoming a clear example of what the academic literature has characterized as neoliberal multiculturalism, which is where certain rights are recognized (usually cultural and not controversial), to the detriment of more-substantial or political rights (Hale, 2002; Richards, 2016). Even though Chile has constructed its identity as a country that does not include Indigenous peoples as a core part of it. However, Indigenous peoples in Chile have in the past years become active members in the political arena of the country. In Part 3, we will briefly describe the political and sociodemographic context of the Indigenous peoples in Chile.

Whom Are We Talking About? What Is the Problem? Even though, strangely, the Chilean Constitution does not recognize the existence of Indigenous peoples living in the country, every national census conducted since 1992 has included questions related to Indigenous populations. Currently, we can find nine Indigenous peoples2 across the Chilean territory (Table 8.1). The last census, that of 2017, shows that more than 2,185,792 people identified as Indigenous, which means that 12.8% of the country’s population identifies as a member of an Indigenous group. Of these, the quantitively more relevant are the Mapuche, who with 1,745,147 people represent 79.8% of the Indigenous population and also comprise 9.9% of the population of the country. They are located all along the country but mainly in the capital, Santiago, and the Araucanía region in the south. The Mapuche people are relevant because of their longstanding conflict with the Chilean state. There are arguably two relevant junctures with consequences today: (1) the invasion of their territories and the process of reducing their communities and (2) the dictatorship’s implementation of the neoliberal system. In other words, the state’s so called “two deniels” of the Mapuche people (T. Tricot, 2013). Table 8.1  Proportion of Indigenous population in Chile Census year 1992 2002 2017

Indigenous population 998,335 692,192 2,185,792

% of Chilean population 9.9% 4.6% 12.8%

Source: author’s elaboration, based on information from the National Institute of Statistics  These are Mapuche, Rapa Nui, Aymara, Quechua, Lican Antay, Collas, Diaguita, Kawashkar and Yagan. In July 2020, communities in the south of Chile worked be recognized by Indigenous law. Even today, the Selk’nam are believed to be extinct. 2

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After many years of racialized migration (Antileo, 2015), the majority of the Indigenous population in Chile now lives in the cities—mainly in Santiago, the capital. According to Casen (2017), 75.4% live in an urban environment, leaving only 24.6% in rural areas. The same instrument measures two kinds of poverty: if poverty is measured by income, 14.5% of this population is poor or extremely poor; if it is measured by using the multidimensional poverty index, 30.2% of Indigenous population in Chile live in poverty, and these rates of poverty are higher in rural areas. Finally, despite some efforts, the use and understanding of Indigenous languages keeps falling. Also according to Casen (2017), 80.1% of the Indigenous peoples in Chile don’t know or understand their respective people’s language, and only 9.9% of them speak it. Even though Chile has had specific legislation for Indigenous peoples since the beginning of the republic, after the end of dictatorship, the legal framework has grown. However, these recognitions and Indigenous rights have been called weak (Fuentes & Cea de, 2017), persistently featuring what the literature has called a gap in implementation (Aylwin, 2014)—a situation consistent with the colonial relation established by Chile with the Indigenous peoples. The legal framework in Chile concerning Indigenous rights is not very large (see Table 8.2). Law N° 19,253, or Indigenous Law from 1993, was for many years the only legal resource that featured Indigenous peoples. But also, it has been criticized because it did not comply with what the Indigenous organizations that participated in its elaboration process wanted. The original project, based on what is known as

Table 8.2  Legislation on Indigenous peoples in Chile Year Name 1993 Indigenous Law N° 19,252.

2008 Law N° 20,248 Marine Space of Indigenous Peoples.

2008 ILO 169 Convention about Indigenous and Tribal Peoples.

Definition “The state recognizes that the Indigenous of Chile are descendants of the humans that existed in national territory since pre-­ Columbian times, that conserve their own ethnic and cultural manifestations. Being for them the land core for their existence and culture.”a “To create a coastal marine space for original peoples, the objective of this will be the consuetudinary use of that space, to maintain the traditions and use of the natural resources by the communities related to the coast shore.”b

External influence Demand of the Indigenous organizations since Nueva Imperial Accord.

Because of the demands of mainly the Lafkenche organizations and communities. Longstanding demand of Indigenous organizations.

Source: author’s elaboration a Artícle 1 Indigenous Law b Artículo 3 de la Ley 20,248 Crea el espacio costero marino de los Pueblos Originarios

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the Nueva Imperial Accord3 and the CEPI4 proposal, underwent many changes in the Chilean Congress, among which were any reference to the word “territory,” any consultation process and the elimination of the concept of Indigenous peoples, changing it to Indigenous ethnic groups (Toledo, 2006). The other current legal frameworks are Law N° 20,249, or the Lafkenche Law, which created a coastal and marine space for Indigenous peoples, as of 2008, that recognizes that Indigenous peoples from the coast have consuetudinary rights that had not been contemplated before (Zelada Muñoz & Park Key, 2013). That same year, after two decades of being discussed in the Chilean Congress, the ILO 169 Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention of 1989 was promulgated by then-president Michelle Bachelet, since then becoming an important tool for Indigenous communities and peoples to demand their rights, particularly through the demand for the implementation of prior consultations on issues concerning them. These consultations have been used and have failed several times since 2009 (Tomaselli, 2019). As an end to the formal recognitions enacted by the state, the major institutional deficit continues to be that even by 2020 the Chilean state still has not constitutionally recognized the Indigenous peoples in the country. The recognition by the state and especially its legislators of the existence of other “peoples” or even more so “nations” within the Chilean borders has been until now unacceptable, making it impossible to reform the constitution for this purpose. It has many times been an electoral promise, and it has been denied by Congress seven times since 1991. The recognition of these Indigenous rights must be understood in the context of neoliberal multiculturalism and as an outcome of the pressure and struggle of Indigenous peoples (Aguas & Nahuelpan, 2019). Formal rights have not stopped the state from criminalizing and repressing Indigenous protests and has particularly mobilized Mapuche communities and organizations, thus perpetuating the colonial relation of state domination. Despite this persistent relation, since the end of the dictatorship, we can see the emergence of Indigenous demands in the political arena, and we can see an Indigenous movement whose most-visible and most-active actor is the Mapuche movement. This movement has for three decades has fought for cultural, territorial, legal and political rights. As stated before, any analysis on Indigenous peoples’ politics or rights conducted from a legal or institutional perspective that fails to recognize the work and struggle carried out by Indigenous organizations and communities would be flawed.

 Before the first presidential election after the end of the dictatorship, the opposition candidate, Patricio Aylwin, met in the city of Nueva Imperial with Mapuche, Aymara and Rapa Nui organizations, which decided to support his candidacy. On the other hand, Aylwin compromised to approve an Indigenous law, create an institution dedicated to Indigenous affairs and recognize constitutionally the Indigenous peoples in Chile. 4  Special Commission for Indigenous Peoples created in 1990 to elaborate a proposal of Indigenous law. 3

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Continuum, Denial and Violence To better understand the context for the Indigenous peoples in Chile, we can use as an analogy for all of them what has been argued for the Mapuche people (80% of the Indigenous population). This argument has three main pillars that will help us understand how the Chilean state has related to Indigenous peoples. First and foremost, the existence of a historical continuum of domination imposed from power (T. Tricot, 2017), from the elite, with a clear outcome in the form of an asymmetric relation between the Chilean state and the Indigenous population in the country. This continuum has expressions in Indigenous territories, rights, economies, levels of sovereignty and epistemes. Chile as a country is constructed on this relationship, an imaginary that does not include the presence or the influence of the Indigenous peoples who were consumed by the colonizer’s idea of one state for one nation. The invasion of Indigenous territories and their consequent forced integration into the Chilean state constitute the original denial, a negation of the heterogeneity in the country, the basis of the assimilation process (Mariman, 2017) and the territorial and material dispossession of Indigenous subjectivity (Nahuelpan, 2011). This scenario identifies the debts that the Chilean state owes Indigenous peoples and what they deserve: recognition for them beyond mere individual rights and honesty about Chile’s ethnic diversity; a reparation policy ending dispossession and confronting poverty; and a cultural change confronting racism, exclusion and the historiographic construction of the country’s role (Huenchumilla, 2017). The second denial, which is directly related to the first, is the imposition and implementation of the neoliberal system since the dictatorship (T.  Tricot, 2017) with subsequent impacts on their original territories, in terms of not only ownership but environmental impacts. This development model, which has been imposed on and implemented in Chile since the dictatorship, has direct effects not only on the Indigenous peoples’ lands but also on their traditional ways of living and the environment. The implementation of different megaprojects has impacted on the local ecology and biodiversity, such that the market requirements or necessities have taken precedent over Indigenous rights—according to a review of the jurisprudence of the high courts (supreme and appeals) of the country since the promulgation of the ILO 169 Convention in September of 2009 until 2015. Since 2009, about sixty judicial appeals have been filed; of these, the majority involve prior consultation and are directly related to issues that affect the environment and Indigenous communities and territories. The lattermost point is relevant because of the willingness of and the concrete actions taken by the state to give preference to the capitalist model over Indigenous interests and rights. The most concrete manifestation of this is the systematic repression, judicialization, violence and criminalization of Indigenous demands, mainly but not only from the Mapuche movement. Since the end of the dictatorship, there have been several national and international human rights reports on the abuses suffered by the Indigenous peoples in Chile. In the past two decades, we can see the use of antiterrorist laws, police montages, the militarization of communities, deaths and dozens of Mapuche political prisoners. According to the Citizens Observatory report

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for 2017, that year was critical for the Indigenous people’s rights. Indigenous social protests, particularly from the Mapuche people, continue to be criminalized, attracting pronouncements and preoccupations by different international human rights entities, such as members of the Inter-American Human Rights System and the UN.5 Despite this, Indigenous communities and organizations have organized and used diverse collective action repertoires in their struggle for their rights and demands as Indigenous peoples. We can see an evolution in Indigenous peoples’ demands largely in concordance with other parts of Latin America. From the original demand for land, we can see later the demand for territory and ethno-development and finally the consolidation and generalization of the demand for self-determination and autonomy as an expression of this selfdeterminaion (Aparicio, 2007). In other words, this description shows us an evolution from economic and cultural demands to more-political ones. In Chile, we can also see this evolution, from the demand for land to the consolidation of the ideas of territory and autonomy. The concept of territory is key to understanding Indigenous demands in America and in Chile, politicizing the original demand only for land. Territory may be understood as a symbolic and concrete space for an Indigenous people, a multifaceted space built upon cosmovisional notions and cultural, social, mnemonic and identity practices (V. Tricot, 2018). To these demands, we must add the longstanding struggle for constitutional recognition; the implementation of an effective consultation process compliant with the ILO 169 Convention; legislative and institutional representation; and, in the context of the constitutional discussion ongoing in the country, substantive representation in the Constitutional Convention in the form of reserved seats and the recognition of Chile as a plurinational country. Within this context, we can see how communities, organizations or Indigenous collectives have used different sorts of collective action repertoires in their struggles for these demands to be met. These repertoires are diverse (and more visible than those related to unconventional forms), including protests, demonstrations and land recoveries, among others. This, however, must not hide the fact that more-­ conventional ways of participating in politics are also visible, such as participating in elections, forming parties or using different institutions of the state. In the following section of the chapter, we will look into these repertoires in more depth.

Seeking Political Representation Institutional Representation Since the end of the dictatorship, Chile has been identified as being an exemplarily transition and also as an economic miracle. We will not go into such delusions, but there is an aspect that was not part of the political agenda, one that has had to and  Derechos Humanos en Chile 2017: Un Balance desde Sociedad Civil. Observatorio Ciudadano.

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has continued to struggle to position Indigenous demands within the political agenda. For example, the priorities mentioned by members of Congress between 1990 and 2014 do not include Indigenous demands, despite the emergence and growth of Indigenous and Mapuche demands since the mid 1990s (Albala & Tricot, 2020). In fact, since then, protests and nonconventional forms of political participation have progressively become more visible (Bidegain, 2017). Nonetheless, institutions and more-conventional politics never disappeared from the repertoire of Indigenous collective action. The institution that should represent Indigenous peoples and allow them a space for participation and discussion about the policies that concern them is CONADI, the National Corporation for Indigenous Development, which even today remains the only institution of Indigenous representation in the country. Created with the Indigenous Law of 1993, it is organized to protect and help develop Indigenous populations in Chile whose voices are represented in CONADI by counselors. There have been eight Indigenous counselors elected in each of the past four years: four Mapuche, one Aymara, one Lican Antay, one Rapa Nui and one member of an urban community. However, the government designates the other nine members of the board, ensuring its majority. On paper, it looks progressive; however, it has shown its limitations. The successive changing of directors in the mid 1990s continued until the government obtained the outcome that it wanted, namely the approval of the construction of a hydroelectric reservoir on Indigenous territory in the south of Chile. These actions proved early on that CONADI was not an Indigenous coadministrative institution for Indigenous policies, which was what it was supposed to be; instead, it was more a governmental agency under the government’s control (Universidad de la Frontera & Instituto de Estudios Indígenas, 2003). This hostile scenario for Indigenous representation led to frustration among some of the communities and organizations, with a consequent process of Indigenous peoples’ distancing themselves from political parties and of autonomization (Bidegain, 2017), so the disenchantment with the Nueva Imperial Accord and the new Indigenous law was an inflection point that marked the distancing of Indigenous organizations from conventional politics, institutions and Chilean political parties (V. Tricot, 2018). Since 2009, the very delayed enactment of the ILO 169 Convention conferred to the Indigenous peoples of the country a new resource for institutional participation in the issues that affected them, which is the right to be consulted. Within the context of the ILO convention, Chile agreed to, to prior, free and informed consultation with Indigenous peoples in every matter that could affect their collective rights. This type of consultation seeks to allow collective participation for the protection of collective rights against the impositions of the dominant society that may affect them (Meza-Lopehandía, 2016). Since its enactment we can see several consultation processes that have been carried out by the state under two different regulations, on topics that concern Indigenous territories, such as changes in the education curriculum, the inclusion of Indigenous culture, the creation of the Ministry of Indigenous Peoples and constitutional reforms for the recognition of Indigenous peoples. All the above have not been implemented free of conflict or criticism, owing to the

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repetition of consultations on the same issues undermining the credibility of the government (Tomaselli, 2019) or not complying with international standards in the consultation processes (Fuenzalida, 2015). The last process of consultation, carried out in 2019, exemplifies the improvisation and disregard for a real will for Indigenous participation. Its objective was to reform the Indigenous Law of 1993. It was criticized for not complying with international standards and was protested against by several Indigenous communities, all across Chile. The process finished only one of the five stages from the government’s original design, which was canceled shortly thereafter.

Elected Representation for Indigenous Peoples in Chile Even though this chapter focuses mainly on Indigenous politics a posteriori to the end of the dictatorship, a short retrospective look will help to understand what we mean when we say that Indigenous peoples have been systematically left to fill secondary positions in the country’s politics. Electoral participation among Indigenous peoples in Chile has always taken place, but the success of this kind of participation is another issue. For instance, in 1914, a Mapuche organization called Sociedad Caupolicán participated in an election; in 1924, a Mapuche candidate was elected to Congress, namely Francisco Melivilu Henríquez, who was the first of the eleven Mapuche who have been able to win elections and thus become representatives in Congress (see Table 8.3). Even though some of them took Indigenous or Mapuche demands to Parliament, all of them—without exception—were elected with the support of or as members of a Chilean political party. In addition to these Mapuche representatives, since the end of the dictatorship, others can be identified as Indigenous by using the method of CONADI, such as Hotuiti Teao and Yasna Provoste Campillay. Since 1990, there have been 518 parliamentarians. By looking at the last names, only just over a dozen can be identified as Indigenous. To the latter we must add that, as stated, all representatives were part of Chilean political parties, where their issues are subordinated to these parties’ issues. However, some of them do try to put forth the agendas of and advocate for Indigenous issues. For example, in 2018, two Mapuche representatives were elected. One of them, Emilia Nuyado, has a history of political participation in different areas— both conventional and more related to the Mapuche movement. During 2018, her first year in office, she engaged in thirty-one interventions in front of Congress, twenty-two of them related to Indigenous peoples’ issues. Her intervention included historical demands of Indigenous peoples, such as constitutional recognition, land restitution, territory and the effective use of ILO Convention 169, among others. (V. Tricot & Bidegain, 2018). The latter makes all more interesting, then, the debate about reserved seats in the Chilean Congress—a debate that has been put forward a few times but that has never been approved. The closest that Indigenous peoples have come to having

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Table 8.3  Representatives with Mapuche last names in the Chilean National Congress Name Francisco Melivilu

Manuel Manquilef

Circumscription Temuco, Imperial and Llaima. Temuco, Imperial and Llaima Temuco, Imperial and Llaima.

Arturo Huenchullán Esteban Romero

Traiguen, Victoria and 1933–1937 Lautaro Temuco, Lautaro, Imperial, 1953–1957 Pitrufquén, and Villarrica

José Cayupi

Villarica

Venancio Coñuepan

Temuco, Lautaro, Imperial, 1945–1949 Pitrufquén, and Villarrica 1949–1953 1965– 1968*** Rancagua, Caupolicán, 1965–1969 Cachapoal y San Vicente

Manuel Rodríguez Wenumañ Rosendo Huenumán Francisco Huenchumilla

Party Partido Demócrata

1926–1930 1930–1932*

Partido Liberal Governor de Democrático Lautaro (1932–1933) Partido Democrático Partido Nacional Cristiano Partido Nacional Cristiano Ministry of Partido Lands and Conservador Colonization Unido (1952–1953) Partido Demócrata Cristiano (DC) Partido Comunista (PC) Presidency Partido Secretary Demócrata Cristiano (DC) General Minister (2002–2003) Alcalde de Temuco (2004–2008), Intendente Araucanía (2014) Senator (2018–2022)

1953–1957

1973– 1977**** Temuco, Padre las Casas

Other public office positions

Years 1924–1927* 1926–1930 1930–1934**

1990–1994 1994–1998 1998–2002

(continued)

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8  Indigenous Representation in Chile Table 8.3 (continued) Name Aracely Leuquen

Circumscription District 27, Aysén, Chile Chico, Cisnes, Cochrane, Coyhaique, Guaitecas, Lago Verde, O’Higgins, Río Ibáñez, Tortel Emilia Nuyado District 25, Fresia, Frutillar, Llanquihue, Los Muermos, Osorno, Puerto Octay, Puerto Varas, Puyehue, Purranque, Río Negro, San Juan de la Costa, San Pablo Erika Ñanko Distrito 23, Carahue Cholchol, Cunco Curarrehue, Freire, Gorbea, Loncoche Nueva Imperial Padre Las Casas Pitrufquén, Pucón Saavedra, Temuco Teodoro Schmidt Toltén, Villarrica

Years 2018–2022

Party Renovación Nacional

2018–2022– 2026

Partido Socialista

2022–2026

Revolución Democrática

Other public office positions Councilor Coyaique

Councilor San Pablo, Los Ríos, National Councilor CONADI

Source: author’s elaboration, adapted from Tricot and Bidegain (2020) *:Congress dissolved in 1924 **: COngress dissolved in 1932 ***: deseased before finishing his term ****: Congress disolved due to the military coup d’état and posterior dictatorship

reserved seats occurred in 2020, within the context of a discussion on the confirmation of a potential constitutional convention. Before this, there were three moments in which they were part of the parliamentary discussion. In 1999, reserved seats were proposed by Chilean representatives through motion N° 2360-07; in 2007, through motion N° 5402-07; and in 2012, through motion N° 8438-07 (Fuentes & Sanchez, 2018). All these proposals, with minor differences, suggested reserving seats for Indigenous peoples at different levels of political representation. Needless to say, none of these succeeded. To them, we must also add the most recent proposal, which was put forward at the end of 2018 by the government of Sebastián Piñera. The particularity of this initiative concerns first that it came from a right-­ wing government, historically opposed to any recognition for Indigenous peoples. On the other hand, in qualitatively changing the idea of reserved seats, they proposed the creation of quotas of representation. This would create a system that would require all Chilean political parties to have a certain percentage of Indigenous peoples, among their candidates, elected to different public offices. This discussion was abjectly halted when a young Mapuche was assassinated by the Chilean police, a situation followed by a shameful plot to cover up the crime.

