Lauren Vandivier is a first-year majoring in Economics.
“La Tierra es nuestra madre y está enferma. A diferencia de los demás seres vivos, los seres humanos somos los únicos que estamos hechos y obligados a protegerla.”
“The Earth is our mother and she is sick. Unlike other living beings, we humans are the only ones who are made and obliged to protect her.”
These words, spoken by an Arhuacan activist, reflect the sad reality of the Indigenous quest for climate justice in Latin America: the Earth is under attack, and their voices are often the only ones speaking up to save it. The Indigenous population in Latin America is large and diverse: it consists of 42 million people spanning 33 countries and speaking around 560 languages. From the eclectic offerings of the Aymara people’s “witch market” in La Paz to the elaborate textiles of the Mapuche people of Patagonia, Latin American Indigenous groups have maintained a rich cultural diversity despite centuries of colonial repression. The 21st century heralded new advances for Indigenous communities, including the expansion of public school systems and gradual inclusion in the political sphere in many countries. With these expansions came a greater space for Indigenous voices through protest. Although these advances have been made, disparities between Indigenous people and non-Indigenous people persist, and they have become more pronounced as a result of the re-emergence of the extreme right in Latin America. According to World Bank economic data, Indigenous people earn significantly less than their non-Indigenous counterparts, and violence against Indigenous activists is on the rise, along with anti-Indigenous rhetoric and policies. In response to this host of injustices, protests by Indigenous students, farmers, and others affected by these policies have escalated in recent years.
21st century Indigenous activism in Latin America did not emerge in a vacuum. Even so, when reading through the histories of various Indigenous protests, I did not expect to find that the root causes of many of these earlier protests are eerily similar to those in the present. I assumed that modern-day protests would be rooted in modern-day problems, more removed from the challenges experienced by pre-revolutionary Indigenous populations under Spanish rule. But while Indigenous communities have become significantly more vocal about newer environmental issues and the increasingly pressing nature of climate change, these protests are, at their core, responding to the same issues that plagued Indigenous communities in the 1700s. Indigenous peoples continue to fight forces that have been encroaching on their land since the Spanish first arrived.
Background of Indigenous protests
Indigenous protest in Latin America emerged as early as the very arrival of Spanish colonists. The early 18th century saw a series of significant protests against Spanish colonialism: there was the 1709 insurrection led by Pablo Presbere in what is now Costa Rica, an indigenous revolt against Spanish missions which forcibly enslaved and converted natives en masse. Presbere, the Indigenous King of the Sincé community, began his revolt in response to Spanish orders to forcibly transfer his people to another settlement through the violent appropriation of their land. Presbere and his tribe led a violent uprising against Spanish missions on their land which, while ultimately unsuccessful, served as an example for the stakes and challenges of Indigenous revolt. In particular, it revealed the now-common tension between moneyed foreign interests and Indigenous refusal to relinquish their rightfully held land.
The early 19th century, of course, was defined by the Latin American Independence movements and is most known for the political resistance of well-born and highly-educated leaders like Simon Bolívar. Bolívar was born into a wealthy family of Spanish descent, and his nation-building political project does not figure particularly well into the native Latin American resistance movements of the same period. In 1820, Indigenous Maya peoples in modern-day Guatemala conducted the Totonicapán Uprising against Spanish officials in response to a punitive tribute for staying on their own land. Much like modern movements, the uprising began with organized protests in the central plaza and even led to a government led by Indigenous people for 20 days. It was a turning point in the Spanish occupation of Guatemala.
