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TORRESWONG The Indigenous Right to Self-Determination in Extractivist Economies
International norms widely recognize the Indigenous right
to self-determination by which Indigenous peoples define
and pursue their collective aspirations. Nevertheless, as
progressive as legal frameworks might appear, in reality few
Indigenous communities enjoy this right and most remain
vulnerable and disempowered. Activists blame Latin America’s
extractivist economies, while governments argue that extractive
revenues are necessary to improve Indigenous life. Far from
presenting a unified position, rural Indigenous peoples are
most often divided over extractive industries. To assess how
Indigenous self-determination has progressed, and the role that
extractivism plays in this, this Element examines six Indigenous
communities in Mexico, Bolivia, and Peru with contrasting
experiences of extractive projects. It finds that the Indigenous
ability to use favorable legislation in conjunction with available
economic resources shapes dierent self-determination
outcomes. Finally, it assesses Indigenous possibilities for
self-determination in the light of environmental activism and
discourses on Buen Vivir.
About the Series
Latin American politics and society are at
a crossroads, simultaneously confronting
serious challenges and remarkable
opportunities that are likely to be shaped
by formal institutions and informal
practices alike. The Elements series on
Politics and Society in Latin America oers
multidisciplinary and methodologically
pluralist contributions on the most
important topics and problems
confronted by the region.
Series Editors
Maria Victoria
Murillo
Columbia University
Tulia G. Falleti
University of
Pennsylvania
Juan Pablo Luna
The Pontifical
Catholic University
of Chile
Andrew Schrank
Brown University
Politics and Society
in Latin America
The Indigenous Right
to Self-Determination
in Extractivist
Economies
Marcela Torres-Wong
Cover image: © Daniela Gil García/behance.net/DanielaGilGarcia ISSN 2515-5253 (online)
ISSN 2515-5245 (print)
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Elements in Politics and Society in Latin America
edited by
Maria Victoria Murillo
Columbia University
Tulia G. Falleti
University of Pennsylvania
Juan Pablo Luna
The Pontifical Catholic University of Chile
Andrew Schrank
Brown University
THE INDIGENOUS RIGHT
TO SELF-DETERMINATION
IN EXTRACTIVIST
ECONOMIES
Marcela Torres-Wong
Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
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DOI: 10.1017/9781009410861
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https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
The Indigenous Right to Self-Determination
in Extractivist Economies
Elements in Politics and Society in Latin America
DOI: 10.1017/9781009410861
First published online: May 2023
Marcela Torres-Wong
Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences
Author for correspondence: Marcela Torres-Wong, marcela.torres@flacso
.edu.mx
Abstract: International norms widely recognize the Indigenous right to
self-determination by which Indigenous peoples define and pursue
their collective aspirations. Nevertheless, as progressive as legal
frameworks might appear, in reality few Indigenous communities enjoy
this right and most remain vulnerable and disempowered. Activists
blame Latin America’s extractivist economies, while governments argue
that extractive revenues are necessary to improve Indigenous life. Far
from presenting a unified position, rural Indigenous peoples are most
often divided over extractive industries. To assess how Indigenous
self-determination has progressed, and the role that extractivism plays
in this, this Element examines six Indigenous communities in Mexico,
Bolivia, and Peru with contrasting experiences of extractive projects. It
finds that the Indigenous ability to use favorable legislation in
conjunction with available economic resources shapes different
self-determination outcomes. Finally, it assesses Indigenous
possibilities for self-determination in the light of environmental
activism and discourses on Buen Vivir.
This Element also has a video abstract: Cambridge.org/The Indigenous Right
to Self-Determination in Extractivist Economies_Torres-Wong
Keywords: Indigenous, communities, self-determination, extractivism,
environmentalism
© Marcela Torres-Wong 2023
ISBNs: 9781009410908 (PB), 9781009410861 (OC)
ISSNs: 2515-5253 (online), 2515-5245 (print)
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
1 Introduction
In 2020, Santiago Manuin, a Peruvian Indigenous leader and activist, died of
COVID-19 in a hospital in Chiclayo city hundreds of miles from his hometown
of Santa Maria de Nieva, an Indigenous locality in the Amazonas region. After
fighting the disease for several days, Santiago was transferred from a hospital in
the city of Bagua that had limited medical capabilities in order to obtain
adequate treatment. His son declared to the press that his father had died due
to the indifference of the state: “it is sad to see Amazonian people die in the very
lungs of the planet due to the lack of oxygen”(Modino 2020). Like Santiago,
thousands of Indigenous peoples in Latin America have lost their lives due to
inadequate medical care (Cepal 2020).