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The little remaining trust in the success of the government’s plan for Indigenous peoples evaporated that day. Also, as a result of Camilo Catrillanca’s assassination, Emilia Nuyado had the opportunity, thanks to her role as a representative in Congress, to interrogate Minister of the Interior Andrés Chadwick about the crime and the actions carried out by the police. On this occasion, Nuyado started her intervention by speaking in Mapudungun. After this, she continued as follows: Mr. Minister, today, Tuesday, December 11, 2018, after five hundred years of colonial occupation and more than two hundred since the formation of the Chilean State, for the first time, the Mapuche people have the opportunities to question the state of Chile by using this constitutional instrument and to denounce these hurtful and brutal crime committed against our people. Today, as a representative, as a woman and as a Mapuche, I question you in your position as Minister of the Interior and Public Security to clarify the political responsibilities of the government in the assassination of the weichafe Camilo Catrillanca from the community of Temucuicui, in Ercilla.6

At the heart of the legislative institution and process, the presence and voice of Indigenous demands, in this case the Mapuche demands. The ability to publicly voice issues and demands may seem insignificant and may not be as concrete as land recuperation, but it represents a substantive change in representation. With this in mind, the presence of reserved seats for Indigenous representation at different institutional levels, specifically in Congress, is of the utmost importance. The latter has become part of the electoral agenda of 2020 after the social uprising of October 2019, that questioned from the streets different aspects of the country constructed after the dictatorship. The political elite agreed on a plebiscite that would be the way to channel specific political demands. The referendum would have two questions, the first asking whether citizens wanted to draft a new constitution and a second determining the format in which this should be drafted, through a constitutional convention or in Congress. In the following months, Congress also agreed on the participation of independents in the convention: It would have parity in its conformation, but only week before the first election, reserved seats were still being discussed. This is yet another example of the little importance that the political elite give to Indigenous representation—or, as stated by representative Nuyado during the interpellation of the Minister of the Interior, it is an example of “the deficiency in the laws that should recognize Indigenous peoples’ rights. These deficiencies are due in part to the lack of recognition of Indigenous peoples in the Chilean Constitution. If Indigenous peoples were recognized, there would be a constitutional argument to demand that legislators and governments draft laws relevant to Indigenous peoples, develop better procedures and protocols for them, and counteract the racist culture of those who have heretofore governed as part of the state”. There have been a few trys to create political parties with Indigenous roots in the country, but all of them have sooner or later failed to materialize and legalize their  Diario de Sesión: Sesión Especial N° 110. Legislatura: Legislatura número 366, martes 11 de diciembre de 2018, Interpelación a Ministro del Interior y Seguridad Pública, señor Andrés Chadwick Piñera (Proyecto de resolución N° 428). 6

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status as political parties. In 1932, a strong Mapuche organization intended to create a Mapuche political party to seek representation. This organization was called the Partido Único de la Araucanía (Foerster & Montecino, 1988). Sadly, there is little record of this organization and of the reasons for its failure. However, one may argue that from this initial root, an efficient strategy of electoral politics and alliances carried out by successive Mapuche organizations (specifically the Corporación Araucana) was the most successful because it yielded a minister, two representatives in the lower chamber of Congress, and sixteen town councilors in Mapuche territory (Ancan, 2010). Indigenous organizations next tried to create their own representation in 1989, immediately after the military dictatorship. In this context of democratization, an Indigenous organization called Partido de la Tierra y la Identidad (PTI) emerged. Representatives of the Mapuche, Aymara and Rapanui peoples participated in the creation of the party. They believed that Indigenous peoples have always participated in politics through intermediaries, and with the creation of the PTI, they intended to eliminate this intermediation. The president of the party, Andrés Cayún, stated that “through our own political party, we can achieve agreements with political parties, be part of coalitions that will offer us guarantees, but as equals, not as militants subordinated to party lines that are not our own.”7 Aiming to defend and ensure the existence of Indigenous peoples in Chile, in 1989, the PTI participated in the first elections after the dictatorship. They presented a candidate to Congress in the south of Chile, achieving only 3.32% of the vote (Naguil, 2016). The party finally dissolved, and most of its leaders integrated into different parties of the Concertación. The PTI was not able to legalize as a party according to the country’s electoral service (SERVEL). The newest and last attempt to legalize an ethnic party in Chile started in 2005 and carried on at different stages for over a decade. Publicly, the Mapuche party Wallmapuwen (compatriots of the Mapuche country) appeared at the end of 2005 with their Declaration of Principles, stating that their main objectives were the creation of an autonomous statute for the region of the Araucanía; the reconstruction of Wallmapu and a clear intention of seeking for power; and representation for all citizens, Mapuche and Chileans. Since then, the party has tried to become a legal party on three occasions. The first was shortly after its creation, in 2007. On this occasion, the SERVEL rejected the petition, contesting some of the statements made in its Declaration of Principles and Statutes on the basis that some of the terminology was deemed inappropriate, such as “autonomy,” “Wallmapu” and the use of the Mapuche flag or the Mapuche language (Naguil, 2016). In November 2010, the party started its second attempt at legalization, but this time, it was allowed to start the process of obtaining signatures as stated in political party law. They legally became a party in formation. In this way, they started their race to comply with the deadline that asked them to obtain the signatures of 0.5% of

 Andres Cayun (1989), citado en Nütram, Vol V, N° 1.

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the voters in three consecutive regions from the most recent election. However, they were unable to meet this mandatory threshold. Finally, at the end of 2015, when the threshold was lowered and the demand for obtaining signatures in three consecutive regions was withdrawn, they were able to become legal and even participate as such in a local election. However, the threshold was reinstated a few months later, and again, they were unable to meet the demands from SERVEL, thereafter losing their legal status the following year (V. Tricot & Bidegain, 2020). Even though Indigenous representation has been mainly through Chilean political parties and institutions, relegating them to subordinated positions (Martinez & Rodríguez, 2015), we can still find the struggle for representation at different institutional levels. Participation at the local election level and representation on town councils and as mayors have arguably been the most successful areas for Indigenous peoples. As stated before, we can find this representation from before the dictatorship and continuing after the transition to democracy. In 1992, the first local elections started post dictatorship, where citizens voted for the town council and the councilors elected the mayor. This changed in the following election, where the first majority was elected major when they were able to obtain more than 30% of the votes, which continued until 2004. Since then, elections for mayors and councilors have been separated, allowing for cross voting, and mayors were then elected by a simple majority (Altman, 2004). Local and regional elections have commonly featured disputes on representation for Indigenous candidates. Since the democratization process, we can see the participation of Indigenous candidates, either as members of a Chilean political party or as independents supported by these political parties. Recent decades have shown a steady but slow-­ growing transformation in the distribution of municipal political power (Espinoza, 2017). For instance, we can see local representation for the Aymaras in the north of Chile; all the mayors elected since 1992 in Rapa Nui have been members of the Rapanui people; and in the south of the country, every election, an average of a dozen mayors identify as Mapuche. In this last case, since 2013, they have created an organization in which all mayors who identify as Mapuche may participate in the AMCAM (the Association of Municipalities with a Mapuche Mayor). This organization has become very active in representing Mapuche and other Indigenous perspectives in the media. As they declare in their mission statement, they created this organization to do the following: • Coordinate and articulate the work of the municipalities with Mapuche mayors • Improve the life conditions of all the inhabitants (Mapuche and non-Mapuche) • With an intercultural perspective for local development, incentivize public policies directly related to each territory8 Since its beginning, the AMCAM has become an actor that tries to influence the public agenda. For instance, in January 2016, the organization was received by President Michelle Bachelet and Minister of Social Development Marcos Barraza. The AMCAM was led by its president, Juan Carlos Reinao Marilao; the mayor of  https://www.amcam.cl/blank-hqgu6. August 20, 2020.

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Renaico; and, as the media likes to point out, a former member of the Arauco Malleco Coordinating Committee (CAM). In the meeting, among other issues, the members of the organization started a strategy towards recognition. As Reinao stated after the meeting, “We raise the necessity of a new constitution that would declare Chile as a plurinational and intercultural state, this had to come from a Constitutional Assembly with the participation of all Indigenous peoples” (Cayuqueo, 2016). Without doubt, the AMCAM has become a relevant actor in the conflict between the Chilean state and the Mapuche people. It also became an example for the creation in 2020 of an association of all Indigenous mayors and town councilors, which met for the first time in January 2020. In this meeting, they formalized their objectives: Chile should recognize its plurinationality, the importance of reserved seats and the ability of Indigenous peoples to participate in other representative stages. As stated by the mayor of Rapa Nui, Pedro Edmunds Paoa, “If the Constitution recognizes that we are a nation, that Chile is plurinational, then this means that we should be able to participate in other representative stages.”9

 eserved Seats, Constitutional Convention and Awakening R from a Plurinational Mirage As mentioned before, what started as a process full of illusions and at a juncture that could have represented a qualitative change in the mentioned continuum of domination of the Chilean state over Indigenous peoples in the country ended, on the contrary, in disappointment and in an even-more-unpredictable situation for Indigenous peoples. In October 2019, Chile had a social outburst that flooded the streets and led to a constitutional process (Navarrete & Tricot, 2021). Because of a political pact between political parties in Congress in November 2019, Chile held elections in 2020 deciding by an overwhelming majority to change the old constitution redacted during the dictatorship and deciding that the institution that would carry out this task would be a constitutional convention completely elected by Chilean citizens (Escudero & Olivares, 2021). This new election would be particularly different from all the preceding ones in that it would define some rules that intended to broaden the participation and representation of this new institution. This is how the Chilean Congress quite quickly decided on opening participation for independent candidates in this election and determined that it had to have gender parity, meaning that of the 155 representatives that would be elected, half must be women. The reserved seats for Indigenous representatives were postponed until final approval, which occurred only a few weeks before the election. This tight timeframe and the heavy resistance against the approval of the reserved seats exemplify the major difficulties that Indigenous  https://radio.uchile.cl/2020/01/10/alcaldes-se-unen-en-busqueda-de-representacion-depueblos-originarios/ 9

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peoples confront when they try to be a part of formal Chilean politics (Bidegain & Tricot, 2021). Finally, the Chilean Congress approved that the Constitutional Convention would have Indigenous representatives within the 155. There were seventeen reserved seats that would be elected: seven would be for the Mapuche people, two for the Aymara people and one for each of all the other Indigenous peoples, namely Lican Antay, Colla, Quechua, Rapa Nui, Yamana, Kaweshkar, Diaguita and Chango. This election was historical. Here, seventeen representatives of all the Indigenous peoples in Chile had a presence in the convention that would draft the new constitution for the country. On July 4, 2021, the convention was inaugurated, and featured a historical precedent in that its president, was  Mapuche representative Elisa Loncon. She is an academic who had a longstanding relationship with the Mapuche movement and who led it for the first six months of its implementation. The work completed during the convention appeared in the draft proposal that included issues such as plurinationality, territory, autonomy and other longstanding demands from various Indigenous movements. However, this also brought about harsh pushback from the more conservative forces, pushback that was based mainly on false statements campaigning against such progress by claiming that it would mean that Indigenous peoples would be privileged. On September 4, 2022, a new referendum failed to approve the constitutional proposal thanks to a result of 63% of votes against it, which meant that all these advances were lost. In October 2022, negotiations were being held among political parties to decide on how the constitutional path will continue. However, one thing seems clear: Indigenous peoples will lose the representation they had, returning to what makes the Chilean state more comfortable, which means that it will decide on policies for Indigenous people but without consulting them.

Final Considerations As we have shown in this chapter, Indigenous participation in conventional politics and Indigenous peoples’ search for their own representation have encountered constant problems since almost the dawn of the republic. In addition, with few exceptions, they have been relegated to secondary representation or institutional positions, and what is worse, they have almost every time been subordinated to the interests of Chilean political parties. In this persistent search for representation, some issues arguably deserve to be highlighted, all of which we have described in this chapter. The search for representation for Indigenous peoples in Chile has been carried out in what can be defined as an unfavorable context, where the persistence of a continuum of domination has been the norm. Currently the Chilean state operates under neoliberal multiculturalism, which harshly confronts any change that could affect the status quo. Within this context, the most visible examples of this colonial relation stem from the conflict between the Chilean state and the Mapuche, which since 1990 has led to hundreds of imprisoned people, deaths, human rights

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violations and other political violence and which even today continues to resist any visible solution. The conflict and the political presence of the Mapuche people are far more visible than those of any other Indigenous people in the country. Also, since the end of the dictatorship, local politics has become the most efficient space to seek and achieve Indigenous representation; the growing influence and leadership of mayors, town councilors and associations including both are proof of this. Finally, although the projects of creating Indigenous or other ethnic parties have not succeeded, the longstanding political work, particularly in the past decade, is undeniable, representing another example of the longstanding search for self-representation—in other words, autonomy and self-determination. We are without a doubt at a critical juncture for Indigenous representation in Chile. The historical discussion and the implementation of reserved seats for Indigenous peoples in the Constitutional Convention could have been game changers for how Indigenous peoples’ representation has materialized to date in the country. Moreover, it is difficult to be overly optimistic. Having lost the referendum to ratify the proposed draft of a new constitution, the structural racism and colonial relation that Chile has constructed between the Chilean state and the Indigenous peoples living in Chile will remain complicated and difficult to change for the foreseeable future.

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Cayuqueo, P. (2016). Fuerte Temuco y ptras crónicas mapuche. Catalonia. Escudero, M. C., & Olivares, A. (2021). From the dance of those left out to a new constitution: Channeling the Chilean social unrest. In B. Navarrete & V. Tricot (Eds.), The social outburst and political representation in Chile (pp. 173–192). Springer. Espinoza, C. (2017). Procesos etnopolíticos en la transición democrática chilena: Gobiernos locales y la vía política mapuche. Cuadernos de Antropología Social, 45, 21–36. Foerster, R., & Montecino, S. (1988). Organizaciones, Lideres y Contiendas Mapuches (1900–1970). Masalai Press. Fuentes, C., & Cea de, M. (2017). Reconocimiento débil: Derechos de pueblos indígenas en Chile. Perfiles Latinoamericanos, 25(49), 55–75. Fuentes, C., & Sanchez, M. (2018). Asientos reservados para pueblos indígenas. Experiencia comparada (Policy Paper N.o 1). Centro de Estudios Interculturales Indígenas. Fuenzalida, S. (2015). Desarrollo de la jurisprudencia en Chile sobre la consulta indígena: Los casos del tribunal constitucional y la corte suprema. Revue québécoise de droit international, 1(1), 149–177. Hale, C. R. (2002). Does Multiculturalism Menace? Governance, Cultural Rights and the Politics of Identity in Guatemala. Journal of Latin American Studies, 34(3), 485–524. Huenchumilla, F. (2017). Plurinacionalidad. El nuevo pacto. Pehuen. Mariman, J. (2017). Awkan tañi müleam Mapun kimüm. Mañke ñi pu kintun (Combates por una historia mapuche. La perspectiva de un cóndor) | Heinrich Böll Stiftung—Santiago de Chile. Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung. Martí i Puig, S. (2010). The emergence of indigenous movements in Latin America and their impact on the Latin American political scene: Interpretive tools at the local and global levels. Latin American Perspectives, 37(6), 74–92. Martinez, C., & Rodríguez, P. (2015). Partisan participation and ethnic autonomy: The case of the Mapuche organisation Admapu, in Chile. Journal of Latin American Studies, FirstView, 1–28. Meza-Lopehandía, M. (2016). La jurisprudencia del multiculturalismo en Chile: La consulta previa indígena ante tribunales. Revista de Ciencias Sociales, 69, 13. Mijeski, K. J., & Beck, S. H. (2011). Pachakutik and the rise and dcline of the Ecuadorian indigenous movement. Ohio University Press. Naguil, V. (2016). De la raza a la nación, de la tierra al país. Comunitarismo y nacionalismo en el movimiento mapuche, 1910—2010. Nahuelpan, H. (2011). Ta iñ fijke xipa rakizuameluwün. Historia, colonialismo y resistencia desde el país Mapuche | Comunidad de Historia Mapuche (pp. 119–152). Navarrete, B., & Tricot, V. (Eds.). (2021). The social outburst and political representation in Chile. Springer International Publishing. Pairican, F. (2020). La bandera Mapuche y la batalla por los símbolos – CIPER Chile. https:// ciperchile.cl/2019/11/04/la-­bandera-­mapuche-­y-­la-­batalla-­por-­los-­simbolos/ Postero, N. (2010). Morales’s MAS government: Building indigenous popular hegemony in Bolivia. Latin American Perspectives, 37(3), 18–34. Richards, P. (2016). Racismo. El modelo chileno y el multiculturalismo neoliberal bajo la concertación 1990–2010. Toledo, L. V. (2006). Pueblo mapuche: derechos colectivos y territorio: desafíos para la sustentabilidad democrática. Santiago de Chile: Programa Chile Sustentable. Tomaselli, A. (2019). Processes and failures of prior consultations with Indigenous Peoples in Chile. In The Prior Consultation of Indigenous Peoples in Latin America. Routledge. Tricot, T. (2013). Autonomía. El movimiento mapuche de resistencia. CEIBO ediciones. Tricot, T. (2017). Aukan: Violencia histórica chilena y resistencia mapuche. Ceibo. Tricot, V. (2018). Movimiento mapuche: Recuperando Territorio Político Convencional para el siglo XXI., 39, 252–272. Tricot, V. (2020). América Latina 2019: Vuelta a la inestabilidad. IBEROAMERICANA, 20(73), 205–241.

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Tricot, V., & Bidegain, G. (2018). Participación y Política Institucional Mapuche durante 2018. Anuario del Conflicto Social, 0(9), Art. 9. Tricot, V., & Bidegain, G. (2020). En busca de la representación política. El partido mapuche Wallmapuwen en Chile. Estudios Sociológicos, 38(113), 375–408. Universidad de la Frontera, & Instituto de Estudios Indígenas. (2003). Los derechos de los pueblos indígenas en Chile: Informe del programa de derechos indígenas. LOM Ediciones: Universidad de la Frontera, Instituto de Estudios Indígenas. Yasher, D. (2005). Contesting Citizenship in Latin America: The Rise of Indigenous Movements and the Postliberal Challenge, Cambridge University Press. Zelada Muñoz, S., & Park Key, J. (2013). Análisis Crítico de la Ley Lafkenche (N° 20.249): El complejo contexto ideológico, administrativo y social que dificulta su aplicación. Universum (Talca), 28(1), 47–72.