Present-day protests
Both the 18th century Costa Rican and 19th century Guatemalan examples share a common motivation with more recent protests throughout Latin America—the retention of native lands. Pablo Presbere’s revolt came as a result of Spanish attempts to take his community off of their native land, and the Totonicapán Uprising emerged from the conversion of Indigenous land into a commodity. The commodification of land has only become more common in recent years, and the issue is at the heart of present-day environmental protests. Plans for the Chepete-El Bala hydroelectric project in Bolivia, for example, drew much attention from environmental activists—the project would have displaced more than 5,000 Indigenous people from their homes. Not only would those living in the impacted regions be displaced, but the hydroelectric dam would flood the entire valley: they would never even be able to see their homes again. This case reveals the multigenerational span of Indigenous protest: Indigenous peoples in Bolivia have been protesting the erection of this dam since the late 1990s, holding traditional demonstrations and marches to object to the project which would supposedly make Bolivia an energy powerhouse—continuing to reduce Indigenous land to a source of wealth as opposed to a living entity. And this opposition is not just in Bolivia: in Ecuador, for example, Nina Gualinga, an environmental activist, has been fighting to keep petroleum drilling and mining companies off of Indigenous land, traveling to COP22 to speak about the impact of carbon emissions on the Amazon.
While earlier Indigenous protests had a clearer political impulse (resisting colonial forces) and modern-day protests seem more rooted in the impact of climate change on their communities, both movements share the central fixation on the preservation and retention of land. In the long term, as long as corporate greed spurs efforts to take over Indigenous land, and new issues such as rising sea levels impact coastal groups, we are likely to continue to see these protests.
Two sides to the environmental issue
Even as many Indigenous groups have organized widespread protests to protect their land from petroleum drilling and mining, this does not represent the mindset of all Indigenous protestors. Nina Gualinga and the current president of Ecuador, Daniel Noboya, are trying to prevent the continuation of heavy petroleum drilling in Ecuador, albeit for different reasons. Noboya believes that petroleum is no longer profitable for Ecuador, and has begun to inflate its prices. Gualinga would like to protect her native land from the disruption caused by petroleum mining, and more generally, from the environmental ramifications that come from the use of dirty energy. Many Indigenous people in Ecuador stand with Gualinga, but not all; there have been various clashes between Indigenous groups who prioritize the planet and those who prioritize their livelihoods, especially within a community that already faces systemic economic disadvantages. Petroleum is an important resource for Indigenous farmers, with agriculture being one of the top sectors for work, and is needed to allow for the transportation of farming resources and products, making a rise in petroleum prices devastating. Drilling would almost certainly have a great impact on these farmers’ land as it could lead to displacement and cause ruin to the ground that they sow.
Where will protests go in the future?
Taking the long view of Indigenous protest for land rights in Latin America, it is clear that Indigenous groups will continue to fight for a seat at the table in land-management, public works, and development discussions. It is imperative that Latin American governments listen to their indigenous populations: temporary, “Band-Aid solutions” are not enough for an age of climate disaster and displacement, and will only lead to further unrest.
In 2010, a group of Kichwa activists opened a case with the Inter-American Court of Human Rights to prevent oil companies from drilling on their land, leading to a victory for Indigenous Ecuadorians. Thanks to the efforts of Indigenous policymakers, the Ecuadorian government is now required to consult Indigenous communities before approving any projects on their land. Though this indicates some progress, much work remains to be done in Ecuador, where Indigenous communities do not yet have enough power at the negotiating table. In 2023, Ecuadorians voted overwhelmingly to halt oil drilling in the Yasuní National Park, but it took over a year for the government to actually begin halting operations. Rather than only briefly consulting Indigenous groups for approval after projects have been made, Latin American governments should grant them platforms for input in policymaking to prevent the creation of disruptive projects in the first place. In recent years, Indigenous participation has increased in Latin American governments due to new legislation that guarantees a level of representation for Indigenous politicians. However, these policies are often loosely enforced and some have even been repealed, such as in Argentina under President Javier Milei. For Indigenous peoples to finally see real change as a result of their protests, there must be a fundamental restructuring of political institutions to ensure they have a meaningful say in the decisions that affect their land and communities. Only then can Latin American nations begin to heal the wounds of colonialism.
by Lauren Vandivier