In 2009, Santiago Manuin led the Baguazo protest against attempts by Alan
García, then president of Peru, to promote hydrocarbon extraction in
Amazonia; he was shot and wounded, but survived the attack. Manuin
believed that Indigenous communities should not become the allies of extract-
ive companies in exchange for profit. He dedicated much of his life to
searching for alternative funding to bring health care and education to his
people (Servindi 2015). Today, more than half of Latin America’sIndigenous
populations have migrated to urban areas in search of better living conditions,
yet they are subject to discrimination and likely to have low-paid jobs (World
Bank 2013). Meanwhile, those peoples still living in rural communities face
the dilemma of rejecting a state that imposes a development model that differs
from their own or accepting the model in exchange for resources to cope with
the multiple adversities they face on a daily basis (Henriksen 2001).
Extractivism is a defining feature of this model, which depends on the expan-
sion of natural resource exploitation as a key driver of national economic
growth (Svampa 2019;Gudynas 2015).
In Latin America, both left- and right-leaning governments promote extract-
ive industries at the expense of Indigenous natural environments (Svampa 2019;
Gouritin 2018;Veltmeyer and Petras 2014). Extractivist economies are organ-
ized around the maximization of revenue through the extraction and exportation
of commodities (Durante et al. 2021). Large-scale mining, oil and gas drilling,
dams, highways, waterways, and, more recently, renewable energy industries
and agrobusiness jeopardize the livelihoods of Indigenous communities all
across the subcontinent (Animal Político 2020;Svampa 2019;Anaya 2010).
Against this backdrop, COVID-19 is just another threat that Indigenous com-
munities must face, together with alarming poverty, climate vulnerability,
criminalization, and violence (Global Witness 2020;International Labour
Organization 2020).
1The Indigenous Right to Self-Determination
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Santiago Manuin’s life is one example of the harsh conditions under which
Indigenous leaders must operate in the fight for their rights. These conditions
taint the enthusiasm of activists and scholars for the victories secured by the
transnational Indigenous movement ensuring the recognition of their right to
self-determine their collective future (Lightfoot 2016). The adoption of
International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention 169 in 1989 was
a watershed for policies typically used by national governments to address
Indigenous rights. In contrast with integrationist approaches, the ILO recog-
nized a wide range of rights based upon the Indigenous condition of peoples
entitled to the protection of their territories, cultural identities, religions, and
political institutions. In 2007, the United Nations’Declaration on the Rights of
Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) explicitly incorporated the right to self-
determination which had been denied by several countries. By virtue of this
right, Indigenous populations can freely determine their political status and
pursue their economic, social, and cultural development. The Declaration also
states that in exercising this right, they may enjoy autonomy or self-government
in matters relating to their internal and local affairs, as well as regarding the
ways and means of financing their autonomous functions (United Nations 2007,
Articles 3 and 4). In 2016, the Organization of American States (OAS) also
recognized self-determination in the American Declaration on the Rights of
Indigenous Peoples (Article III of OAS Declaration; see OAS [2016]).
In reaction to international recognition of Indigenous rights, legal scholars,
anthropologists, and political ecologists have produced an extensive literature
documenting how Indigenous rights are persistently violated by governments
and extractive companies in Latin America and elsewhere in the postcolonial
world (Scheidel et al. 2020; Gutiérrez and Del Pozo 2019; Gouritin 2018;
Temper et al. 2015). However, few studies analyze comparatively how disen-
franchised Indigenous communities can take ownership of extant legal frame-
works and available resources to actually improve life in their territories. This
Element aims to fill that void.
So how can Indigenous peoples in countries where extractivism prevails
exercise their right to self-determination? During the 1990s and guided by the
spirit of ILO Convention 169, many Latin American governments introduced
constitutional reforms that recognized the multicultural composition of their
countries and emphasized the rights of Indigenous peoples.