Chapter 9

Indigenous Political Participation in Peru: A History of Racism, Exclusion, and Violence Agustín Espinosa, Erika Janos, and Martín Mac Kay

Introduction In Peru, according to the last National Population Census of 2017, close to six million people responded that they ethnically self-identified as Quechua, Aymara, or members of some Amazonian indigenous group; likewise, approximately four million three hundred thousand people indicated having an indigenous language as their mother tongue. These results suggest that the country’s indigenous population its between 12% and 18% of the total national population (INEI, 2018a, b). On the other hand, according to the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC), Peru would be the third Latin American country with the highest percentage of indigenous population in the region (24%), only after Bolivia (62.2%) and Guatemala (41%) (ECLAC, 2013). Regarding these estimates, it is quite consensual to consider Peru as a socially and culturally diverse nation, where it is estimated the presence of 47 different languages, and where there are around 55 native or indigenous groups (INEI, 2018a, b). Considering that the last time a record of racial ascription was made in a national census was in 1940 (Sulmont, 2012); the incorporation, 77 years later, of race and ethnicity indicators in the 2017 national census, seems to be justified by the need to implement a practical diversity management system that allows the development of affirmative actions and public policies focused on the attention to discriminated or socially excluded populations based on ethnic or racial categories (INEI 2018a, b). Concerning the social and cultural diversity described above, ethnic, racial, and cultural categories have been established in Peru as boundaries between groups, A. Espinosa (*) · E. Janos Department of Psychology, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP), Lima, Peru e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] M. Mac Kay Program of General Studies, Universidad de Lima, Lima, Peru e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_9

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where forms of differentiated access to power are observed (Espinosa, 2011; Espinosa & Cueto, 2014; Kogan, 2012). These conditions continue to normalize and justify the existence of a structure composed of high-status and low-status groups (Espinosa & Cueto, 2014). Thus, the country is built on a structure of social exclusion that makes the indigenous and native population – especially those living in rural areas – vulnerable, by restricting their possibilities of access to quality education and health services, or by affecting their political, economic, and social inclusion, affecting the family income that ensures their subsistence. All above ends up undermining the possibilities of a full exercise of citizenship and enjoyment of fundamental rights for these social groups (Sanborn, 2012; Sulmont, 2012). Several social science authors have identified the origin of these intergroup dynamics in the process of conquest and colonization. This process, during the seventeenth century, laid the foundations of the racially discriminatory and class-based nature of Peruvian society. In the colonial society, the social scaffolding was legally configured on the distinction of two basic components: the republic of Indians and the republic of Spaniards, being around the latter where the groups of black slaves and the different castes of Creoles and mestizos would additionally mobilize (Cotler, 2005; Espinoza Soriano, 1982; Macera, 1978). The duality of the system imposed by the colonizers paradoxically introduced a factor of representational unification of the indigenous populations of Peru (Macera, 1978). The Indian or indigenous will emerge as a distinct social supra-category, and in contrast – or sometimes complementary – to other social categories such as Spanish (white), Creole, or mestizo (Salazar-Soler, 2014). However, establishing what is or how the indigenous is represented could be a complex task in a society such as the Peruvian one. In this regard, several reasons explain the difficulty of defining the indigenous or Indian, one of them has historical and cultural roots in the way in which the native peoples have economically and politically controlled the territory. In the geography of the Andes, the management of space is transversal to small settlements at different altitudinal levels. This kind of space organization generates productive practices related to small family and community structures, such as the ayllus, where these and their leaders compete against other similar units, in a dynamic of intergroup relations (see Sherif, 1958) where different social categories and different collective identities are produced, some of which conflict with each other (Espinoza Soriano, 1982; Salazar-Soler, 2014). During the colony, the Indian category unified the diverse social categories existing in pre-Hispanic Peru into a single label (Salazar-Soler, 2014). From a psychosocial perspective, notions of race are social and political constructions, which generate that race and ethnicity appear as analogous concepts upon which racism is built as a form of prejudice (see Espinosa & Cueto, 2014). In this scenario, Salazar-Soler (2014) refers that, throughout his research experience in different regions of the country, she has not found people who self-identify with the category Indian – or indigenous –, and attributes this to the pejorative character and the stigma attached to the term; and the fact is that the category from its origins, and during its evolution, has been constructed by the dominant groups of society as a category of social differentiation and racial marginalization (Espinosa, 2011; Salazar-Soler, 2014). In this regard, Sulmont

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(2012) argues that methodological efforts to give visibility in social statistics to indigenous peoples and the cultural variety of society such as the Peruvian one have emphasized diverse criteria that include self-categorization  – or hetero-­ categorization – based on attributes such as language, race, region of origin, among others. For this author, the use of diverse indicators and ethnic markers, and the mixture of these, poses theoretical, empirical, and even political problems given the great variability obtained in the population estimates of the so-called indigenous groups, which, of course, will have an impact on the debates and interventions to meet their needs, demands, and problems of representation. Thus, the political and social dynamics in the country, marked by racism – originated in the colonial caste system – become more complex because the social fracture between Peruvians is difficult to represent accurately and denounce clearly, although its presence is undeniable. Bruce (2019) exemplifies from the 2006 general elections how racism in white or mestizo Peruvian political elites is consensual. Specifically, the examples chosen by the author allude to the comments expressed in the mass media by high-level public officials such as the congressman Antero Flórez-Araoz, who alleged that “llamas and vicuñas” could not express an opinion on matters of national interest, as a way of discrediting – and dehumanizing – those voices that called for a citizen referendum on the imminent signing of the Free Trade Agreement with the United States, or when on the same issue the president of the Council of Ministers Pedro Pablo Kuczynski, later president of Peru (2016–2018), alluded to the rarefied and poorly oxygenated air of the highlands to refer to the opponents of this treaty as people whose intelligence and understanding would be limited by their origin (Bruce, 2019). In this line, President Alan García during his second term (2006–2011), expressed in speeches and articles of his authorship, under the concept of the “Perro del Hortelano” – the dog in the manger –, derogatory terms to the rural and indigenous population protesting extractive activities in their regions, alluding that indigenous people were not first-class citizens (Espinosa de Rivero, 2016). As we have seen, from the “unified” notions about the Indian, will emerge the political and social criteria on which the dynamics of exclusion and inequity are currently entrenched, under characteristics attributable to a wide range of social, cultural, psychological, and racial conditions – even in the biologizing sense of the term – that place the Indian in the social situation of disadvantage that configures what is called the “indigenous problem” or “Indian problem” (Espinosa & Cueto, 2014; Fuenzalida, 2009). The indigenous problem is difficult to define precisely because, at present, intergroup relations in Peru, as we have seen, far from responding to a rigid caste logic, are much more complex and difficult to interpret, to the extent that ethnic-racial categories such as Indian, mestizo or white, allow certain transitions and transfers between them, depending on the criteria with which they are defined (Bruce, 2019; Fuenzalida, 2009; Sulmont, 2012). What can be stated with some precision is that the indigenous problem in Peru is a problem of social exclusion and a long-standing problem of political participation and representation. And it is part of the problem of political representation, until recently, the lack of political organizations and a strong indigenous movement, unlike what happens in

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neighboring countries such as Bolivia and Ecuador (Paredes, 2015; Salazar-Soler, 2014). Although it is also correct to state that since the 1990s, the indigenous peoples of the Peruvian Amazon have given vigor to indigenous political participation with demands that have achieved broad national and international resonance (Chaumeil, 2014), and that to some extent they have managed to articulate with indigenous demands of the peoples of the Andes, enhancing their impact, although this is still limited (Salazar-Soler, 2014). In this scenario, according to Espinosa de Rivero (2016), political participation in indigenous societies could be understood, and approached, in three different ways: (1) indigenous politics as a form of self-government, which accounts for political participation and organization restricted to the internal life of these societies; (2) indigenous participation in the interactions between indigenous communities and the State through their organizations and social movements, which is based on the negotiation and defense of ethnic interests and the revindication of their rights; and (3) indigenous participation subsumed in general political participation, which comprises electoral processes and other processes of citizen participation. The objective of this chapter is to describe the social and historical conditions in which indigenous participation and representation have taken place in Peru from colonial times to the present.

 istorical Background: From the Colonization to the Coup H d’état of 1968 During the seventeenth century, the Indian chronicler Guaman Poma de Ayala describes in his work Nueva Crónica y Buen Gobierno, the destruction of Peru as a process produced by the conquest; and characterized by the conformation of the caste system that allowed the exploitation of the indigenous, which was aggravated by the moral degradation and chaos imposed by the conquerors (Carrillo, 1992). Poma de Ayala’s work includes an extensive letter of denunciation addressed to the King of Spain, Philip III, to whom he advises a solution based on the return to a moral and social organization of separation of races, which the author simplifies into two worlds: the European – here he locates the black slaves – and the indigenous. In his representation, Poma de Ayala does not establish racial superiority or inferiority of any group; rather, he advocates indigenous self-government, linked to a certain extent to the king of Spain and the religious principles of Christianity, but in which the Indians could be protected in their communities, under a system of government and production as in the Inca Empire, where they would not be exposed to the violence and corruption produced by colonial exploitation (Carrillo, 1992; Murra, 1980). History shows that the situation denounced, far from improving, was consolidated in a social structure where the conquerors and colonizers received from the Spanish Crown different types of prebends and benefits, based on the exploitation of indigenous labor in the “mitas” and “corregimientos” (Cotler, 2005; Walker, 2019).

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As a result of this social structure, confrontations were established between the colonial state and an increasingly dissatisfied indigenous population, which since the sixteenth century had developed strategies of passive resistance, based on nativist movements and conflictive counterculture (Macera, 1978). Subsequently, the first confrontations between indigenous populations and some local colonial authorities took place. This gave rise to forms of indigenous political resistance, which were characterized by small, disarticulated, and focused riots and uprisings in some localities, which frequently culminated in the execution of a local colonial authority and the destruction of a township. These rebellions were violently and quickly repressed by the then colonial militias, sent from a center of political power to restore order (Macera, 1978; Walker, 2019). However, in 1780, José Gabriel Condorcanqui, better known as Túpac Amaru II, who was a kuraka – indigenous political authority  – in charge of collecting colonial taxes and maintaining order among the population of the towns under his leadership. Outraged by the exploitation and corruption to which the indigenous populations were subjected by the colonial authorities, he initiated an unprecedented rebellion in the colonial history of Peru. The rebellion, whose characteristics and consequences could be defined today as a process of political violence (see Tilly, 2003), resulted in nearly 100,000 deaths out of an estimated population of 1.8 million inhabitants in the viceroyalty of Peru. The outcome of this rebellion was the public execution of the rebel indigenous leaders and their closest followers, as well as the fear and distrust that the indigenous populations aroused in the mestizo, Creole, and Spanish populations, in the face of potential new revolts of extreme violence (Walker, 2019). Different factors seem to have influenced the failure of the rebellion, as the fact that not all indigenous communities of the southern Andes of Peru joined Túpac Amaru. In fact, some local kurakas took sides with the colonial forces in attempts to quell the rebellion (Walker, 2019). The fact is that the alliance of certain kurakas with the colonial power structures took place in a context of competition for political and economic favors within the viceregal organization, while at the same time there were deeper differences and competition between indigenous groups belonging to different lineages, ayllus or communities that had been in confrontation many times since before the conquest (Espinoza Soriano, 1982; Walker, 2019). The latter shows that the unified notions about the indigenous, although they had been legally assimilated, had not necessarily been culturally or socially assimilated by the native peoples. This could be explained by the characteristics of the Inca Empire, whose territorial expansion included processes of violent conquest and resistance of various ethnic groups (see Rostorowski, 1988), which, as has been observed, only after the conquest would be agglutinated in the indigenous category. Another interesting element of the Túpac Amaru rebellion is that it would be a mistake to represent it as an exclusively indigenous movement. Túpac Amaru attempted to promote a multi-caste movement with the participation of members of other social groups – including Spaniards, Creoles, blacks, and mestizos – dissatisfied with the corruption of the colonial system and the Spanish prebends; however, the unification of a multi-caste movement proved a constant challenge that could not be successfully resolved by the indigenous leadership of the revolt (Cotler,

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2005; Walker, 2019). The rebellion of Tupac Amaru II could be considered as the most important part of the indigenous independence movement, which due to its characteristics was an isolated movement and presented basic oppositions  – and some fortuitous or frustrated coincidences – with the independence movement of Creole and Mestizo imprint (Macera, 1978). Despite the defeat, the rebellion has an important effect on the collective memory of indigenous groups that at different times in the history of Peru carry out uprisings similar in form, although not in the magnitude of the movement of Tupac Amaru II (Walker, 2019). Thus, the subsequent consolidation of the Independence of Peru does not appear as an internal process supported by indigenous groups. Rather, it is a process imposed by foreign military forces led by the Argentinian José de San Martín and the Venezuelan Simón Bolívar, which did not mean for Peru a substantive breakdown of the colonial order and the caste system. This was reflected in the way in which, in the early days of the Republic – and even today – some power relations exist between different ethnic and racial groups within Peruvian society (Bonilla & Spalding, 1972; Macera, 1978). To a certain extent, it is believed that the process of Peruvian independence did not incorporate the participation of indigenous sectors, due to the memory of the violence during the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II. That is, the Creoles and mestizos preferred not to link and incorporate the indigenous groups in the independence process because of the fear and distrust that these aroused in them (Bonilla & Spalding, 1972; Cotler, 2005; Walker, 2019). With the process of independence and the establishment of the Republic, a set of rights were recognized, at least nominally, for the indigenous groups in the country. However, the legal discussion on the equality of the right to vote among Spaniards, Creoles, Mestizos, and Indians is incorporated, even before the proclamation and consolidation of independence, by the Cortes de Cádiz (1810–1814), constituting a liberal turn of the Spanish crown in terms of recognition of the right of citizens of overseas territories to elect their representatives before it (Aljovin de Losada, 2016; Rojas Rojas, 2016a). The Cadiz Constitution of 1812 comprises an antecedent of the principles of legal equality established in the first Constitution of republican Peru in 1823, a moment from which the country becomes a society of citizens, where the set of individuals enjoys equality of constitutionally proclaimed rights. However, as already advanced, this legal equality was not fully applied to all citizens, since various elements such as the corporate nature of society, the existence of slavery or the maintenance of servitude and indigenous tribute, obstructed its implementation (Rojas Rojas, 2016a; Zapata, 2016). During the establishment of the republic, the Creole liberals presented themselves as revolutionaries in political matters, although they turned out to be profoundly conservative in socioeconomic matters; thus, the political principles of equality were not accompanied by social or economic reforms such as the dissolution of large landowning property (Rojas Rojas, 2016a), which would eventually be a central problem in the relations of inequality between social groups in the country (Manrique, 2004; Zapata, 2016). The combination of an aristocratic and authoritarian resistance added to certain historical events would prevent the exercise of citizen rights, or an important part of them, by the indigenous population and other popular

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sectors. Thus, although the first constitution postulated that both Spanish descendants and Indians had the same rights of political participation and representation, the indigenous population could not truly make their representation effective at the national level (Paredes, 2015). The Independence of Peru emerged as a “counter-revolutionary” process, which involved the fragmentation of power in the country, where the old colonial aristocracy that gave order and harmony to the organization of society and politics gave way to plots governed by local oligarchic groups, with autonomy to decide the fate of their respective jurisdictions. Among other things, these groups did not question the legitimacy of the exploitation of the indigenous population – or that of other social groups belonging to the popular masses. Consequently, independence meant the elimination of the dominant colonial stratum, which was replaced by some military chiefs of independence, in alliance with regional oligarchic fractions, who were unable – or unwilling – to incorporate the dominated population, thus reducing the possibilities for the constitution of a State and a nation (Cotler, 2005, p.87). On this point, it is curious to note that many of the caudillos or military chiefs who did not integrate the indigenous population into the political arena were mestizos with strong indigenous ancestry, such as Agustín Gamarra, Andrés de Santa Cruz, or Ramón Castilla himself, who descended from caciques – a term introduced by the conquerors as a synonym for kuraka. This shows how the army became a way of social mobility, which allowed the de-Indianization of indigenous people, especially in those cases in which they belonged to economically well-off families (Velásquez-Silva, 2018). Despite what has been described, during the nineteenth century the right to vote was generally very inclusive in form (Aljovin de Losada, 2016; Rojas Rojas, 2016a), and was characterized by important indigenous participation especially focused in those provinces with higher levels of the native population (Aljovin de Losada, 2016; Paredes, 2015). However, the political organization of the time was based on indirect elections, which simultaneously involved a process of inclusion and exclusion. Inclusion, since in the local instances the indigenous vote was very massive; and exclusion, because in higher-level political instances they were purging candidates and voters; so many indigenous people were eligible only as first-degree voters, who obtained through their vote representation in local positions; although little or no representation in provincial and national positions (Aljovin de Losada, 2016). Thus, when the provinces appointed their delegates, and these, in turn, participated in the election of the president of the republic and members of congress, indigenous representation was already diluted (Aljovin de Losada, 2016; Sobrevilla, 2005; Rojas Rojas, 2016a). The centralization of the State led to a limited power outside Lima, during the nineteenth century the non-indigenous regional elites – which were the same elites that at the time opposed Independence  – achieved great power and autonomy to carry out elections and organize the electoral rolls. That electoral power ended up in their hands without reflecting a true representation of the native peoples (Sobrevilla, 2005). Consistently, the new regional elites were concerned about the incorporation of popular sectors  – including indigenous groups  – into national politics (Ragas

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Rojas, 2005). Such concern could be related to the representation of the popular classes – and among them indigenous groups – as prone to violence and revolt (see Walker, 2019; Bonilla & Spalding, 1972). The ruling classes embraced the scientific racism of the late nineteenth century to ideologically justify their situation of privilege, and the maintenance of a stratified social structure (Zapata, 2016). In this scenario, as a response to the great autonomy that certain indigenous elites were gaining, around 1896, the government enacted a law restricting the right to vote for the illiterate population – which affected different popular sectors, and consolidated the arrival to power of those who embraced aristocratic narratives about the republican project to be followed. This implied a greater loss of political representation of the popular sectors, with little access to formal education, and further diluted the participation of the indigenous population in electoral processes, also reducing their possibilities of maintaining presence and representation in  local governments (Aljovin de Losada, 2016). At the time, it is estimated that about 50% of Peruvians were indigenous; in parallel, illiteracy rates in this population bordered 90%, which invites us to think that the 1896 law, although not explicitly, had a clear target group (Paredes, 2015; Thorp & Paredes, 2011). Another element that seems to have influenced the approval of the electoral law of 1896 was the Peruvian military defeat against Chile during the War of the Pacific (1879–1884). In this regard, the Peruvian elites, and especially the Lima elite, attributed the defeat to some extent to the indigenous population, which, constituting the bulk of the troops of the Peruvian army, did not fight as it should have because of its lack of national consciousness, the lack of a patriotic sense and the absence of civil virtues (Cotler, 2005; Del Aguila, 2013; Zevallos, 2002). Additionally, the defeat in the war fueled the racist positions of the Peruvian elites, who praised Chilean society for its capacity to “improve its race” by promoting massive European migrations (Wiener, 2014). Since then, racism has framed the discussions about the Indian and his role in Peruvian society, these discussions will confront conservative and liberal groups. The former represented the Indian as a congenitally inferior and incapable being, so any effort of inclusion would be in vain; on the other hand, the liberals represented the problem of the Indian as a sociocultural issue, which could be solved through education and acculturation, through the westernization of minds, which would allow, not without difficulty, to turn the Indian into a citizen (Cotler, 2005; Zapata, 2016). At an intermediate point, we will find the discussions on mestizaje, which according to the ideological position of the elites would include a process of racial improvement or cultural assimilation, but always with an emphasis on the westernization of the indigenous (Manrique, 2004; Portocarrero, 2007). Basadre (1939/2005) analyzes the republican evolution of Peru toward the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century and concludes that an empirical State like the Peruvian one that rested in an enormous social abyss and that was unconcerned about the indigenous problem “originated the absence of a national mystique in that mass, despite the great proofs of abnegation given by vast sectors of it” (p.256). On the other hand, a critical Creole version was developed, which questioned the aristocratic version of the Indians, and would begin to pose

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the indigenous problem as a problem of exploitation. In this regard, its main representative, Manuel González Prada (1884-1918/1975), mentioned that although during the establishment of the Republic, the colonial systems of corregimientos and “encomiendas” had been eliminated, forms of oppression persisted against the country’s indigenous population, which did not allow their inclusion as full citizens. The oppressors in the new political order would be the landowners and large landowners, members of these new regional elites, who far from attending to the needs of the popular masses, took advantage of them, exacerbating the precarious conditions in which the indigenous population found themselves. An example of this was the Huancané uprising of 1867, during which, tired of the mistreatment received from the mistis – a term used to refer to the Creole elite –, indigenous people led by Juan Bustamante Dueñas, a landowner and politician with liberal ideas, opposed to the indigenous tribute and founder of the “Sociedad Amiga de los Indios” (Society of Indians Friends), confronted the forces sent by Lima in defense of the landowners and landlords of the province. After his defeat, Bustamante was transformed for the imaginary of the population into a messianic and vindicating character, as had happened a century earlier with the image of Tupac Amaru II (Vera, 2010, p.74). Toward the beginning of the twentieth century, with access to conventional political participation mechanisms restricted by the 1896 law, and with the exacerbation of racism, it can be observed that fully “servile” relations continued to operate in large areas of the country, but especially in rural areas with an indigenous majority. Thus, a new duality of Peruvian society was constituted. There were no longer republics of Indians and Spaniards, these had been replaced by modern regions and backward areas, which is a centralist state like the Peruvian one, confronted Lima – and perhaps the cities of the coast –, with the provinces, especially Andean and Amazonian ones (Zapata, 2016). The continuity, and even aggravation, of the exploitation of indigenous populations by the expansion of the haciendas became an important factor for the emergence of other insurrectional movements as forms of political action and rebellion against the State, which tolerated the referred practices of territorial expansion of the haciendas on communal lands and disregard for the communities. For example, in this context, there was the great rebellion led by Colonel Teodomiro Gutiérrez, who was appointed by President Guillermo Billinghurst (1912–1914) to report about the haciendas in the region of Puno, in the southern Peruvian Andes. After the coup d’état suffered by Billinghurst, in 1915 the colonel took the name of Rumi Maqui and led a rebellion that questioned the structural bases of the right to land and the social relations between the landlords and the Indians (Rodriguez Toledo, 2014). The Rumi Maqui insurgency occurred in a context of rebellions against the abuses and exploitation of the gamonales and strong repression against the indigenous people that shook the southern Andes at the beginning of the twentieth century (Rodríguez Toledo, 2014). The scenario described brings certain reminiscences to the circumstances that would have given rise to the indigenous revolts that preceded the rebellion of Tupac Amaru II, and to the Tupacamarista uprising itself (see Walker, 2019) or with the rebellion of Bustamente Dueñas (see Vera, 2010). The

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Rumi Maqui revolt comprised a millenarian movement, messianic and with centralized leadership, which in its narrative proposed a return to the forms of organization of the Inca. The social base of the movement was mostly indigenous, although its ethnic demands were not sufficiently clear. Finally, the movement was defeated, and the conditions of exclusion and exploitation of the indigenous population persisted (Rodríguez Toledo, 2014). At the beginning of the twentieth century, the aristocratic liberal narrative on the Indian would evolve and move away from the deterministic racist thesis that underpinned its support for the withdrawal of political rights from the indigenous populations in 1896. Aristocratic liberalism will then be replaced by a criollo, nativist, and indigenist narrative, which will emphasize the Spanish and criollo character of Peru, where the advantages of colonization – westernization, religion, etc. – are described, as well as its disadvantages – exploitation. These narratives will incorporate to the positive aspects of the conquest, a connection with the Inca Empire; which will suggest that the republic of Peru is a result of its Inca and colonial past, reinforcing the mestizo character of the new nation. Then the nativist and indigenist Creole representations will construct an idyllic image of the Inca Empire as an efficient and collectivist society, where the indigenous people were satisfied and strong, which during the conquest and the colony degenerated due to overwork, alcohol, and servitude (Dager-Alva, 2009). In the incipient efforts to build a national sentiment of the time, the idea that the Indian should be removed from the decadence in which he was immersed, through education and literacy, to transform himself into a full citizen, is taken up again; this narrative will emphasize, and reinforce the positions of those who defended cultural miscegenation (Fuenzalida, 2009; Manrique, 2004; Portocarrero, 2007; Zapata, 2016). However, although this narrative had incorporated the positive image of the Inca past, it failed socially to integrate the indigenous as a member of the imagined national community, which could be translated into the idea of “Incas yes, Indians no” (Dager Alva, 2009). Later, with the advent of international socialist currents, a neoindigenist narrative emerged, represented by José Carlos Mariátegui – founder of the Partido Comunista del Perú– and Víctor Raúl Haya de la Torre  – founder of the Alianza Popular Revolucionaria Americana (APRA) – who emphasized a pro-indigenous narrative – or Indo-American – according to the term coined by Haya de la Torre – of national history, which proposed the vision of an indigenous Peru, conquered by the Spaniards. From this perspective, a collectivist, socialist, and positive version of the Inca past was incorporated, and the problem of the Indian was analyzed as a social issue of oppression (Fuenzalida, 2009). For Mariátegui (1928/1968), from a Marxist approach, the problem of the Indian was a problem of an economic-social order. Specifically, the problem would be rooted in the land ownership regime, and any attempt to address it would have to resolve the problem of latifundium and gamonalismo since it was these large landowners who invalidated in practice any law or ordinance for indigenous protection. Thus, since colonial times, the problem of the Indian has translated into a constant transition from a collectivist and cooperative Andean society to a feudal peasant society (López, 1982). Mariátegui (1928/1968) will assure  – from an idyllic vision  – the need for the ayllu or indigenous

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community to consolidate itself, as an expression of the maintenance of cooperative cultural customs coming from the past, which would be a foundation for the construction of a national socialist project. A central element of the discussions of this period is that indigenist thought will shift the emphasis from the conception of the Indian – or indigenous – to the Andean, as a representation linked to a culture, but also a geographical context. The existence of an irreducible Andean culture, which remains relatively unchanging, and whose beliefs, norms, and habits tend to remain the same as their origins, will then be proposed (Salazar-Soler, 2008). This essentialized vision of the Andean, as a set of unchangeable institutions  – such as the ayllu of the community  – would be a source of psychosocial continuity in the processes of construction of a feeling and a national identity (Espinosa, 2011). To a certain extent, for Méndez (2011), this representation of the indigenous as Andean ends up relating the Indian to a particular geography – something that during the colony was not necessarily true–, because Indians could be found on the coast, in the highlands, and although less attention was paid to them, also in the Amazon region. The author adds that the progressive shift of the national economy from the Andes to the coast configures the association of the Indian with the highlands, and of the highlands with poverty; which will reinforce the image of the Indian as a poor peasant, a serf or an illiterate, which in turn will reinforce the denigrating character of the term, or of terms that will begin to be used as synonyms (e.g., serrano or cholo), and that will explain as previously commented the distancing that people mark with such categories (Manrique, 2004; Méndez, 2011; Salazar-Soler, 2014). The association of the Indians with the Andes centralized the analysis of the indigenous problem in that region. As a result, the view of the native communities of the Amazon and their incorporation into the exercise of citizenship in the country was even more precarious than that of the Andean Indians. This is reflected, for example, in the history of rubber extraction in Peru toward the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, an economic activity that had a great impact on several areas of the Amazon region (Chirif, 2009). The rubber era is a complex process that took place in the Amazon, for approximately three decades, and that allowed the establishment of a collective memory of violence. From this period, stereotypes of the Amazonian indigenous people as primitive beings, on the margins of Western history and opposed to progress were born, legitimized the domination by force that some local elites – the so-called rubber barons – imposed on native Amazonian communities, where they burst in to supply themselves with labor, which they kept under strict control, subjecting them to harsh working conditions and physical punishments, typical of slavery, with the permission of the State (Chirif & Cornejo, 2009). The case of Julio C. Arana, one of the main rubber barons, shows how the dynamics on which the oppression of the native Amazonian communities was based – even less integrated than the Andean indigenous communities to the projects of construction of the republic –, would maintain an analogous pattern of exploitation of the Indian in both regions. Thus, Arana became a prominent businessman in the northeastern region of the country, and became a congressional representative for Iquitos. This allowed him to gain prestige and influence, to such an

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extent that complaints about the mistreatment and exploitation that some citizens – usually foreigners – could make of his activities, were dismissed by regional and national authorities, who defended Arana’s actions  – and those of other rubber entrepreneurs  – as an exercise in civilization. The result of the rubber fever is a genocide of different Amazonian ethnic groups due to the situation of violence and exploitation to which they were subjected (Chirif & Cornejo, 2009). To some extent, the violence of the Amazonian process, more exacerbated than that of the exploitation of the Andean Indian, could be explained by the fact that the Amazonian Indians had not developed idyllic narratives linking them to a great culture; thus, the Amazonian Indian was simply represented as a savage, cannibalistic and uncivilized (Chirif, 2009). The indigenist narratives of the twentieth century revitalized the debate about the Indians, and around them, a powerful indigenist cultural movement was formed, whose artistic expressions were oriented toward the revaluation of Andean culture. However, the indigenist movement was mainly constituted by middle and upper-­ class urban Creoles and mestizos (see Mariátegui, 1928/1968; Zapata, 2016). Despite the relevance of some socio-political and cultural analyses that derived from these discussions and movements, at the end, the same would not substantively change the situation of Indians in terms of political participation and representation, and neither would they improve the conditions of exploitation and exclusion in which they lived (Zapata, 2016); and the fact is that in the attention to the Indian problem – or indigenous problem. Indians were always an object of representation, and not direct actors in these discussions (Fuenzalida, 2009). The results of the indigenist movements will be politically limited, partly because they occurred during the first decades of the twentieth century, which could be considered the peak of the so-called Aristocratic Republic, where social representations of the Indians and their culture persisted, tinged with racism and classism, and where there was little political disposition to achieve real changes in land ownership regimes (see Basadre, 1939/2005; Mariátegui, 1928/1968). Already later, during the government of Augusto B. Leguía (1919–1930), and in the context of la Patria Nueva (the New Homeland), a break with the decadent oligarchic and aristocratic society was established. Leguía reivindicated the indigenous groups in his political project of the New Homeland, which materialized in actions such as the legalization of the indigenous communities, the declaration of the Day of the Indian, the creation of the Office of Indigenous Affairs and the Patronage of the Indigenous Race. As for his actions in the peasant lands themselves, Leguía’s regime established agricultural centers, agricultural schools, and a gendarmerie to control the abuses of the mountain lords. Another fact that differentiated Leguía from the governments of the Aristocratic Republic was the creation of a commission to investigate and propose a law to solve the problems of the indigenous population, especially those in the southern part of the country. The impact of these actions was immediate, so much so that, in Lima, the migrant population from the countryside founded the Central Committee for Indigenous Rights “Tawantinsuyo” and the term Huiracocha  – creator and benefactor deity in the Andean cosmovision – was used to refer to Leguía (Orrego, 2014). Despite all the

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above, the changes did not go beyond the paper, provoking unsatisfied expectations that resulted in constant uprisings in Cusco and Puno, all of which were cruelly put down (Orrego, 2014). Among these uprisings, the Wancho Lima uprising in 1923 stands out, in which indigenous leaders “considering the commitment of support that President Leguía wished to establish with the indigenous population, sought legal backing from the State to their request for authorization for the foundation of a completely indigenous autonomous town, without mistis.” (Vera, 2010, p.78). The fear of the landowners and gamonales puneños led them to request support from the central government to placate this attempt at indigenous independence before the landowning elites. With the fall of Leguía, it was the leftist parties that would focus on the revindication and search for spaces for the indigenous people. In 1947, during the government of José Luis Bustamante y Rivero, “socialists, apristas and communists created the Confederación Campesina del Perú (CCP). The entity should bring together the yanaconas – a name for indigenous servitude since colonial times –, small landowners, braceros from the sugar and cotton coast, as well as indigenous communities” (Vazelesk, 2017). However, in practice, no substantial changes in the social inclusion of the indigenous population will be presented. In this sense, their possibilities of conventional political participation continued to be nonexistent, which originates that the claims of their rights were made violently – through revolts –, and in a little articulated way with other communities or indigenous groups, which would detract strength from their social mobilizations, and expose them to practices of constant abuse (Zapata, 2016). An interesting characteristic derived from the entry of socialist thinking is that there was a shift in the focus of attention of the indigenous problem, which ceased to be an ethnic issue and became an issue of social classes (Cotler, 1982). With the weakening of the Peruvian Communist Party due to the premature death of its leader José Carlos Mariátegui and the constant government repression, the APRA will be the party that will begin to unite the politically mobilized popular classes (Cotler, 1982). During the 1930s, the APRA consolidated its capacity to attract and organize the popular sectors with the offer of a platform of social reforms under the so-called “Minimum Plan”, which was a proposal to reform the oligarchic nature of Peruvian society, which, among other demands, proposed the elimination of large estates through an agrarian reform (Cotler, 1982). However, the APRA would never end up consolidating this position, and would even sabotage subsequent attempts at land reform (see Kleiber, 2005; Rojas Rojas, 2019). It is worth noting that the popular and leftist parties, which defended the expansion of the vote to the urban middle and lower classes, did not see the need to incorporate the indigenous vote  – a demographic majority population  – into the democratic system. Thus, even progressive parties assumed a cautious position concerning universal suffrage, as it was considered that the indigenous vote would be sensitive to manipulation by the landlords and large landowners (see Paredes, 2015). Additionally, with the arrival of the dictatorship of Manuel A. Odría (1948–1956) and the persecution of anyone who was linked to both aprismo and other leftist forces, the CCP project was weakened. Only with the fall of Odría, some political organizations

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were re-articulated, for example, the APRA organized their unions in the Coast and the following year created  la Federación Nacional de Campesinos del Perú (FENCAP). While the communists, for their part, acted in the highland areas supporting the peasant communities. The end of the decade witnessed important strikes in the sugar zones and the Andes, with the birth of the Communal Movement of the Center, led by Elías Tácunan, an Aprista who broke with his party to support the land recovery movements (Vazeslek, 2017). The maintenance of the old rural structures in favor of large landowners and hacienda owners produced a greater imbalance in land ownership and accentuated the social unrest that determined the beginning of the great migratory exoduses from the countryside to the cities (Macera, 1978). This coincided, on the other hand, with the incipient capitalist development of the country, which eventually changed how relations between different groups and social classes in Peru took place; thus, between 1950 and 1967 there was a notable growth of urban capitalism, and a fall in the relative importance of the rural area, which resulted in constant migratory growth from the highlands to the coast, which favored the reduction in the recruitment of the peasant population coming from the indigenous communities by the landowners of the Andean region (Cotler, 2005). Faced with the fall in their income, and later in their political power, the landowners made demands on the peasant population – mostly indigenous – dependent on them, altering the terms of exchange of plots of land for work that they maintained with the Indians. Since then, in the highlands, there has been an increase in the actions of ayllus and indigenous communities seeking to recover the lands that had previously been taken from them by the hacienda owners, at the same time that the peasants began to demand a change in their relations with the hacienda owners, starting from the acquisition – or recovery – of property by different legal mechanisms, and by the increase of different processes of political participation – conventional and non-conventional –, such as peasant unionization, which accounted for the rupture of the ties of dependence and patronage to which they were subjected (Cotler, 2005; Rojas Rojas, 2019). It is worth noting that already at this time, discussions on the problem of land ownership have migrated – with the influence of socialist currents – from an ethnic issue to a class issue, in that sense, the peasant category will consolidate and replace the indigenous category in subsequent discussions. Toward the 1950s, the social climate in the Peruvian rural world became increasingly agitated, and the conflict between landowners and peasant communities  – especially in some regions of the southern Andes  – became unsustainable. The increase in the problems caused by disputes over land ownership led several governments to introduce the discussion on agrarian reform, without being able to implement it (Hall, 2013; Rojas Rojas, 2019). The above generates in certain sectors of the peasant population an awareness of the reform, which was expected, although without having a precise notion of when it would occur, nor what its content could be; but before which, peasants seeking to anticipate it, try to position themselves in the best way to acquire rights over land ownership  – rights that continued to be precarious for them (Hall, 2013). The strategies of the peasantry will not be homogeneous in this sense, observing differences between the peasants of the

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communities or ayllus from the peasants of the haciendas, or between those who began to form part of unions and peasant guilds, from those who did not (Hall, 2013; Rojas Rojas, 2019). It is also from the 1950s onwards, when in the province of La Convención, in the Cusco region, several conflictive incidents sowed the conditions for new political discussions on the living and working conditions of peasants, land ownership regimes, and the need to resolve the forms of abuse and exploitation derived from the “latifundio” system (Rojas Rojas, 2019). Specifically, a land conflict between landowner Alberto Duque and a group of peasant tenant farmers on one of the former’s properties led to the conspiracy and subsequent murder of Duque in 1956. Although the perpetrators of the homicide – they referred to it as a justice act – had no political militancy, they had developed general ideas about social justice and adhered to the demands for an agrarian reform that would give greater freedom to the peasants (Rojas Rojas, 2019). The year after Duque’s death, the first peasant unions would appear in the haciendas of La Convención, and the region would become the epicenter of intense struggles against the abuses of the hacienda owners; agrarian unionism, with legal advice from Federación de Trabajadores del Cusco (FTC) – strongly influenced by the Peruvian Communist Party – organized the peasants and their claims against eviction trials, the abolition of free labor, and the right of peasants to sell their crops to whomever they saw fit. The unions would become a collective political response, which helped socialize ideas about labor rights, agrarian reform, and fostered the politicization of the peasantry (Rojas Rojas, 2019). The agrarian unions that emerged between 1957 and 1958 were made possible, to a certain extent, by the return to democracy during the government of Manuel Prado (1956–1962), and the return to legality of the APRA and the leftist parties, which were also the groups that gave ideological and political support to these union organizations, although with different effects among them. Thus, the communist unions appeared as moderate and reformist, while the APRA unions turned out to be collaborationists of the bosses and landowners, emerging in this context, as the most radical groups in their demands, those backed by the Trotskyists, organized by Hugo Blanco among others (Chiaramonti, 2019; Cotler, 2005; Rojas Rojas, 2019). Consistently, with the internal crisis of the APRA, the emergence of extreme left movements inspired by the Cuban model originates groups that coincided in demanding an immediate revolution using armed struggle. On the one hand, the new radicalization supposes a repressive response from the government, which after the defeat of the armed groups, also ends up affecting the trade union organizations – not directly related to the guerrillas; and on the other hand, it introduces again the discussion on the need to change the social structures imposed by the large landowners, ensuring the achievements of the peasant unions in La Convención, constituting the region as the first scenario where an agrarian reform is consolidated in the country (Chiaramonti, 2019; Macera, 1978; Rojas Rojas, 2019). The consolidation of the agrarian reform in La Convención was tolerated by the government as a way of attacking the growing development of communism in the country, by removing

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the social basis for its demands for equality and more radical changes in society (Cotler, 2005). With perceived problems such as the increase in the arrival of migrant groups from the countryside to the cities (Cotler, 2005; Macera, 1978), and with the constant social conflict, the urban middle classes elected Fernando Belaunde (1963–1968) as a president who represented moderate reformism, the alternative to the APRA and the right on the one hand, and the radical left on the other (Macera, 1978). The Belaunde government and its middle-class political base considered it sufficient to undertake large public works, without considering the economic cost of foreign indebtedness and domestic inflation. Finally, he was unable – or unwilling – to confront the power of the large regional landowners – although it should be noted that his proposals for agrarian reform were sabotaged by the APRA and conservative groups, which led to his overthrow on October 3, 1968, by General Juan Velasco Alvarado, marking the beginning of the fall of the oligarchic regime in Peru (Cotler, 2005; Macera, 1978).

 ocial Changes in the Recent Past: From the 1968 Process S to the Internal Armed Conflict (1980–2000) The government of the military junta headed by General Velasco (1968–1975) implied a new turn in the inclusion of the indigenous population in Peru, promoting their participation, although exclusively in a corporative manner, that is, through peasant associations or communities. Thus, the indigenous category was consistently replaced by that of a peasant, alluding to the class and economic character of this population group, where class interests took precedence over the ethnic demands of the indigenous population –which at that time were unclear or nonexistent (Yashar, 2005). It was during Velasco’s military reformism that the agrarian reform was enacted and the oligarchic power in Peru was weakened. Despite not assuming the problem from an ethnic perspective, the agrarian reform process, represents an important step in the social democratization of the country, by solving the problem of land ownership that had affected vast sectors of the rural indigenous population, who now became owners – through cooperatives and peasant communities (López Jiménez, 2016). Now, the agrarian reform was a process developed by the military leadership, not as a step toward revolutionary socialism, but on the contrary, as prevention of communism, and a guarantee for the security and social conciliation of the country (Macera, 1983). In any case, although the process radically solved the problem of land ownership and the conditions of exploitation derived from it, it was not a revolutionary process developed by the political participation of the peasant communities themselves; although in the medium term, it did attempt to promote cooperative self-management practices to give sustainability to agrarian activity, while at the same time trying to give an impulse to a new urban industrial class (Cotler, 2005; Macera, 1983).