1
Increasing
Indigenous claims for collective rights also prompted some governments to
pass specific legislation enabling Indigenous peoples to use their customary law
1
Multiculturalism attempted to solve the problem of discrimination against minorities by recog-
nizing these groups’rights to be treated as distinctive peoples entitled to collective as well as
individual rights (Kymlicka 1995).
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to elect representatives, administer justice according to their cultural values, and
use their political institutions to administer their lands and resources, among
other rights (Lucero 2013;Van Cott 2006). However, even when governments
have recognized rights on paper, most neither created regulations nor distrib-
uted the necessary resources to implement these rights (Burguette 2013;
Martínez Novo 2013;Hale 2002).
Several anthropologists studying Latin American Indigenous movements
have concluded that multicultural reforms were functional for neoliberal pol-
icies. These scholars emphasize that while Indigenous cultural rights were
legally recognized these reforms did not address structural inequalities, which
carried the risk of demobilizing Indigenous movements (Gustafson 2009; Hale
2002;Povinelli 2002;Tapia 2000;Wade 1997). As these scholars suggest, the
lack of economic resources prevents Indigenous leaders from creating autono-
mous development models to improve life in their communities.
During the 1990s and early 2000s, unprecedented waves of Indigenous
mobilization, in opposition to neoliberal policies, broke into national and
international political arenas (Martí Puig 2010). Hundreds of Indigenous activ-
ists claimed that the privatization of community lands for the advancement of
extractive companies was destroying the natural environment upon which
Indigenous communities depended to survive. Drawing upon the work of the
ILO, Indigenous movements demanded the right to be consulted about any
project implemented on their territories. Alliances with international NGOs and
environmental activists enabled Indigenous organizations to form transnational
networks united around a powerful political discourse connecting Indigenous
rights with the protection of Mother Earth (Pieck 2006,Pacheco-Vega 2006).
In the Andean countries, new political actors built upon Indigenous move-
ments’discourses to criticize neoliberal policies. With the support of
Indigenous voters, leftist governments in Bolivia (2006), Ecuador (2007),
and –with less intensity –Peru (2011) came to power promising to respect
Indigenous rights. In these three countries, governments delivered on their
campaign commitments either through constitutional recognition of the right
to prior consultation or through legislation addressing this right.
Simultaneously, however, the promotion of extractive industries remained
central for national economies, although in Bolivia and Ecuador the state took
a more prominent lead than in Peru (Gudynas 2012).
Prior consultation has gradually extended to the rest of Latin America,
becoming the model that shapes state–Indigenous relations (Flemmer and
Schilling-Vacaflor 2016). Ideally, prior consultation guarantees Indigenous self-
determination by preventing imposition by states or private companies.
However, scholars studying consultations agree that a significant limitation of
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these procedures is that national governments are not willing to accept oppos-
ition to extractive industries (Gustafsson and Schilling-Vacaflor 2022;Torres-
Wong 2019;Flemmer and Schilling-Vacaflor 2016). Prior consultations with
Latin America’s Indigenous peoples generally result in acceptance of projects
(Guarneros-Meza and Zaremberg 2019;Torres-Wong 2019). Governments
exploit Indigenous political weakness, internal disagreement, territorial frag-
mentation, and critical economic situations to obtain approval of ecologically
controversial projects (Rodríguez-Garavito 2011;Zaremberg and Torres-Wong
2018). In the best-case scenario, prior consultations serve to negotiate compen-
sation in exchange for allowing extraction. Yet, many of these communities
perceive the trade-off between a loss of their culture and access to economic
resources as unfair (Gustafsson and Schilling-Vacaflor 2022). Nevertheless,
most Indigenous representatives end up agreeing to participate in such projects
as they suspect that these will proceed anyway, with or without their consent.
Both the first wave of rights recognition in the 1990s and the second wave
beginning in the mid-2000s had unsatisfactory results for Indigenous commu-
nities. However, over the past two decades Latin American countries have
experienced significant economic growth derived, to a large extent, from the
commodity boom (2000–2014). In the context of regional economic growth,
more economic resources became available for those Indigenous communities
willing to comply with extractivism. While the first wave of multicultural rights
remained rhetorical, predominately emphasizing folkloric aspects of
Indigenous cultures, the second wave consisted of formal consultation proced-
ures with Indigenous representatives and economic compensation for extractive
activities. Nonetheless, the risks of environmental destruction are ever-present
(Leifsen et al. 2017). Environmentalists quickly turned against national gov-
ernments and extractive companies, accusing them of using bribes to divide
Indigenous communities.