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Due to the autonomy and populist ideology of the military government, the reforms were accompanied by a mestizo nationalist narrative, with emphasis on popular corporatism, which took up indigenous elements, without necessarily highlighting them as an ethnic issue, but rather as a class issue. With these reforms, the military government introduced a reading of the country’s reality that proposed an egalitarian ethic, which contributed to the fact that the excluded sectors began to demand a representative link with the State, something they did not have in the previous political system. Considering that the previously dominant oligarchic order had excluded the illiterate – mainly indigenous and poor peasants – and had been articulated regionally through the once-powerful gamonales, with the military government spaces of participation for the popular classes will be opened (Panfichi & Coronel, 2009), where the Indian will have categorically become a peasant and will have acquired rights that vindicate him as a social subject (Zapata, 2016, p.58). It was also in 1974 that the military government of Velasco approved the Native Communities Law, initiating the process of land titling for the communities of the Peruvian Amazon. As part of this process, around 1979, the leaders of different groups of Amazonian communities decided to found the Comité de Coordinación de las Comunidades Nativas de la Selva Peruana (COCONASEP), and in 1980 the Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana (AIDESEP) was constituted, an organization that claims before the Peruvian State, from an ethnic and cultural perspective, the right of the indigenous peoples of the Peruvian Amazon, the right of the indigenous peoples of the Amazon to the conservation, recovery, and defense of their territories, the adoption of educational policies that strengthen their cultural identities and the improvement of health services for these peoples, together with the incorporation of knowledge, techniques and cultural practices of the indigenous peoples (AIDESEP, n.d.); thus constituting a platform of indigenous political representation that will acquire greater presence and relevance in the following years. With the fall of Velasco, the military junta now headed by General Francisco Morales Bermudez (1975–1980) will make a conservative turn in some reforms, but will not modify what was achieved by the agrarian reform to land ownership. The failure to institutionalize the reforms initially proposed by Velasco, the internal tensions within the Armed Forces, the pressures of the political parties, and the enormous social discontent  – which had its turning point in the national strike of 1977 – forced the government to initiate a transition to democracy. Thus, the military junta called for a Constituent Assembly to draft a new Political Constitution. With an increasingly literate mass of the population, the elections for the Assembly achieved a plural political composition in which important agreements were reached among the political forces present. One of the most important agreements – promoted by the leftist forces – was the extension of suffrage to young people over 18 years of age and illiterate people – excluded from this right since 1896. With this measure, Peru established universal suffrage as of 1980 (López Jiménez, 2016). Almost simultaneously, on May 17, 1980, the day before the general elections that would constitute the return to democracy in the country, with the consequent restitution of the right to vote to the illiterate population, among which was a large

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part of the rural peasant and indigenous population, the Internal Armed Conflict (IAC) began with the declaration of war by the terrorist group called the Partido Comunista del Peru-Sendero Luminoso (PCP-SL) against the Peruvian State. The first action of the Sendero Luminoso consisted of burning ballot boxes and electoral rolls that were to be used in the May 18 elections, in the town of Chuschi in the southern Andes of Peru. The IAC, which occurred between 1980 and 2000, was the most violent process in Peru’s republican history. No other war or conflict that the country has experienced is comparable to this period of political violence, neither in terms of the number of deaths nor in terms of its duration or geographical scope within the national territory (Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación [CVR], 2004). The CVR (2004) has established that the factors that triggered the conflict are closely related to the predominant structure of social exclusion in Peruvian society, which had an impact on the weakness and even absence of a shared sense of national community among the various social groups living in Peruvian territory. Although by 1980 the country had undergone important political processes and reforms in favor of institutional modernization and was in the process of returning to democracy, it had not yet managed to consolidate itself as a nation in which vast sectors of the population were not included in the economic, political, social, and legal systems (see Comas-Díaz et al., 1998). Although the immediate and direct cause of the origin of the violence was the decision of the PCP-SL leadership to initiate the so-­ called “people’s war” against the Peruvian State (CVR, 2004, p.333), the direct responsibility attributed to this particular group does not eliminate, the fundamental influence of historical and contextual fact which made it possible to unleash the conflict that affected the country for 20 years. That is, the PCP-SL decided to initiate an armed struggle, but this was not done in a vacuum, but in a context conducive for its initiative to have some success (see, Tilly, 2003). Chiaramonti (2019) mentions that to some extent, “the failure of the agrarian reform, which had not solved existing problems and had created new ones, ended up opening the doors to the men of the PCP-SL-at least initially-in some peasant communities. These were certainly not legitimate authorities, but in the eyes of the disillusioned peasants, their presence and actions were legitimized by the fact that they seemed intent on resolving the problems left by the previous governments and doing justice to those who exploited them. Even their violence initially seemed acceptable” (p.381). However, this argument is refuted, to the extent that the agrarian reform modified the socio-­ political situation of the countryside, substantially reducing land conflicts; thus, the peasants – now converted into small landowners – changed their demands to issues such as better prices for their products, obtaining credits for their activities or obtaining schools and health facilities in their communities. The mobilization of the peasantry for the agrarian reform process was in decline when the PCP-SL arrived in the countryside. Velasco’s reform had weakened the revolution supported by the peasantry that this subversive group sought to develop (Rojas Rojas, 2016b). Despite indications that the political reforms, and especially the agrarian reform of the Velasco government, were able to reduce the social base of the PCP-SL and reduce its destructive impact, the CVR’s Final Report mentions that as a result of the IAC, almost seventy thousand people were assassinated or disappeared;

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Moreover, 35% of those killed or disappeared came from the poorest regions of the country, 55% worked in agricultural activities in rural contexts and more than 75% had Quechua or another native language as their mother tongue (CVR, 2004). This corroborates that social exclusion and discrimination acted as historical causes that favored the emergence of the conflict, and it is noted that the people most affected correspond to a racial, ethnic, and social profile whose access to power has historically been limited in Peru (CVR, 2004). Also, during the IAC, several leaders of peasant and native communities – many of them of indigenous descent – who held official positions were assassinated. The CVR estimates that around 2300 local authorities were killed during the years of the conflict. This situation seriously affected the political parties established at regional and local levels, especially in the regions of Junín, Huancavelica, Ayacucho, and Apurímac, where the IAC was most intense (CVR, 2004). The IAC was originated in an urban, middle-class provincial context in Ayacucho, so it is not appropriate to consider it a political process of peasant, rural or indigenous origin. Abimael Guzmán, the leader of the PCP-SL, was a professor at the National University San Cristóbal de Huamanga, and he elaborated his strategy of political action under the Maoist principles of taking the revolution to the countryside (Rojas Rojas, 2016b; Theidon, 2004). Although probably not in the magnitude expected by its leaders, the actions of the PCP-SL received some welcome in some rural areas, this occurred to some extent because the PCP-SL political discourse, posed a radical transformation of Peruvian society with millenarian and messianic elements, while offering a chastisement to members of the upper classes and landowners for the abuses committed (Theidon, 2004). It should be noted that there was no peasant or indigenous population among the leadership of the PCP-SL, which was rather used as a mass (Rojas Rojas, 2016b). Additionally, it is important to highlight that the ideologues and high command of the PCP-SL, mostly urban intellectuals, not only did not know the indigenous culture but also despised it (Chiaramonti, 2019; Salazar-Soler, 2014). In the long run, the exacerbated violence of the PCP-SL caused important sectors of the peasantry to see this strategy as a problem, distancing themselves from it, and even organizing themselves to confront it through the peasant patrols and the self-defense committees of their communities, which were important actors in the defeat of the PCP-SL in the rural areas of the country (Chiaramonti, 2019). But the PCP-SL was not the only relevant actor in the process of political violence. Initially, the police forces and later the Armed Forces also participated in the IAC with unusual violence and impunity. In this sense, when the conflict was centered in the rural areas of the central and southern Andes, many peasant communities were besieged and affected by the systematic incursions of the PCP-SL or the police and military. These incursions identified systematic human rights violations carried out by the opposing forces in the conflict (CVR, 2004). Regarding the above, the CVR reported that by the end of the IAC, the PCP-SL was responsible for 54% of the deaths or disappearances during this period; on the other hand, State agents – Armed Forces and Police – were responsible for 37% of the deaths and disappearances; the rest of the deaths or disappearances correspond to other actors in the

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period of violence such as the Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru (MRTA) – another subversive group that took up arms –, the peasant patrols and the self-­ defense committees (CVR, 2004). The PCP-SL not only took the conflict to the Peruvian Andes but in the expansion of their actions, they also entered the central jungle of the country, the traditional territory of the native Ashaninka, Yanesha, and Nomatsiguenga peoples, who were also violated by this subversive group (CVR, 2004). The TRC estimates that out of an approximate population of 55,000 Ashaninka, about 10,000 were forcibly displaced from their communities of origin, 6000 people were killed or disappeared, and between 30 and 40 native communities disappeared (CVR, 2004). This situation forced the Amazonian native populations to form the so-called “Asháninka army” as a protective measure against the constant aggressions of subversive groups against these communities (CVR, 2004). This process of violence suffered during the 1980s and early 1990s led to the stigmatization of political participation in general, especially in the regions most affected by the conflict, which, coincidentally, concentrate an important part of the indigenous population, also affecting the participation of these social groups (Paredes, 2010). Nevertheless, during the 1980s, the indigenous political organization in the Amazon region managed to free members of the Asháninka people held as slaves by former hacienda owners in the Ucayali region. These struggles, against the exploitation of indigenous peoples, involved threats to the lives of leaders of AIDESEP and other indigenous organizations of the jungle involved in these political processes (AIDESEP, n.d.). It was also in this decade that, around 1988, AIDESEP reached an agreement with the Ministry of Education for the implementation of the Programa de Formación de Maestros Bilingües de la Amazonia Peruana (FORMABIAP); and in 1989 the political organization managed to initiate a process of land titling and communal reserves, for which AIDESEP signed an agreement with the Ministry of Agriculture and received technical assistance from Danish international cooperation (AIDESEP, n.d.). The political, economic, and social crisis of the 1980s triggered a process of discrediting the traditional political parties at the national and local levels and encouraged the emergence of parties in which self-proclaimed independent candidates were at the center of political groups without ideological or programmatic content. A clear example of this is the emergence of Cambio 90, an independent political group with which Alberto Fujimori became president of Peru in 1990. Therefore, although some of these independent political parties appealed to ethnic elements in their discourse, they were always deterritorialized parties, without a zone of influence or a clear political agenda (Grompone, 2005). Among these new independent organizations, some local organizations were created. For example, in Apurímac the Alianza Electoral Frente Popular Llapanchik was created. In Huancavelica, the Movimiento Independiente de Campesinos y Profesionales, and the Movimiento Regional Ayni were created (Durand, 2005); while in Ayacucho the Movimiento Independiente Qatun Tarpuy was founded, and in Cuzco the Movimiento Regional Autogobierno Ayllu (Bellatín, 2014). However, these organizations turned out to be weak and, above all, disjointed and disconnected from the indigenous population and their needs (Grompone, 2005).

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In general, the 1980s and 1990s were a period of a social, political, and economic crisis in Peru, which was aggravated by the IAC. This period was also marked by corruption and institutional weakness (CVR, 2004; Quiroz, 2013). The crisis and violence of those years resulted in the rupture of the social structure, affecting all existing forms of political participation and organization (CVR, 2004). This situation was the cause and consequence, as already mentioned, of the emergence of the authoritarian regime of Alberto Fujimori (1990–2000), from which a new Political Constitution was promoted in 1993, which, among other things, substantially modified the predominant economic model in the country; a model that had led the country to the serious economic crisis of the 1980s. Thus, with the Fujimorato, the neoliberal economic model that would promote national and international private investment was introduced, initiating a process of heavy investment in extractive activities such as mining and other natural resources, which in turn would give rise to projects that would eventually come into conflict with peasant and native communities due to the environmental impact that these projects could cause (Salazar-­ Soler, 2014). It is also important to highlight that the Political Constitution of 1993 explicitly recognized the ethnic and cultural plurality of the Nation, and a year later, in 1994, Peru ratified Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization (ILO) on indigenous and tribal peoples, joining a trend of recognition of multiculturalism that was gaining strength in several Latin American countries (Salazar-Soler, 2014).

 olitical Changes, Social Conflict, and Ethnocultural Claims P (1993-Present) In the beginning, the levels of conflict between extractive companies and peasant and native communities were not officially known in Peruvian society. This was partly because these activities were still incipient in some regions, and partly because any attempt to oppose or protest them could be stigmatized – as subversive – and violently repressed by the Fujimori regime (see CVR, 2004). However, this did not prevent the Confederación Nacional de Comunidades afectadas por la Minería (CONACAMI) from being created around 1999 as an entity that seeks participation, dialogue, and the generation of proposals to address the problems and conflicts caused by extractive activities, coordinating these actions with different local, national, and international organizations and institutions (Salazar-Soler, 2014). In the following years, with the fall of Fujimori’s authoritarian regime and the return to democracy, the new governments initiated processes of decentralization and promotion of citizen participation. Thus, during the governments of Valentin Paniagua (2000–2001) and Alejandro Toledo (2001–2006), the need to strengthen participation and social organization as ways to promote regional development were incorporated into political discourse and discussions (Velázquez et  al., 2011). Specifically, at the beginning of the Toledo administration, the Comisión Nacional de los Pueblos Andino, Amazónico y Afroperuano (CONAPA) was created, a state

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agency whose functions included the elaboration of public policies for the inclusion and development of indigenous peoples, considering in its composition indigenous interlocutors elected by their bases. Although CONAPA did not manage to consolidate itself due to organizational problems and conflicts among the indigenous organizations that would form it, it set a precedent for the creation, around 2004, of another public entity called the Instituto Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Andino, Amazónico y Afroperuano (INDEPA), currently attached to the Peruvian Ministry of Culture (Salazar-Soler, 2014). Thus, at least nominally, the recognition of the country’s indigenous and native peoples is consolidated (Chaumeil, 2014). With the increase in natural resource extraction projects and activities and the consolidation of some organizations defending peasant and native communities, socio-environmental conflicts will also increase in the country (Salazar-Soler, 2014). As an example, “between May 2004 and September 2005, the Ombudsman’s Office reported 143 conflicts. Of these, 39 were initiated in 2005 (27%), 85 originated in 2004 (60%), and 19 were initiated in 2003 or earlier (13%). [...]. As of September 30, 2005, 17 of these conflicts remained active (12%), 49 were in a state of latency (34%), while 77 had been resolved (54%)” (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2005). In this regard, of this group of conflicts, about 51 were related to disputes over territory between different actors – usually communities and companies (see Defensoría del Pueblo 2005). By June 2020, the number of social conflicts reached 190, of which 140 conflicts were active and 50 were latent. Likewise, of the total number of conflicts observed, more than 140 (74%) were related to disputes over territory and the environment (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2020). It is worth noting that although the conflicts described not only involve a territorial claim, but also a cultural collision over different ways of relating to the environment, the first activities in defense of the environment were not always related to an ethnic claim – at least in the Peruvian Andean region. Thus, for example, CONACAMI will only initiate a process of ethnicization of its discourse as of 2004, claiming a national and pan-­ Andean indigenist movement (Salazar-Soler, 2014). The process of ethnicization described is linked on the one hand to the discovery that these groups make on international treaties  – signed by Peru  – on environmental defense (e.g., Kyoto Agenda) and on the recognition of the rights of indigenous peoples (ILO Convention 169); also, the exchange with local Amazonian indigenous groups through relations with the AIDESEP and international, especially with organized indigenous groups in Bolivia and Ecuador, will accompany this process (Salazar-Soler, 2014). In fact, from this moment on, the articulation between Andean and Amazonian movements in the country will be more frequent and fluid. Hall (2013) mentions that in the context of socio-environmental conflicts, there will be a resurgence of indigenous claims, legally supported in the international scenario by ILO Convention 169. This implies a new adaptation of the social categories used in Peru to refer to the rural population – especially in the Andean region –, which will move from the peasant class category to the use of ethnic and cultural categories, embracing  – albeit in a limited way  – categories such as indigenous, native, or original people (Hall, 2013; Salazar-Soler, 2014). Constitutional recognition of the country’s multiculturalism and adherence to Convention 169 will allow

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the rural populations of the Andes to consider it advantageous – or necessary – to highlight their indigenous and autochthonous character (Hall, 2013). Due to some legal problems, the ethnicization of the indigenous discourse and claims has led some communities to hide their recent formation  – in many cases linked to the agrarian reform process. Convention 169 refers to indigenous groups, tribes, and native peoples, which are categories that are not semantically equivalent to a class category such as peasant – which is why it must be avoided, or at least mitigated, together with the memory of the agrarian reform process with which the category gained strength. For Espinosa de Rivero (2010), although the Constitution of 1993 recognizes various cultural rights of indigenous peoples, it represented a step backward in relation to their territorial rights; a step backward that was consolidated with the enactment of Law 26,505 for Promotion of Private Investment in the Lands of the National Territory and of the Peasant and Native Communities. To promote private investment, this law affected the territorial property rights of indigenous peoples. In fact, the increase in extractive activities has also produced important cultural changes in the communities that are close to the large extractive projects; thus, changes are observed in the ways in which communal resources are regulated, their use and valuation, and political and economic relations are distorted within the communities themselves, forcing the organization and communal governments to adopt new functions in the regulation of access and distribution of community resources (Burneo & Chaparro, 2010; Damonte & Castillo, 2010). Therefore, in the last twenty years, the Ombudsman’s Office has registered a considerable number of conflicts involving communities, companies, and the Peruvian State. Many of these conflicts have had violent manifestations. This situation has been aggravated at times by the actions of some governments in office, which have opted for the promotion of investment, disregarding the rights of indigenous peoples (see Defensoría del Pueblo, 2020). In this scenario, one of the most serious social conflicts occurred between 2008 and 2009, during Alan García’s second administration, when a package of legislative decrees approved in 2008  – known colloquially as the Jungle Law  – made interpretations of communal land ownership more flexible, restricting the right of indigenous peoples to participate in land decisions. This gave rise to the events of Bagua in June 2009, which involved protest actions with road blockades and takeovers of facilities of extractive companies by several indigenous communities, which resulted in a confrontation with police forces that left an official toll of 33 dead, 23 of them policemen (Espinosa de Rivero, 2010; RPP, 2016). Regarding these events, President Garcia’s racist and derogatory comments only aggravated the situation. In this regard, narratives such as those expressed by President Garcia seem to persist, and in the racism, they bring with them underlie hidden new examples of civilizing messages such as that of modernity. In his diatribes about the indigenous people, García implicitly left the idea of the need to modernize them, which meant eliminating their collective rights to territory, to their knowledge, to their ability to decide their destiny as peoples, and to their identity (Chirif & Cornejo, 2009; Espinosa de Rivero, 2016).

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As an outcome of the conflict in Bagua, the subsequent trials of the leaders and participants in the protests will set an important precedent in Peruvian legal life by incorporating an intercultural approach and applying ILO Convention 169 when issuing the verdict. Another element of interest is that the legal analysis of the process introduces a relevant discussion on the risks of criminalizing protest, without analyzing the motives that originate the protest (Ardito, 2017). Likewise, in response to these conflicts, around 2011, the Congress of the Republic approves the Law on the Right to Prior Consultation of Indigenous or Original Peoples, which constitutes a milestone in the respect for Human Rights through the recognition of fundamental rights to the original peoples of Peru. This law also highlights the political efforts to reduce social conflicts in the country by giving voice and agency to groups that will potentially be affected by large investment projects in extractive activities (Chuquipiondo Chota, 2011). The political processes described so far show how the forms of self-government and self-management in native and peasant – indigenous – communities have been configured throughout history, while at the same time the forms of interaction that these communities maintain with the State and other actors that have had an impact on the exercise of their citizen and collective rights (e.g., extractive companies) have been delineated. However, with the recognition of the rights of these groups by the Peruvian State, a space opens up for conventional indigenous political participation, which is going to be expressed through regular electoral processes and which extends to other processes of citizen participation (Céspedes Bravo, 2019; Espinosa de Rivero, 2016; Paredes, 2015). In this new scenario, since 2002, the creation of a “quota” of representation for native communities, peasants, and indigenous peoples within the political parties has been established; the establishment of this quota will generate a sustained and important presence of candidates of indigenous descent in the electoral processes after that date. However, these candidates will not necessarily represent issues of specific interest for their ethnic group or territories of origin, let alone for indigenous groups in general; that is, their political representation will be limited either to their locality, or to the interest of the party they represent, which limits the very representation of indigenous claims at the national level (Céspedes Bravo, 2019; Espinosa de Rivero, 2016). It is in this context that there are the candidacies of some citizens of indigenous descent, who reach the national political scene thanks to the invitation of some parties – or presidential candidates. As an example, there is the case of Paulina Arpasi, a peasant woman – of Aymara origin – with a long union trajectory who, until the moment of the invitation, did not have any party affiliation. Paulina Arpasi was invited by the then candidate Alejandro Toledo of the Perú Posible party in 2001, when she won a seat in Congress. A similar case can be seen with Juana Aidé Huancahuari, a social leader from Ayacucho, of Quechua origin, invited by the then presidential candidate Ollanta Humala to participate in the Nationalist Party of Peru. Huancahuari also won a seat as representative of the Ayacucho region in 2006 (Marti i Puig, 2009).

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The 2002 law establishes that political parties must reserve 15% of the space on their congressional lists – and on the lists of councilors for local governments – for candidates of indigenous descent. However, this law was not applicable to the entire Peruvian territory, so the quota applied exclusively to the regions of Amazonas, Ancash, Apurímac, Ayacucho, Cajamarca, Cusco, Huancavelica, Huánuco, Junín, Loreto, Madre de Dios, Pasco, Puno, San Martín, Ucayali, Ica, and Moquegua; that is, 17 of the 25 regions of the country. Although the establishment of this law implied an important advance in terms of indigenous political participation in a democratic framework, the use of the quota did not manage to transform itself into a true political representation of the indigenous peoples. Thus, the political parties comply with the application of the quota, without this implying a real commitment or intention to represent these groups. On the contrary, the use of the quota becomes a mere requirement achieved through the inclusion in the last places of the list, or the use of the concurrence of quotas, which refers to situations in which the three quotas (indigenous, gender, and youth) are fulfilled through the same person (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2018; Espinosa de Rivero, 2016). More recently, since 2014, the Ministry of Culture is the entity that provides information to the Jurado Nacional de Elecciones (JNE) on the application of the indigenous quota. This information is derived from the Indigenous and Original Peoples Database prepared by the Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI). For the 2014 regional and municipal elections, the quota was applied in 18 regions – Arequipa is added to the list – and 92 provinces of the country. After the 2014 electoral process, the Ministry of Culture received formal communications from regional indigenous organizations such as the Consejo Machiguenga del Río Urubamba (COMARU) and the Federación Nativa del Alto Madre de Dios y sus Afluentes (FENAMAD), both regional bases of AIDESEP expressing their dissatisfaction with the establishment of the indigenous quota and the results of the same. As a result of these communications, the Ministry of Culture sent a report to the JNE proposing a new normative formula that could be presented to the Congress of the Republic, with the purpose of modifying the form of election of the indigenous quota at the regional level. Thus, during the 2018 regional and municipal elections, the indigenous quota was applied in 20 regions and 131 provinces. On the other hand, since 2014, when for the first time the mechanism was included consistently in the Andean highland regions, 83% of the provincial councilors elected by quota respond to highland regions, while only 17% of the candidates belonged to Amazon regions. In 2018, the indigenous Andean candidates who won a council seat through the quota represented 81% of the candidates elected by this means. This reflects how the quota is more difficult to achieve precisely in the regions that currently need greater representation –Amazonia. It is worth noting that the effectiveness of the quota has been increasing year by year, in 2014 the effectiveness of the quota reached 33% and in 2018 it reached 49% at the regional level. At the provincial level, effectiveness reached 67% (2014) and 78% (2018) (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2018). Although the effectiveness of the indigenous quota has been increasing at the regional and municipal levels, the absence of mechanisms to ensure indigenous representation at the national level remains a concern. Although in recent years

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indigenous citizens have gained access to Parliament, this participation still does not reflect their expectations and is still far from being considered representative. As a result of the last general elections in 2016, out of a total of 130 congressmen, only 5 of them identify themselves as members of Quechua-speaking indigenous peoples. These are the members of the Frente Amplio: Tania Pariona, Richard Arce, Oracio Pacori, Wilber Rozas, and the member of Fuerza Popular: Dalmiro Palomino (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2018). Against this backdrop, it is also relevant to take a look at the situation of political participation of indigenous women; as they represent one of the most significant groups of the Peruvian population, constituting about 24% of the total number of women and 50.2% of the total indigenous population (ECLAC, 2013). In this regard, the gender quota in Peru was established in 1997. However, there are certain characteristics of the design of this quota that hinder the exercise of political participation of indigenous women (Tejada, 2010). In Peru, the electoral process information system of the JNE is only used at the time of the presentation of candidate lists, without being applied again at the end of the processes of exclusion, resignation, or disqualification of candidates. This results in the admission of lists with a lower percentage of women and indigenous people with respect to what is established by law (Llanos & Tello, 2013). The political participation of indigenous women is not only limited by the design of electoral quotas; they also face a series of stereotypes and gender roles, added to the stereotypes and stigma of being indigenous, which limit both the intention of political participation and the opportunity to be elected as representatives (Jave, 2018). The participation of indigenous women in grassroots organizations such as Comedores Populares or Clubes de Madres is frequent; however, in this context a gap appears between community participation and conventional political participation. Hilaria Supa is possibly one of the most representative figures of female indigenous political participation in the country. Supa was elected as representative of the Unión por el Perú (UPP) to the Congress of the Republic in 2006. She was the first congresswoman of Andean origin to be sworn in Quechua and, in fact, her passage through congress was not devoid of discriminatory acts against her; which made, at the time, evident the gaps faced by indigenous political participation within a system that rejects it. Supa began to get involved in politics, like many women, through community participation, and was able to participate in a congressional list at the invitation of the party of the then candidate Ollanta Humala (Servindi, 2006). In general, an element that is important to consider in this new scenario of indigenous political participation is that the use of the preferential vote has managed to bring representatives of indigenous communities such as Paulina Arpasi (2001), María Cleofe Sumire (2006), Hilaria Supa (2006), and Eduardo Nayap (2011), among others, to congress; despite the fact that the parties that carried them on their lists did not have a clear agenda designed for the communities that these congressmen represented; the latter being a challenge for the construction of citizenship in the country (Céspedes Bravo, 2019; Espinosa de Rivero, 2016).

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Conclusions and Final Reflection Peru is a country that was built based on ethnic and racial divisions, which originated during the conquest and the colony, and settled during republican life (Cotler, 2005; Fuenzalida, 2009; Zapata, 2016). This division has reinforced the way in which some social groups have accessed power, while others have remained excluded from it. This gap between high- and low-status groups, among which indigenous groups are considered, leads to the fact that indigenous citizens have seen their opportunities to exercise full citizenship rights severely affected (Espinosa & Cueto, 2014). Undoubtedly, throughout the country’s history, this distance has conditioned the way in which indigenous groups have participated – and are politically represented – in Peru (Paredes, 2015; Céspedes Bravo, 2019). The political participation of the so-called indigenous groups has systematically gone through phases of discrimination and exclusion, in the face of which they have generated strategies of resistance to a politically centralized power that has often treated them with indifference or violence (CVR, 2004; Rojas Rojas, 2016a; Zapata, 2016). The phases of resistance have been accompanied by ideological discourses akin to leftist parties and have involved (1) a slow advance in the recognition of these groups  – although shifting the focus from ethnicity to social class (see Mariátegui, 1928/1968), and (2) the vindication of some of their demands – especially those having to do with land ownership (López, 2016; Rojas Rojas, 2019). This has given rise to new public policies, which have given way in the political arena to address some of the demands, however, still insufficiently (Salazar-­ Soler, 2014). Despite the above, it would be a mistake to think that the country’s indigenous groups lack political agency, when they are consolidating their participation in at least three spheres: community self-government, social movements that delineate the relationship between these groups and the State, and conventional political participation in regional and national spaces of representation (Espinosa de Rivero, 2010, 2016). In this sense, political participation already exists despite not being as effective as it should be to date, and this situation will only be resolved with an improvement in the living conditions of the population of the communities in question, which would in turn lead to political representation with an agenda truly linked to indigenous issues in Peru (Céspedes Bravo, 2019), where the groups in question are assured a voice and a vote in matters that concern them. Finally, as a summary of the present essay, Fig. 9.1 establishes a timeline of the events that have influenced the indigenous political participation and its characteristics since the Spanish conquest until now.

Fig. 9.1  Historical timeline of the processes of indigenous political participation in Peru

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Orrego, J. L. (2014). ¡Y llegó el Centenario!: Los festejos de 1921 y 1924 en la Lima de Augusto B. Leguía. Editorial Titanium. Panfichi, A., & Coronel, O. (2009). Cambios en los vínculos entre la sociedad y el Estado en el Perú: 1968-2008. In O. Plaza (Ed.), Cambios sociales en el Perú 1968-2008 (pp. 83–122). CISEPA. Paredes, M. (2010). En una arena hostil: la politización de lo indígena en el Perú. In C. Meléndez & A. Vergara (Eds.), El Perú Político en perspectiva comparada (pp. 213–244). Fondo Editorial de la PUCP. Paredes, M. (2015). Representación Política Indígena. Un análisis comparativo subnacional. Jurado Nacional de Elecciones, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Portocarrero, G. (2007). Racismo y mestizaje y otros ensayos. Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Perú. Quiróz, A. (2013). Historia de la Corrupción en el Perú. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Ragas-Rojas, J. F. (2005). Las urnas temibles. Elecciones, miedo y control en el Perú republicano, 1810-1931. In C. Rosas Lauro (Ed.), El miedo en el Perú. Siglos XVI al XX (pp. 233–256). Fondo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú. Rodríguez Toledo, L. (2014). Rumi Maqui en la historiografía peruana desde Mariátegui hasta el siglo XXI. Hispanic American Historical Review. Rojas Rojas, R. (2016a). La idea de igualdad liberal en el Perú del siglo XIX.  In J.  Aragón (Ed.), Participación, competencia y representación política. Contribuciones para el debate (pp. 25–38). Lima. Rojas Rojas, R. (2016b). La reforma agraria y Sendero Luminoso. Revista Argumentos, 10, 4. Rojas Rojas, R. (2019). La revolución de los arrendires. Una historia personal de la reforma agraria. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Rostorowski, M. (1988). Historia del Tahuantinsuyu. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. RPP. (2016). ¿Qué fue el Baguazo? Causas y consecuencias de una matanza. Retrieved from: https://rpp.pe/peru/actualidad/que-­fue-­el-­baguazo-­causas-­y-­consecuencias-­de-­una-­matanza-­ noticia-­996965 Salazar-Soler, C. (2008). Rastros y Rostros de la Antropología francesa sobre los Andes peruanos. In A. Diez Hurtado (Ed.), La Antropología ante el Perú de hoy (pp. 229–254). CISEPA/PUCP. Salazar-Soler, C. (2014). ¿El Despertar Indio en el Perú Andino? In G. Lomné (Ed.), De la Política Indígena. Perú y Bolivia (pp. 71–126). Lima. Sanborn, C. A. (2012). La discriminación en el Perú: Introducción. In C. A. Sanborn (Ed.), La discriminación en el Perú: Balance y desafíos (pp. 11–25). Universidad del Pacífico. Servindi. (2006). Perú: “Sé que va a haber discriminación” entrevista a Hilaria Supa Huamán. Retrieved from: https://www.servindi.org/actualidad/entrevistas/868 Sherif, M. (1958). Superordinate goals in the reduction of intergroup conflict. American Journal of Sociology, 63, 349–356. Sobrevilla, N. (2005). Historia de las elecciones en el Perú: estudios sobre el gobierno representativo. Histórica, 29(2), 186–189. Sulmont, D. (2012). Raza y etnicidad desde las encuestas sociales y de opinión: dime cuántos quieres encontrar y te diré qué preguntar. In C. A. Sanborn (Ed.), La discriminación en el Perú: Balance y desafíos (pp. 51–74). Universidad del Pacífico. Theidon, K. (2004). Entre prójimos. El conflicto armado interno y la política de reconciliación en el Perú. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Tejada, A. (2010). Cuota electoral de género en el Perú: Participación de las mujeres en el espacio político. Retrieved from: https://www.defensoria.gob.pe/blog/ cuota-­electoral-­de-­genero-­en-­el-­peru-­participacion-­de-­las-­mujeres-­en-­el-­espacio-­politico/ Thorpe, R., & Paredes, M. (2011). Etnicidad y la Persistencia de la Desigualdad. El Caso del Perú. Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Tilly, C. (2003). The politics of collective violence. Cambridge University Press. Vazeslek Ribeiro, V. (2017). De la lucha por la tierra a la protección de la Pachamama: los caminos de la Confederación Campesina del Perú (1947-2016). Polis [Online], 47. Velásquez-Silva, D. (2018). Ejército, Política y Sociedad en el Perú 1821-1879. Trashumante. Revista Americana de Historia Social, 12, 142–154.

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Velázquez, T., Cueto, R.  M., Rivera, M., & Morote, R. (2011). Construyendo una psicología comunitaria en el Peru. In M. Montero & I. Serrano-García (Eds.), Historia de la Psicología Comunitaria en América Latina. Participación y Transformación (pp. 339–358). Paidós. Vera, E. D. (2010). Cultura y Política en Puno: el dispositivo de la Identidad Etnocultural. (Unpublished doctoral thesis). Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos. Lima, Peru. Walker, C. F. (2019). La rebelión de Tupac Amaru (2da Edición revisada). Instituto de Estudios Peruanos. Wiener, L. (2014). Perú y Chile, de enemigos a rivales. Retrieved from: https://leonidaswiener. blogspot.com/2014/01/peru-­y-­chile-­de-­enemigos-­rivales.html Yashar, D. (2005). Contesting citizenship in Latin America: The rise of indigenous movements and the postliberal challenge. Cambridge University Press. Zapata, A. (2016). La desigualdad peruana y el cangrejo. In J. Aragón (Ed.), Participación, competencia y representación política. Contribuciones para el debate (pp. 39–68). Lima. Zevallos, U. (2002). Indigenismo y Nación: Los retos a la representación de la subalternidad Aymara y Quechua en el Boletín Titikaka (1926–1930). Institut Français d’Études Andines. Agustín Espinosa  has PhD in Social Psychology (Universidad del País Vasco, Spain) and is full professor in the Department of Psychology, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP). Erika Janos  has MSc in Psychology (Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Peru) and is a lecturer in the Department of Psychology, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP). Martín Mac Kay  has Bachelor in Archeology (Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Peru) and is an assistant professor for the Program of General Studies, Universidad de Lima, Peru.

Chapter 10

Conclusion: “The Indigenous Problem” Alejandro Natal and Adrián Albala

“I will return and I will be millions.” —Tupac Amaru

As referred by the contributors to this volume, the whole Latin American region saw a wave of indigenous movements with no comparison in their history. Theoretically, this boom of movements challenged the commonly accepted idea that the relative peaceful democratic environment in LA was the result of the liberal project through which the LA states were conformed. A nation project that had privileged a set of defined political identities and provided incentives for actors to align to them. In this manner, indigenous groups have adopted a civic identity vis-­a-­vis other actors and let the expressions of indigenous identity for private forums. This state of affairs seemed to have somewhat worked, with certain differences regarding the countries, until the indigenous movements of the 1980s–1990s. Many explanations were cast, from the neocolonialist that see in these movements the cry against means of subordination and the exhaustion of a model of control; or, the failure of LAs states in reaching and penetrating all regions and sectors of their societies evenly; or, the resilience of pre-national states existing forms of traditional governance; or, a crisis of rurality and the liberalization policies, among many others. Without totally denying these explanations, which are true to certain extent in different LA countries, an alternative explanation that the contributors of this project followed, was that LA historically exhibited an incapacity to achieve the ideals of liberalism, the pan-racial democracy based in equality and universality

A. Natal El Colegio Mexiquense, Zinacantepec, Estado de México, Mexico A. Albala (*) Institute of Political Science, University of Brasília, Brasilia, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 A. Albala, A. Natal (eds.), Indigenous Political Representation in Latin America, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-33914-1_10

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in which LA nation states were created. Thus, representation of indigenous people in the region was  – in the best cases  – weak or disconnected from indigenous claims. Therefore, it was not surprising that the wave of democratization and changes in the regimes in LA of the 1980s and 1990s created a more open political associational space (Yashar, 2005), further enriched by technologies of information and communication (TICs) and indigenous people own migration experiences. This new environment presented politicized indigenous identities and their enclaves of local autonomy, with a perfect window of political opportunity to make themselves heard. It also fueled collective action and allowed indigenous people to voice out and being echoed in their long held claims for effective political representation. This social effervescence and the resulting political processes have so far mostly been studied as a social uproar, calling for the improvement of the quality of democracy and rarely as an issue of ethnic politics. Therefore, the issue has been much reduced to a question of achieving nominal representation, rather than to substantial representation, i.e., help marginalized groups to break out barriers of entrance and empower them vis-á-vis other groups. In this volume we rather tried to understand the dynamics of systematic exclusion and pervasive inequity for indigenous people in Latin America, as something imbricated with a wide range of social, cultural, psychological, and racial conditions that clamp indigenous people within a convoluted situation of social, economic, and political disadvantage. This complex Gordian knot is what configures the so-called “indigenous problem” (Fuenzalida, 2009). In this volume we have analyzed this problem from only one point of view, the political, and exclusively in terms of political representation. Although we do not deny the other conundrums that puzzle indigenous affairs, we do believe that by recognizing indigenous people’s rights to have more voice and a fair and righteous political weight in Latin American nations, we would be empowering them to actually fight by themselves to unfasten from all the cargos and disembarrass from all the burdens that historically Mestizo society has imposed them. In this chapter we present a brief summary with the main lei-motives, one can observe throughout the chapters of this volume. We present them in three sections. First, we will briefly resume the historical similarities that the contributors to this volume have identified as factors that determine the current state of things of the indigenous problem in Latin America (LA). Second, we will talk about indigenous politics in the region with special emphasis on the barriers of entry that inhibit indigenous people capacities to have a proper and fair exercise of their voice and an evenhanded right to be properly represented in the political institutions of the Latin American nations. Here we will also explore some of the policies that have actually been put in place in the region and comment on their results. We will end highlighting some of the future challenges of indigenous political representation and some conclusive words.

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History of Social Exclusion in Latin America An imperative departure point is the Spanish colony, which laid the foundations for a racially discriminatory and class-based culture. The de-facto apartheid of a republic of Indians legally separated from the republic of Spaniards, configured the social scaffolding in which indigenous people with black slaves, constituted the underdogs of the Colonies; a distinct social underneath-category far below the peninsular Spanish, and the Creoles or mestizos. Therefore, since its origins, the dominant groups, built up and used, the pejorative category of Indian, and the attributes attached to the term, as a mean for social differentiation and racial marginalization. With time, this social and political construction interwove notions of race and ethnicity (which in LA are practically analogous concepts), charging them with prejudices that ended up building a pervasive racist culture, that nowadays is profoundly ingrained in Latin-American’s social psychology. But Spanish heritage is not to blame. Even once independent, and besides liberal speeches, Latin-American societies did little to build off this structure of social exclusion. Moreover, modern LA states have also been totally anodyne and blind to the political, economic, and social exclusion that hinders the rights of indigenous people and that sometimes even menace their cultures, and foremost, their actual subsistence. However, it would be mistaken to believe that indigenous people have been agency-less. As the authors in this book have argued, indigenous people have been fighting for their rights since colonial times, when The Crown militias violently and quickly repressed rebellions. They also had an important participation in the processes of independence and the establishment of the LA Republics; and when Independence was conquered, their rights as citizens were recognized, chiefly the right to vote. Nonetheless, their legal status was rather nominal. Beyond discourse in which the mestizos presented themselves as liberal revolutionaries in political matters, this was just a façade that covered up a profoundly conservative elite regarding socioeconomic affairs. Thus, soon there were legal discussions on how the savages should be governed, what lead to constitutional amendments that added requirements to whom could actually vote, creating a society where some were more equal than others. Moreover, existing distinctions between socially and economically powerful groups as well as access to the decision-making process were untouched, perpetrating the existing exclusions to broad sectors of society, namely indigenous peoples, afro-descendants, and women. Thus, independence meant the elimination of the dominant colonial stratum, to be replaced with another comprised of white supremacists Spanish descendants, so everything changed for nothing to change. The new elite, military leaders of independence and regional oligarchs, was unwilling to fully incorporate a dominated population they could live upon. Whence, the possibilities for constitution of equalitarian nations were seriously jeopardize, and therefore, inequality would become the hallmark of LA states.