Indigenous peoples typically organize into international, national, and sub-
national political organizations. At the local level they are frequently organized
in federations, cooperatives, unions, or captaincies, comprising various com-
munities that share a common history and territory (Stavenhagen 2010:35).
While the discourse of Indigenous organizations at the international and
national levels generally presents a unified position against the extractive
industry, within Indigenous territories communities remain divided over nego-
tiating with extractive companies. Some communities reject extractive projects
as they believe that the materialization of their rights should be pursued without
compromising the integrity of their territories. Other communities argue that the
use of extractive revenues to improve their living conditions is legitimate (Arce
2014;Arellano-Yanguas 2011).
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In this Element, I compare six Indigenous communities that inhabit six rural
municipalities in Mexico (Figure 1), Peru (Figure 2), and Bolivia (Figure 3):
Capulálpam de Méndez (Mexico), Homún (Mexico), Oxiacaque (Mexico),
Figure 1 Map of sites of study in Mexico
Figure 2 Map of sites of study in Peru
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Chetilla (Peru), Atahualpa (Peru), and Ingre (Bolivia). In these communities, the
ability of local leaders to use favorable legislation to their benefit differs, as does
the type of economic resources available to them to improve community life.
Based on these cases, I propose the following theory: the interaction between
(1) Indigenous use of favorable legal frameworks (electoral autonomy regimes,
justice administration, customary laws, prior consultation, compensation mech-
anisms), and (2) the available economic resources for Indigenous communities
(extractive resources, nonextractive resources, or none), shape Indigenous self-
determination outcomes (I develop this further in Section 2). An important
lesson emerging from the cases is that Indigenous leaders generally agree that
economic resources –either extractive or nonextractive –are needed to improve
Indigenous life. Local economies in the form of agriculture, cattle raising,
fishing, and ecotourism are some of the preferred economic activities within
Indigenous communities. According to the leaders interviewed for this project,
the exercise of self-determination should include the sustainable use of natural
resources, though this is not an option for everyone.
1.1 Why Study Indigenous Communities?
I argue that Indigenous communities living in rural municipalities are caught
between two extremes. At one end of the spectrum are the Indigenous popula-
tions living in voluntary isolation or extreme autonomous groups, such as the
Figure 3 Map of site of study in Bolivia
6Politics and Society in Latin America
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Zapatistas in Chiapas, who choose to live independently, outside of state law
and without depending on state resources. While these types of communities
tend to receive much press coverage, they remain the minority. At the other
extreme are the vast majority of Indigenous peoples who migrate to the cities,
seeking to improve their lives.
Rural Indigenous communities comprise a large proportion of the Indigenous
population that is struggling for self-determination within the boundaries of
nation-states.
2
For these communities, self-determination is not incompatible
with the administrative organization of the state. From the outset, modern
Indigenous political organizations have been defined by interactions between
Indigenous normative systems and state laws (Sieder 2019). These interactions
are largely a consequence of violent colonial imposition, which is why there is
a demand for self-determination. However, complete autonomy is improbable
for most Indigenous communities.
In contrast to the few empirical studies on Indigenous self-determination that
focus on the efforts of subnational Indigenous political organizations to create
autonomous governments (Merino 2020; Sieder 2017), I argue that self-
determination is experienced more intensely within rural municipalities. By
only examining the actions of supra–community organizations and their impact
on national politics, political scientists may overlook the gap between the
political goals of these organizations and the diverse realities of Indigenous
communities that inhabit Latin America’s most biodiverse and resource-rich
territories. Most Indigenous leaders operating at the community level direct
their political efforts at obtaining state resources for community projects.
Typically, these resources are channeled and distributed by municipal govern-
ments, which explains why many community leaders still seek to have a stake in
this branch of the state rather than rejecting it to form autonomous Indigenous
entities.