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The XIX did not improve much of the common perception on Indians. The conservative perceived them as congenitally inferior and incapable beings, while for the liberal, the indigenous problem was a socio-cultural one. For both, indigenous people were seen as tethering Latinamerican nations, whereby the solution was Westernized acculturation. Thus, the nineteenth century and the industrialization of most LA states not only maintained, but reinforced the inequalities between Indigenous peoples and the rest of the population, as they were seen as a profitable cheap labor force. The expansion of capitalism and railroads throughout the region brought also an increased encroaching on communal “unused” lands, many of which were turned into haciendas with their indigenous inhabitants converted into peons. This harassment, added to the exploitation to which they were subjected, forced indigenous to defend their lands generating concomitant resistance that in not few cases lead to genocide. The twentieth century revitalized the debate about the Indians, as our authors discussed here before. The new indigenist movement was formed, by artists and middle and upper-class urban mestizos, who build up a nationalist narrative. The novel discourse had an emphasis on popular corporatism and presented the indigenous problem as a class issue, empting it from any ethnic component. In this manner, the category of peasant steadily replaced that of indigenous. Then, indigenous converted into peasants  – and where there was land reform converted into small landowners – shifted their demands to issues such as agricultural credits and subsidies or better prices for their products, blurring then all ethnic demands. This recategorization was also paralleled by a new Mestizo idealized narrative of Indigenous ancestry as an efficient collectivist society (with socialist traits), and emerged as part of the efforts of the time to build a national identity. The new discourse also assumed that the Indian should be removed from the decadent feudal mode of production in which they remain immersed, through education, literacy, and agricultural extension. This understanding had, however, a paternalistic impinging, as it assumed this could only be achieved through cultural miscegenation that more often than not took the form of acculturation and blurred any ethnic component. However, this new understanding was somehow positive to indigenous people. As, now the Indian problem was understood as a socio-economic one, mainly rooted in the land ownership regime. Thus, some countries of the region embarked in an agrarian reform, which represented an important step in the social democratization (as well as in the prevention of the spreading of communist ideas). However, indigenous situation did not substantively change in terms of political participation and representation, neither their conditions of exclusion or marginalization would ameliorate. By the 1980s, three factors permeated the indigenous plea. First, the wave of democratization that pervaded the region; second, the ideological influence of liberation theology; and third, the systematic and increasingly desperate struggle for economic survival of indigenous people. These developments brought about a number of movements with demands for ethnic identity and a rural indigenous agenda. As the “Quinientos Años de Resistencia Indígena” approached, a number of collective actions took place visibilizing the different forms of exploitation indigenous

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people were still subjected to. This was an inflection point in the development of the autoperception of indigenous people as political actors. It was a decisive period for indigenous people that empower them to end the conventional ventriloquism and make them gain visibility, and in some countries like Bolivia and Ecuador, brought them to position themselves in the political chessboard. In compliance with the ILO 169 Convention on the rights of indigenous people, practically all LA countries modified their constitutions. Among the rights now recognized were chiefly the guarantying human rights and the obligation of the state to respect the decisions reached by indigenous groups, the right to be subject to customary law and to develop and apply their own forms of law within their communities, the right to bilingual education and protections for communally held lands, the right to select their own authorities, and their specific forms of justice. Not all countries recognized all of them or have certain restrictions. But to say the truth this was irrelevant, as in most cases changes were rather declaratives, and reforms were ambiguous or left to  – still to be  – written secondary legislation, or to regional Congresses or governments. Moreover, indigenous demands particularly regarding the possibility of self-government and autonomy, the conservation of their natural areas, and the full ownership of their territory were not included or decaffeinated. For indigenous people the ILO 169 meant a change in discourse, participants, and strategy. First, they incorporated a new multicultural discourse as an element of legitimacy for the struggle. The talk of “Mother Earth” or Pachamama, became central, as also happened with the “right to decide,” and the calls for cultural difference to defend their cosmovision. This was accompanied by the restructuring of existing local structures that were resurrected or recreated with this new understanding. Second, more indigenous intellectuals entered in the scene. This had happened since the 1980s but largely increased by the 1990s, as reported here for the case of Guatemala and Mexico specially. Thirdly, in some countries, this led to a major change in the strategy: entering the electoral game as a party. Chiefly in countries like Bolivia and Ecuador, the new paradigm implied a shift from claiming rights to disputing power. Therefore, indigenous people shifted to depend on international support to rather seek citizen support. This change in strategy was somewhat felt in the entire region, though in some countries like Paraguay, Guatemala, and Mexico, indigenous groups did not pursue a national political party, but rather preferred a more dispersed pattern of political mobilization mostly at the local or regional level (see, Villalba, this volume; Barragan, this volume; Natal, this volume). Despite all these reforms, in the beginning of the twenty-first century, marginalization, pervasive racism, and discrimination still continued harassing indigenous people. Therefore, once again they engaged in a new wave of social mobilization, this time characterized by a clearer articulation of their exigencies, mostly due to the increasing number of indigenous intellectuals that have invigorated the movement. This is known as the second wave of demands, which climatic point was the arrival to power of Evo Morales who became Bolivia’s first indigenous president in 2006. Nonetheless, despite the impressive results of Bolivia, in the twenty-first century there are still some countries in Latin America in which Indigenous peoples live in reservations or resguardos, like in Colombia, school non-attendance among

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indigenous population is high, and they are exposed to greater labor informality; less protected by their affiliation to social and medical schemes; sunken in structural poverty and facing malnutrition and higher infant mortality than the rest of the population (see, Cuna, this volume; Laurent, this volume).

Indigenous Politics Indigenous people sometimes may seem indifferent to participate, or non-interested in Mestizo politics. This is totally understandable since more often than not Mestizo politics do not address the agendas put forwards by indigenous groups. However, it would be a mistake to think that indigenous groups in Latin America lack of capacity for political action, as can be seen from a revision of the struggles of the indigenous movements with the State. Though the motivations for entering the electoral scene vary from area to area, and from one country to other, from the review of the preceding chapters, it is possible to find certain factors that facilitate the emergence of indigenous representation. For instance, regions with long history of Indigenous fights and mobilization, with tradition of indigenous collective action, are keener to electorally participate. Similarly, contexts with strong real leadership are more prone to organize politically. Likewise happens with groups with a close relation with state institutions, or where there are less language barriers. Another constant element that can be appreciated throughout the chapters that conform to this volume is that, where there are already indigenous associations or other organizational experiences, like for instance, grassroots activism in defense of human rights, or a producers association, it is easier to yield contestants that turn into candidates and accept to electorally participate. The same happens when there are intercommunity organizational liaisons or a strong indigenous identity. The contrary also applies, groups that are smaller, more disperse or isolated, may have a reduced interest in participate. Similarly, groups that historically have been less exposed to participation or democratic practices, may not be enthusiastic to organize in a democratic fashion. These points may help to explain why different groups are keener to participate politically while others are more skeptical. Nonetheless, even when they do not electorally participate, one should not assume they don’t have forms of political participation like self-governance or political rights demands; neither this means that they do not want representation. What this reveals is that we do not consider other forms through which indigenous people participate, politically organize and intend to defend their interest vis-á-vis the state and the mestizo population. When talking about indigenous political participation one has to realize that this is not only electoral, but that it takes place in at least four domains: (1) local governance structures, like local administration committees and other forms of community self-administration and government; (2) grassroots and indigenous civil society organizations, like unions, organization in defense of rights, and so on; (3) social movements and protest groups that confront the State; and (4) electoral participation

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which comprises electoral processes but also other processes of citizen participation where, for instance, leaders and social entrepreneurs are key components. In general, here when we have referred to indigenous representation, we have mainly addressed third and fourth domains, but it is important to bear in mind that indigenous political participation is actually wider than these spheres.

Self-Government Indigenous self-government and governance structures are forms of Non-State power. This type of political participation refers to the internal life of communities and in some occasions also of regions. These are the institutional arrangements, indigenous people develop and use to exert control over their resources; command and exert authority over others and influence their context and relations with other actors outside the community. Unfortunately, there is not a systematized academic work on this issue, and we would need an encyclopedia to actually account for the most common non-state power figures present in LA indigenous communities. Just take, for example, some particular forms relevant to the issues covered in this volume, like: the Fogatas and Traditional Government, in Cheran,1 and the Community Police2 in Guerrero Mexico; the Guardia Indígena in Colombia; the Rondas Campesinas and the Guardianes de las Lagunas in Peru;3 and certainly, the cabildos and resguardos in Colombia; and the self-declared Zapatista Autonomous

 Vis-à-vis the incapability of all levels of government to provide security to attend the rising pressures of organized crime the community of Cheran created a basic local indigenous police to defend forest from talamontes Local women based on their usos y costumbres (customs and traditions), cretated this pólice. Called Fogata because they velan toda la noche taking care of the town. They took arms to dephend themselves and Then after the population desconoció local municipal government and all political parties electing a High Council, the highest municipal authority. There are no more elections by parties, but rather via assemblies that choose their authorities. The braziers are an extension of the communal kitchens among the barricades; a space for neighbourhood gatherings, exchange and discussion, where that provide an important organizational expeerience, and decisión making is made. 2  The Coordination of Community Authorities–Community Police or Coordinadora Regional de Autoridades Comunitarias-Policía Comunitaria, CRAC-PC, was born in 1995, in Guerrero Mexico, to hand over the offenders to a Public Prosecutor. However, when indigenous people realized that Mexican judiciary system had many pits, they collectively decided to create the Houses of Justice (Casas de Justicia), which impose fines, and intend to reach an agreement between the conflicting parties, all in their own language. 3  In the Nasa’s Indigenous Guard, of the Nasa people in the Colombian Cauca, from 12 to 50 years of age, participate in the Escuela de Formación Política y Organizativa (School for Political and Organizational Training), and receive instruction in human rights and indigenous law. This selfgovernment structure is mainly a form of self-defence indigenous people have created to protect their communities and territories from extractive industries. 1

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Municipalities4 in Mexico, just to mention a few of them. All these are community self-government structures Latin American indigenous communities have developed in recent years to protect their communities and territories by intending to exert a community-based territorial control over organized crime and extractive industries.

Participation as Civil Society Another important aspect one needs to observe when studying indigenous people’s political participation is that indigenous groups prefer to politically participate in a collective fashion or corporative manner. This can be through grassroots community organizations, peasant associations, cooperatives or production-oriented associations, peasant unions, and/or the myriad of other associational forms that exist at community and local level in Latin America. Individual or isolated personal participation as in one person one vote, seems so far, not to be the preferred for the majority of indigenous groups, and/or may not even be well seen in some communities or appear awkward to some indigenous people. This type of association may be central for the consolidation of democracy, and with inter-communities and inter-groups association and networks may be important catalyzers for the development of agendas and parties afterward (Yashar, 2005). Actually, as the contributions to this volume show, this type of local or subnational organizations, nor necessarily created with a political objective have been central for networking and the building up of alliances that have much enriched the movements in different countries. Similarly, other non-indigenous organizations and movements have served to harbor indigenous associations. This, because of the alliances created, has much enhanced collective action, as well as the increasing indigenous social capital. Moreover, civil society in general also helped indigenous groups by creating public opinion and laying the groundwork with discussions on human and indigenous rights, as well as with debates on the environment, poverty alleviation, and democracy, thus paving the road with acceptance and legitimation. Furthermore, as the evidence provided in the previous chapters indicates, in countries with an absence of effective intermediation of political parties and strong indigenous cleavages, civil society worked as a second circle of representation for indigenous groups. This was the case of ECUARINARI (Ecuador Runancanapac Riccharimui, “Awakening of the Ecuadorian Indian”) and of the Andes CONFENAIE (Confederacion de Nacionalidades Indigenas de la Amazonia Ecuatoriana), consequently they both formed the CONAIE (Confedferacion de Nacionalidades Indigenas del Ecuador); the Kataristas, CIDOB (Confederacon Indigena del Oriente  In the Juntas de Buen Gobierno (Councils of Good Government) emerged in the five Zapatista regions or caracoles. Women and men are equally represented in the councils and are elected from among hundreds of members in the autonomous municipalities. The entire government team – up to 24 people in some caracoles –changes each week. 4

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Chaco y Amazonia); the Guatemalan case, Majawil Qìj, CONIC (Coordinadora Nacional Indigena y Campesina), and COMG (Consejo de Organizaciones Mayas), among others, that challenge the predominantly class based discourse of the popular movements. Thus, the analysis presented by the authors of this project also indicates that beyond differences regarding country, economic or political conditions, a key factor is the existence of vigorous grassroots social organizations backing indigenous movements. Evidence seems to indicate that when this happens, indigenous representation will tend to follow. Therefore, a measure that governments and international organizations could easily undertake is the fostering of indigenous grassroots organizations (even if they are not political), knowing that by so doing they will be giving a solid basement for leadership, organizational experiences, and also, for a more solid and responsive indigenous representation in the future.

Participation as Social Movement The contributors to this volume have largely analyzed participation, as social movements in their respective chapters. This was inevitable since Indigenous Social Movements are the basis for the negotiation and defense of ethnic interests and the vindication of indigenous rights in LA.  They are also the main form of relation between Indigenous groups and the States. Henceforth, from a review of this issue throughout the contributions of this volume, a particularly relevant common trend we could find in the region is that LA indigenous movements development challenges social movements theory. Theoretically, we know that social movements gradually wear down themselves from their emergence as anti-systemic actors until their normalization within the system. This is so because, as they achieve some of their demands, they lose their contending imprinting, giving pass to decaffeination of objectives and conventional practices, what generates more rigid structures and the emergence of a movement’s aristocracy. Theory states that this transformation from movement to an organization may actually menace the movement’s own survival. However, LA indigenous movements have contested this theory as they have performed rather differently. Though, it is true that there has been some institutionalization (specially in Bolivia and Ecuador), it has not made indigenous people give up on dissent, neither has it vanished its capacity for mobilization and resistance, and their endurance to protest and make themselves listened (see, Cuna, in this volume). On the contrary, it seems that after each achievement, they develop new tools to uphold and enlarge their rights, as legal mobilization for instance. Similarly, as there have been ideological and generational changes that have modified the understanding of the convenience or not of institutional participation, the movements have not lost their confrontational component and vigor in their demands for the transformation of the State (see, Resina, in this volume). Therefore, issues such as the construction of a multi-ethnic, multicultural and multilingual society, indigenous territorial autonomy, and ecological sustainable development have maintained

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the outsider character of many of their activities and mobilization strategies. Moreover, the indigenous movement in LA has shown a notable capacity of introspection, and a great ability to detect their own drawbacks vis-à-vis the State. The Movement has also exhibited an incredible capacity to take advantage of political opportunities, and to adapt accordingly their discourse, but upholding loyalty to their historic causes. By doing all this, they have managed to maintain their political action fluctuating between institutionalization and resistance, and therefore, keep their movement with one leg in a dynamic of political contention to advance and influence politics, and the other, into a logic of taking advantage of the institutional channels opened. Whereby, they have forced society to surpass the vision of indigenous people as a mere socio-cultural subject to an understanding of indigenous as a political actor.

Indigenous Political Representation Electoral participation and the forms it achieves when it becomes political representation have been largely discussed throughout the different chapters of this volume. Hereafter we briefly analyze some of the main common aspects found by the contributors to this volume. In most countries of the region, for a long time indigenous people, have had indigenous candidates inside political parties. However, these candidates have not necessarily represented the specific interest of their ethnic group. The elected Indigenous person, once in office became, more often than not, the ventriloquist dummy of the political party that postulated them; and/or, he/she also pledged his/ her agenda to the parties. This situation has changed at national level in countries like Bolivia and Ecuador, and it is starting to change in Colombia and to some extent in Guatemala. In other countries of the region, like Chile, Mexico, Peru, or Paraguay, this is also happening but more at the local level. Though this, very much limits the possibility of the establishment of a national agenda and whence the emergence of an indigenous national representation with real possibilities of vying, it may open up a new possibility for gaining political visibility, creating alliances, and later increasing representation. This is the case in Chile, where since 2013 local elected indigenous leaders created an organization in which all Mayors that identify as mapuche participate in AMCAM (Association of Municipalities with Mapuche Mayors). This organization has become very active representing mapuche and indigenous perspectives in the media. Furthermore, this association impulsed the creation in 2020 of an Association of all indigenous Mayors and Town Councilors, which met for the first time in January 2020 (see Tricot, this volume). The lack of apparent interest in Mestizo politics, in most countries of the region, is probably one of the reasons because of parties systems have long underestimated the importance of the ethnic component. Despite the growing numbers of indigenous people voting and that in some countries there is a strong indigenous militancy,

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like Guatemala, Peru, or Chile, the non-indigenous parties have not made an effort to really incorporate indigenous demands or to create spaces in their agendas to address the specificities of this group. Another central issue of particular importance is that indigenous parties are still very scarce in the region. With the exception of Bolivia and Ecuador, they are rather incipient in other countries. For instance, in the case of Mexico, which allegedly inhabit around 25 million indigenous people which self-perceive as indigenous (Vazquez, 2020), there are no national indigenous parties and only one regional party that gets close to zero votes in elections. One could hypothesize that it is easier for individuals with similar culture, like the Aymara for the Bolivian case, to organize in a party. However, Peru, with similar cultural diversity to Bolivia, could be a contrafactual case. Similarly one could think that territorial extension and the scattering of indigenous groups inhibits the formation of an indigenous agenda and therefore of an indigenous party, as was reported here for the case of Mexico (see Natal, this volume). If we compare this country to the case of Ecuador it may sound intuitive because of the large differences in extension and cultural diversity, but again, if we compare Ecuador to Guatemala, it is evident that this is not a valid hypothesis. It seems rather that the incapacity to produce a national or even a regional party is rooted in a number of endogenous and exogenous factors. Endogenous factors are issues related to the, lack of interest in mestizo electoral forms of politics, as we have analyzed; a preference for self-government and their own traditional forms of doing politics; disputes and probably divisions across indigenous groups, added to the cultural, language, and religious differences; and more importantly, the lack of a shared sense of indigenous identity among groups, that most often are scattered and sometimes even uncommunicated from each other. All these points may have hindered unity and therefore the emergence of indigenous national parties. Once said this, it is also important to recognize that currently in most LAs states, one can observe an increasing interaction between different indigenous groups. The confluence of demands that is flowing is allowing the formation of political common agendas, of alliances and of a common self-understanding as indigenous people as one political actor. These factors may enhance the will to participate and if there is leadership the vigor to jointly participate in elections. The emergence of indigenous political parties is central to political participation and increased representation, because as Trictot cites in the words of the indigenous leader Andrés Cayún, “trough our own political party we can achieve agreements with political parties, be part of coalitions that will offer us guarantees, but as equals, not as militants subordinated to party lines that are not our own” (see, Cayun, cited in Tricot, this volume). Regarding this issue, an element that can be highlighted from the cases reported here is that ideological concomitance plays a secondary role in the formation of indigenous parties. From a compared reading of the chapters of this volume, it seems that for indigenous people in Latin America, it is far more important the actual political project and certain specific common demands, that which party they are loyal to, or where allies position themselves between the right or left of the political spectrum. Moreover, as reported here for Peru and Mexico, sometimes

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parties participation in a local election is a question similar to franchising, where the local leader merely takes the party’s name to run for election, and his/her followers, vote for him/her regardless of the party (Natal, this volume; Espinoza, Janos and Mc Kay, this volume). Nonetheless, endogenous factors by themselves cannot account to explain for the lack of indigenous representation. With few exceptions, like Bolivia and to some extent Ecuador, nowadays political representation in the region is still meager. In most countries, as referred before, indigenous elected officers, when they exist, can be found mostly at community or local level, Municipal Boards or Departmental Boards. Besides Bolivia, until now the representation of indigenous peoples at the national level is extremely low and even non-existent in some of LA nations. Reasons for this can be casted in a number of areas. In this volume contributors presented a number of them that actually acted as barriers for entry and inhibited indigenous participation. To this we turn now.

 xogenous Factors that Limit Indigenous Participation E and Representation: Barriers of Entry The first barrier of entry is actually the collection of data on race and ethnicity in a number of countries in the region. The lack of indicators limits the visibility of indigenous peoples in social statistics and therefore they are not always considered in policy. Furthermore, as discussed here for the cases of Peru and Mexico, the use of diversity indicators and ethnic markers, and/or of a mixture of these, poses theoretical, empirical, and even democratic and other political problems, since there are no unified notions about who is and what means to be indigenous (see, Espinosa, Janos y Mac Kay, this volume; Natal, this volume). Lack of data in many countries accounts in part for the lack of policies directed toward the enhancement of the participation of indigenous people, as has been reported for Paraguay (Villalba, this volume). Another barrier is related to electoral registry, since most indigenous population in the region is undocumented. Large sectors of indigenous population have no identity documents, even when they are essential as identification for a number of official processes. In many countries the possession of a cedula, identity card or electoral card, is a precondition for (a) having a registration in the voters list, electoral registry, or Civic Registry (or padron electoral), (b) to actually exercise the right to vote the day of elections, or (c) to present a candidacy for elective positions. For indigenous populations, the difficulties in registering their identity and their subsequent inclusion in the electoral roll constitute a long-standing problem as reported for Paraguay and Mexico in this volume. The first problem is the registration process itself. This is not only wearisome, but as indigenous people have to travel several times to urban or more populated areas, the recurrent costs in terms of time and money, constitute a barrier of entry for a sector of the population generally

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under the poverty line (Villalba, this volume; Natal, this volume). This is why an easier access to documentation constitutes a constant claim of indigenous organizations. Likewise, if an indigenous person wants to register as candidate, all the processes and delivery of documentation must be carried out in electoral offices, which imply to deploy human and economic resources for the indigenous candidates. An easy-to-implement policy that can be extracted from the analysis of this volume discussions is the creation of mobile electoral-registry offices, a kind of gypsy-­ caravans, that can visit isolated indigenous communities. Language barriers should also be considered when attending to this issue. Many indigenous people may be willing to register as candidates, unfortunately they may find barriers of entry if they do not properly speak Spanish or may even not know how to write, as all requirements and paperwork need to be fulfilled in this language, as was reported for Paraguay (Villalba, this volume). Nevertheless, considerations about the cost of having personnel that speaks indigenous languages in electoral offices (if there is availability in the labor market) need also to be considered, since for the case of Mexico, this may imply a significant expenditure with more than 68 indigenous languages. Also as reported for Paraguay, but that certainly happens in a number of countries of the region, there is no precise data on the participation of indigenous peoples in elections. From the analysis of the contributions of this volume, one can argue that the Electoral Register must include mechanisms in the identity card and/or in the voting process, to get to know the ethnic condition of the voters (Villalba, this volume). Though, this may imply democratic and political problems that need to be solved out, this has been a recurrent claim of indigenous organizations that needs to be addressed. Undoubtedly, an indigenous electoral registry could contribute to count with more confident information on the electoral participation of indigenous peoples. Similar problems to that of the cedula or identity card are faced during the actual day of elections. The tendency to concentrate polling stations in cities seriously jeopardizes the attendance of Indigenous people to elections, as has been reported for Guatemala (Barragan, this volume). Moreover, it is important to consider avoiding the scheduling of elections, during harvest season or days of traditional indigenous festivities. In the same vain, in most countries of the region, legal requirements make it difficult for indigenous populations to register parties, not only for the reasons highlighted above, like distance to the registration office and language barriers, but also because of institutional discrimination. Here the problems are several, among the most relevant we can highlight are: First, current electoral regulations do not contemplate independent candidacies for all levels of government, what forces indigenous people that want to apply for a candidacy to approach an existing political party and therefore accept its conditions. It would be very simple for most countries of the region to recognize independent candidacies at all levels, especially in indigenous areas to facilitate participation and indigenous representation. Second, most electoral regulations in the region establish a minimum number of supporters to

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accept the register of a political party or an independent candidate. For indigenous people it may be more difficult to achieve the required number of supporters due to means of communication, scattered communities and because – as simple as that – in their region there is not such a number of indigenous citizens that can become adherents or sympathizers. These problems are paramount if we talk of a presidential candidate, even when supported by other organizations or movements, as was reported here for Mexico in the case of the presidential elections of 2018 (see Natal, this volume). Therefore, complex or excessive requirements make it difficult for indigenous people to meet the standards to register a candidate or a political party (see also Tricot, this volume); but to low down requirements in order to facilitate the entrance of indigenous people, should not represent a major problem for any of the countries of the region, given that there is political will, to advance indigenous representation.