There is much to be learned about the daily struggles of rural Indigenous
leaders seeking to improve Indigenous living conditions without assimilating
into mainstream societies. We know that Indigenous access to economic
resources is urgent due to the extreme poverty and climate vulnerability of
rural regions (Anaya 2010;Stavenhagen 2007;Graham 2004). Most Indigenous
leaders face significant obstacles to maintaining their political institutions, let
alone being able to implement projects that can reduce Indigenous vulnerability.
2
Unlike rural Indigenous movements, urban Indigenous struggles are deterritorialized. Indigenous
migrants use ethnicity strategically in their interactions with state institutions to demand their
right to live in the cities with full access to housing, education, health care, and jobs (Herrera
Amaya 2018).
7The Indigenous Right to Self-Determination
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By examining how self-determination unfolds at the community level,
I follow Donna Lee Van Cott’s suggestion for enhancing our understanding of
ordinary Indigenous politics (Van Cott 2010). I propose a shift in focus away
from the influence of Indigenous politics on national politics and toward the
impact that the interaction between Indigenous use of favorable legislation and
available economic resources has on the realization of Indigenous rights within
rural communities.
1.2 Outline of the Element
This Element makes three important contributions to our understanding of
Indigenous politics in Latin America. First, it reveals the progress that has
been made in the last thirty years regarding the rights of some of the most
disempowered populations in the region. The presence of extractive com-
panies in Indigenous territories often divides Indigenous communities and
polarizes debates over Indigenous rights. By comparing pro-extractivist and
anti-extractivist Indigenous communities, I attempt to go beyond existing
divisions over whether the mere acceptance of extractivism precludes self-
determination. Furthermore, I focus on the paths that are currently most
available to Indigenous communities living in extractivist national contexts.
Second, the empirical analysis identifies two factors whose interaction is
underexplored in the literature: Indigenous use of favorable legal frame-
works and economic resources available for the realization of Indigenous
rights. The study highlights how these two factors interact and shape
Indigenous self-determination outcomes. Third, my analysis reveals the
pragmatic use of available laws and resources by rural Indigenous leaders
to achieve community goals, rather than the idealized versions disseminated
in international forums. I also emphasize the concern of most of these leaders
to preserve the integrity of their environments and the limited options they
have within extractivist settings.
In Section 2, I present the theory derived from case analysis. I then
discuss the argument, methodology, case selection, and scholarly work on
the subject. In Section 3, I conduct a comparison of six cases in Bolivia,
Peru, and Mexico and create a typology for self-determination outcomes.
I then show how the different self-determination outcomes found in the
cases align –or not –with the goals of environmental activists and
Indigenous discourses on Buen Vivir (“good living”). In the Conclusion,
I summarize my findings and highlight their implications for a better under-
standing of Indigenous communities and the complex paths through which
self-determination can be achieved.
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2 Theory and Methods
The proposed theory was developed inductively as it stems from the analysis of
the six cases examined in this Element. I argue that different self-determination
outcomes are shaped by the interaction between the use that Indigenous leaders
make of existing legal frameworks and the economic resources available for
Indigenous communities. The theory contains preliminary hypotheses to pro-
vide readers with new analytical frameworks with which to assess Indigenous
struggles for self-determination. The purpose of the study is not to establish
causal explanations for the variation between Indigenous communities, but to
identify similarities and differences related to the two factors outlined above
that allow us to understand the diverse trajectories experienced by these six
communities from Bolivia, Peru, and Mexico.
In Section 2.1,Ifirst define self-determination by drawing upon public
statements by Indigenous leaders from different Latin American countries,
together with legal definitions contained in international laws. Second,
I discuss whether Indigenous self-determination is compatible with extractive
industries and conclude that the exercise of this right entails a process that goes
beyond decisions over extractive projects. I then formulate my preliminary
hypotheses drawing upon my findings and the extant research on the topic.
Finally, I introduce the comparative methodology used to identify and analyze
similarities and differences across the cases.
2.1 Self-Determination in Theory and Practice
In 2007, the United Nations (UN) upheld the claim of Indigenous national and
international organizations from across the postcolonial world by explicitly
including the right to self-determination in the UNDRIP. According to
Articles 3 and 4 of this declaration, Indigenous peoples are granted the right
to freely determine their political status and to freely pursue their economic,
social, and cultural development. The declaration adds that in exercising self-
determination, “Indigenous peoples have the right to autonomy or self-
government in matters relating to their internal and local affairs, as well as
ways and means for financing their autonomous functions”(United Nations
2007, Article 4, emphasis added).