Promising Experiences Explored Before finishing this section it is important to mention what seems to have worked to actually bypass some of these barriers. There are cases of particular relevance worth to analyze in the same region. For instance, though still exist a large inequality of opportunities, the Colombian case is worth to look closely. In this Country, after municipal reforms of 1986, the number of participants passed from 34 candidates and 22 elected officials to 20,511 candidates and 1918 elected officials in 2019. In the same manner, after the reform in the electoral system implemented in 2003, the number of registered candidates for the Senate has significantly increased passing from 3 Indigenous contenders in 199, to up to 30 in 2014. Moreover, probably as a consequence of electoral requirements, Colombian Indigenous people are now more open to build-up political alliances; whereby, are becoming more capable to elaborate a shared agenda and leadership with trajectory inside the Indigenous movement. This is bringing together and consolidating indigenous organizations regionally and nationally. It can’t be denied that reforms have contributed to introduce changes on indigenous strategies to vie for positions, and motivated other non-­ indigenous political forces to include some of indigenous claims in their agenda, so as to gain cleavages within the growing indigenous electorate (see, Laurent, in this volume). Another option to increase indigenous representation is the affirmative action quotas. There is much discussion on the need to facilitate the participation of indigenous peoples through affirmative action mechanism. This can take the form of electoral quotas, reserved seats, special constituencies, or exceptional electoral thresholds. These inclusive electoral systems have the objective to counteract biases for participation of disadvantaged or marginalized social groups, when they face barriers of entry in the regular channels of the electoral systems. This is done by establishing fix quotas, special requirements, and/or a preferential treatment for excluded population groups, in order to accelerate their access to political

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decision-­making positions. Though it is true that affirmative action mechanisms may increase representation and are indeed a mean to express multiculturalism, they also have a caveat. In some regions of Peru, for instance, the 2002 law established that political parties must reserve 15% of their congressional lists for candidates of indigenous descent. However, the political parties comply with the application of the quota, without this implying a real commitment or intention to really represent these groups (Espinosa, Janos and Mac Kay, this volume). Though more compared studies need to be made, the comparison between Colombia and Peru cases, as presented in this volume, seems to suggest that a system of incentives and an enhancing regulatory framework may act as a more effective catalyzer than affirmative action mechanisms (see Laurent this volume; Espinosa, Janos and Mac Kay, this volume). Furthermore, an additional requirement for being elected for the Senate in the Colombian case was that the candidate must have exercised a position of traditional authority in his/her respective community or have been leader of an Indigenous organization. This could significantly empower leaders with a strong connection with community grassroots organizations and needs. However, the fact that state authorities were to sanction that these requirements are met may either help to guarantee effective representation; or if corrupted, it may serve only to let pass those candidates close to, or manipulable by, the government. Thus, close attention needs to be paid to this ongoing experience. Another aspect that may be of much interest for compared politics are the cases of Bolivia and Mexico, which may have important lessons to teach. These two cases could not be more different. On one hand Bolivia, with widespread and well-­ developed mechanisms of indigenous participation, and on the other Mexico, with a very incipient, not yet fully structured and feeble indigenous participation. In both there have been important constitutional reforms. In both countries indigenous movements have a long history of mobilization and other collective action strategies, like the Katarist in the 1970s and the Zapatist in the middle 1990s. Nonetheless, while in Bolivia there was unity and, little by little but consistently, the indigenous movement started to get involved in politics, in Mexico the process has been rather slow and meager. Consequently, the parallel reading of the other contributions for this volume may prima-fascia indicate that: the sooner a country develops institutional arrangements, specifically legislation and (no less importantly) regulation, and opens up the possibilities for participation and real representation of indigenous people, the sooner a buoyant indigenous agenda follows, as well as the flourishment of indigenous party(ies), and whereby of an indigenous vote. While countries, which resist – like Mexico – the democratization of the system, this process is less vigorous. This may indicate that, at least in some cases within Latin America, legislative reforms are helping to impulse indigenous participation and representation. It is not that there was not an indigenous vote before, or that the indigenous had no interest to participate; but rather, what the evidence brought to light by authors in this volume suggests, is that the opening of channels boosts the process. Evidence seems to indicate that at least for the Latin American indigenous people, the opening of political opportunities for representation – even if insufficient – gives rise to a series of

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steps that increasingly empower them. These steps, which are not clear-cut and can intermingle and/or be given simultaneously could be summarized in the following: 1. New legislation fosters the construction of common agenda and interlinkage between indigenous groups and organizations, what therefore creates an indigenous vote. 2. The development of an agenda makes indigenous demands become more visible to public opinion, and arises interest in other political mestizo parties for ­developing cleavages in indigenous population. Both things facilitate the bring up of demands to institutional channels, like Congress. 3. The emergence of common interests fosters the building-up of alliances and of indigenous political party(ies). As indigenous people become actors in the political electoral scenery, like has happened in countries like Bolivia and Ecuador, the indigenous movement and organizations may enrich their historic ethnic and cultural demands with others more appealing to the citizenry at large. Thus, they may become opinionated on issues like strengthen participatory democracy, promote a solidarity economy, or support initiatives in favor of peace, agrarian reforms or environmental protection. This interests enhancement will make them to participate in discussions alongside national issues and therefore more actively involve themselves in the country public life (see, Cuna, this volume; Resina, this volume). The other way around is not as positive. Evidence also indicates that, where there are no windows of opportunity for participation or effective legislation, different forms of outsider indigenous politics arise, as self-government, radicalized groups and even, in occasion, militias and violent movements. This phenomenon, the radicalization of some groups, can be more and more currently observed in several countries of the region.

Future Challenges The previous chapters have made a precise detection of field problems and have been very illuminating in pinpointing some critical issues, that could easily be taken up by politicians, congressmen, and policy makers, in order to improve or bring about effective regulations to politically empower indigenous leaders, communities, and groups. The analysis presented here may also provide political parties with better information on how to make decisions when participating in elections within/ involving indigenous communities. It also brings an outsider perspective to indigenous activists and movements, about how some of the recent measures and mechanisms implemented to bring about indigenous representation have actually worked. Summarizing these efforts, we briefly will reiterate on some of the more important critical points that may emerge in the future, even if substantial indigenous representation actually becomes a reality.

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One main aspect that the movement needs to bear in mind, and that appears as a leit-motive throughout all the chapters of this volume, is that indigenous people inclusion and political representation to be real and significant, necessarily implying a profound transformation of the structures of each LA state and society. What is needed is not only political will and effective legislation, but also a cultural transformation that expels racism and discrimination from all sectors of society. This needs not only a frontal tackling of any form of racism, exclusion, and inherited constructions of social roles and collective stereotypes, but also awareness on how in everyday actions mestizo Latin-American citizens play down and exclude, most of the times non-consciously, indigenous people. Such a cultural shift would necessarily also imply: the recognition beyond individual rights and honesty about LA nation’s ethnic diversity; a reparation policy, that finishes with all dispossessions and decisively confronts poverty (Tricot, this volume). Only when this could be achieved, we could be optimistic about a real and significant indigenous representation. Project consultation and permit from indigenous communities is nowadays, with varying degrees, a law requirement in most LA nations. Nevertheless, the realization of consultations not always takes place, due to lack of political will, corruption, and secrecy. However, politicians should not see project consultation with fear, since it could reduce some social problems within certain type of industries like mining. Moreover, when exist an accepted communal leadership, communities could present a more united front, and be capable to alter sensitive parts of projects like access and use of water, and obtain certain benefits like preferential jobs, roads, or special schools. Nonetheless, this point – the right to be consulted – is problematic, because when a government – even if it is an indigenous one (like was reported like here for Evo Morales) – has to make decisions between communal rights and promising national development projects, it is very probable they decide to go for the later (see Cuna, this volume; Tricot, this volume). In this sense the indigenous movement and representatives need to be very aware that politicians could merely use the indigenous cause as a form of legitimization, a performance through which administrations try to validate their policy priorities. Or in the best case, that when trying to encompass all of the diversity of the indigenous world politicians end up actually blurring the multiplicity of each group’s needs. For this reason, indigenous participation should not be understood merely as electoral participation or the gaining of representation, but rather as a trigger of a broader cultural change in their societies, as we have argued above. Another future challenge relates to the dictatorship of majorities. Even if indigenous parliamentarians effectively get into Congress, they will still be a minority versus the powerful mestizo majority. The risk could be then, that indigenous participation would be reduced only to formal inclusion, and indigenous representation would serve only to legitimize the system. On the other hand, once in Congress, indigenous parties will need unavoidably to make alliances and negotiate with other parties. This issue needs special attention from indigenous parties and their electorates. As the party would need to avoid the

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copying of wicked practices that plague traditional LA parties. Issues like corruption, opportunism, clientelism, the privileging of personal agendas, information traffic, lack of accountability, and so on may disenchant indigenous people and take away their interest on politics, if they start to happen. A particular difficult conundrum is how to reconcile customary institutions with liberal ones. This is already an issue, as was reported here for the chapter on Bolivia, the case of Zongo, where indigenous authorities that had expropriated a mine were afterward accused of theft and got arrested (Cuna, this volume); or the case of Cheran Mexico, where traditional authorities deposed a woman, that had been democratically elected, for “going against” the uses and traditions of the community. In this same vein another challenge that faces indigenous representation is how the indigenous groups will find a way of pushing for the expansion of their collective rights, like autonomy and land recognition, without conflicting with the liberal constitutions of their home nations. In other words, how to reconcile collective rights with individual rights. Another challenge for the movement is how to increase political participation of indigenous women. For instance, in Peru though women do actively participate in grassroots indigenous organizations such as Comedores Populares or Clubes de Madres, they however, get lesser involved in other community political affairs and even less in conventional political participation (Espinosa, Janos and Mac Kay, this volume). Nonetheless, there are hopeful signs that indicate that indigenous people will manage to reduce this gap, as reported for Mexico, maybe the machiest country in the region. There, the indigenous movement recently elected Marichuy, an indigenous women as pre-candidate for the presidency, and also had a woman as co-­leader of the Zapatist army, the Commander Ramona (see Natal, this volume). Finally, one issue to which the movement should pay constant attention to is that institutionalization and increased political representation do not decaffeinate them, as is the normal process for social movements. The challenge is for the movement to preserve their capacity of contest, particularly in terms of mobilization and resistance strategies. Though there are hopeful signs that the movement will sort successfully this out, the possibility still exists. Therefore, this issue is something to which constant attention should be paid off.

Final Words This book is about big issues in small places. It chronicles the dynamics of indigenous people in their fight to have political rights. We resisted the temptation, though, to present idealized portraits of the good savage, but tried to understand indigenous people as subjects with agency inserted in complex arenas, with plural and diffuse identities, socially constructed and dynamic. In this volume, indigenous people are citizens living in a particularly complex world where their internal social relations and culture determine many of their choices and much of their behavior, but that are

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also framed by larger contexts of collective political marginalization, migration choices, and personal decisions on how to deal with poverty, among others. By so doing, this book detaches from radical primordialists blind to cultural change, and framed in idealized ideas and a fear to development, that most indigenous people would hardly support. We also depart from simple rational and structuralist explanations, that cannot think that indigenous people may have other incentive than leaving poverty. In different chapters, we discuss some of these approaches and, though, we do not refute them entirely, the authors of this volume showed how, some of them overlook important problems that arise if effective representation wants to be brought about. In the preceding chapters, we strictly confront these theoretical arguments with recent data and empirical evidence. By so doing, we updated and reinvigorated the unfairly forgotten, but still much needed discussion on indigenous representation. Authors did so by dissecting and examining different forms of representation in order to understand when they do and when they do not, work to effectively represent indigenous people’s interests. By so doing, authors also unveiled power relations and cleavages, and how they articulate or not with larger regional and national politics. These dynamics are essential to our understanding of indigenous politics. Hopefully, this volume will bring insights into the successes and failures of effective indigenous political representation in LA. This understanding will help us to better inform on the mechanisms, procedures, and circumstances that may lead to construct more effective regulations and structures to foster indigenous political representation in the future. Though, today’s results are very mixed and opinions divided, the analysis of the different cases of study in this book intends to encourage the fostering of indigenous political participation and the nurturing of effective representation mechanisms, while reducing negative externalities and barriers to the political empowerment of indigenous people. We close these final comments, remembering that Latin American societies are multiracial. Though this may sound as restating the obvious, it is important to reiterate it since ethnic, racial, and cultural categories are not only analytical boundaries between groups, but actually socio-cultural precincts, where one can observe distinct manners to think, approach, and exercise power. As discussed here before, the construction of the Latin American nations was fostered by a white supremacist elite. Thus, liberal speech apart, many of the institutions of LA states were built to perpetuate the exclusion and domination over indigenous people. This, added to the permanence of a racist culture brought both worlds unable to collaborate with each other. This is why in LA, relations between indigenous people with the State, political parties, and society in general are in constant tension. This, also explains why indigenous people have never been considered relevant political actors, their agendas have not been institutionalized by the party system, and ethnic cleavages have not really developed in all countries of the region. Whereby, ethnic politics remain subordinated to supra-political mestizo dynamics and the indigenous problem, remains a low-status conflict, an issue of secondary importance for LA politics. Thus, it is our contend that the “indigenous problem” is actually the Mestizo society with its rancid racist culture and political taboos that have historically

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plagued Latin American nations and that still pervade to this very days. Nonetheless, we are confident that indigenous people will manage to overcome this heavy burden and claim their righteous place in their societies with assertiveness and in harmony. Hopefully, mestizo society will be clever enough to peaceably accept it.

Reference Vazquez Correa, L. (2020). Representacion Politica y Acciones Afirmativas indígenas: la Agenda pendiente. Direccion General de Analisis Leislativo. Instituto Belisario Dominguez. Yashar, D. (2005). Contesting Citizenship in Latin America: The Rise of the Indigenous Movements and the Post Liberal Challenge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fuenzalida, F. (2009). La agonía del Estado-Nación: poder, raza y etnia en el Perú contemporáneo. Lima: Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Perú. Alejandro Natal has PhD in Development Studies (London School of Economics, UK). He is a former fullbright scholar, McNamara fellow, and scholar at the El Colegio Mexiquense, Mexico. He is also a member of the Mexican National System of Researchers (SNI). Adrián Albala holds PhD in Political Science (Sorbonne University, Paris III, France) and is an assistant professor of Political Science at the Institute of Political Science of the University of Brasília (IPOL/ UnB), Brazil.

Index

B Bolivia, 2–4, 8–10, 12–16, 19, 23–47, 64, 75, 139, 182, 201, 204, 222, 237, 241–244, 247, 248, 250 C Chile, 5, 14, 15, 18, 19, 181–197, 208, 242, 243 Citizenry, 5, 248 Civil society, 1, 3–6, 8, 10, 14, 17, 83, 99, 137, 142, 159, 238, 240–241 Colombia, 2, 14, 15, 18, 19, 93–123, 237, 239, 242, 247 Constitution making, 182, 185, 207 E Ecuador, 2, 3, 5, 8, 10, 12–16, 19, 51–70, 182, 204, 222, 237, 240–244, 248 Ethnic identities, 7, 13, 14, 19, 24, 28–35, 37, 44, 114, 129, 144, 149, 158, 170, 236 G Guatemala, 2–5, 10, 12–15, 18, 19, 75–89, 137, 139, 201, 237, 242, 243, 245 I Indigenous, 1, 23, 51, 75, 93, 167, 182, 201 Indigenous movements, 2–4, 9, 16–18, 26, 32, 33, 51–70, 76, 87, 88, 96, 101, 106, 108–111, 113, 114, 116–122, 131, 137, 138, 148, 149, 158, 185, 196,

203, 205, 233, 238, 241, 242, 246–250 Indigenous political parties, 131, 243, 248 Indigenous political representation, 1–19, 61–65, 75–89, 129–161, 172–174, 217, 234, 242–244, 251 Indigenous politics, 24–28, 35–43, 47, 121, 131, 189, 204, 234, 238–244, 248, 251 Indigenous representation, 1, 3–6, 17–19, 35, 59, 61, 69, 77, 83–85, 87, 100, 102, 110, 111, 130–132, 141, 147, 149–153, 156, 159–161, 168, 182, 188, 192, 194, 197, 207, 225, 238, 239, 241, 244–246, 248–251 Indigenous self-government, 38, 204, 239 Indigenous social movements, 8, 14, 18, 87, 97–99, 116, 241 Institutionalization of the representation, 14, 15, 19 L Latin America, 1–19, 23–47, 51, 69, 75, 89, 94, 129, 134, 139, 155, 158, 182, 187, 201, 234–238, 240, 243, 247 M Mapuche movement, 181, 185, 186, 189, 196 Mayas, 76, 85, 88, 129, 132, 134, 135, 137, 141, 241 Mestiza culture, 5 Mexico, 2–4, 10, 12–15, 17, 19, 129–161, 237, 239, 240, 242–247, 250

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254 Multiculturalism, 7, 80–82, 100, 121, 122, 177, 183, 185, 196, 221, 222, 247 N Non-party system, 85 P Pachakutik, 16, 33, 51–53, 57, 58, 62–66, 69, 182 Paraguay, 14, 15, 19, 27, 167–178, 237, 242, 244, 245 Peace accords, 18, 79, 89 Peru, 3–5, 8, 10, 12–16, 19, 23, 25, 30, 139, 201–228, 239, 242–244, 247, 250 Plurinationalism, 44

Index Plurinational State, 16, 24, 35, 38, 44–46, 65, 69, 87 Political representation, 2, 6, 8, 13–15, 17, 18, 79, 117, 140, 154, 159, 167–178, 182, 187–195, 203, 208, 224, 225, 227, 234, 242, 244, 249, 250 Public institutions, 51, 82, 94, 100, 130, 171 V Vote behaviour, 118 Vote strategy, 108, 110, 193, 219 Z Zapatism, 139–145