With this inclusion, the UN sought to remedy the omission made by ILO
Convention 169 (1989). Despite breaking with the integrationist model under
which the international community had addressed Indigenous rights, the ILO
heeded the objections made by various governments which, in 1984, argued
against Indigenous self-determination, expressing concern for sovereignty and
national integrity (Lightfoot 2009:101). In 2016, OAS also included this right in
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Article 3 of the American Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples
(Cerqueira 2020).
In order to safeguard the interests of nation-states, both instruments address
the internal dimension of self-determination by which different peoples around
the world may decide their political and economic status within the political
frameworks of their countries. In this regard, Article 46 (1) of UNDRIP states
that: “nothing in the declaration may be interpreted ... or construed as author-
izing or encouraging any action which would dismember or impair, totally or in
part, the territorial integrity or political unity of sovereign and independent
States”(for more details see Article 46 of the UNDRIP [United Nations
2007:28]). It has been argued that this limits Indigenous rights; however,
these voices are a minority among the many more who have enthusiastically
celebrated the declaration (Lightfoot 2021).
2.2 Self-Determination as Defined by Indigenous Voices
In the early 1990s, Indigenous movements in Mexico, Guatemala, Chile,
Ecuador, Bolivia, and the Amazonian basin appeared on the national and
international political scene demanding the right to rule their territories and
freely determine their future (Martí Puig 2010). Nourished by the spirit of ILO
Convention 169, Indigenous political organizations at different levels clam-
ored for their right to govern their land and people according to their custom-
ary laws and political institutions. Most Latin American governments
responded to these claims, at least superficially, by granting different forms
of collective rights.
With the advancement of extractive industries deeper into rural areas, the
right to self-determination took on a more defensive slant. National, inter-
national, and subnational Indigenous political organizations focused their strug-
gle on the right to decide on the use of Indigenous territories. In the streets and in
the courts, the right to prior consultation introduced by ILO Convention 169
became the emblematic tool with which to achieve territorial self-
determination. Indigenous activists and their NGO supporters litigated various
cases and won as national and international courts halted projects for failing to
consult with Indigenous communities. Scholars examining these legal gains
acknowledge the opportunities gained by Indigenous peoples in having a say in
matters concerning their territories (Wright and Tomaselli 2020). As govern-
ments began to carry out prior consultations, however, and to secure Indigenous
approval in most cases, other academics have expressed concern about the
negative consequences of making prior consultation the core of Indigenous
activism (Gómez Rivera 2013).
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More recently, legal scholars and activists have recaptured the spirit of
Indigenous rights, by shifting the focus back to the content of self-
determination. In March 2021, the Due Process of Law Foundation, Oxfam,
and Fundar released a report entitled “The Right to Self-determination of
Indigenous Peoples in Mexico”(“La Libre Determinación de los Pueblos
Indígenas en México”)(Ramírez Espinosa and Cerqueira 2021). Among other
things, the authors compile various experiences detailing the obstacles to the
realization of this right. More importantly, the report includes the testimonies of
several Indigenous representatives that define the content of self-determination.
I use some of these testimonies, together with others from Indigenous leaders
across Latin America, to identify patterns across definitions. Some definitions
provided by Indigenous leaders and Indigenous political organizations are cited
below.
3
For Maria de los Angeles Santiago Sánchez, an Indigenous member of San
Antonino Castillo Velasco in Ocotlán, Oaxaca: “self-determination means that
we use the ways of working of our communities;elect the people that will
represent us in the municipalities,decide what happens in our territories, and
decide what is best for the community including the participation of all”
(Ramírez Espinosa and Cerqueira 2021, emphasis added).
For Vicente Ferreira, an Indigenous leader from El Chaco, Bolivia: “self-
determination is the possibility to define our destiny, [about] how to manage
development,andtoaccept the projects we want and reject those we do not
want”(personal communication January 14, 2021, emphasis added).
The National Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities from Ecuador
(CONAIE) defines self-determination as: “Indigenous peoples making deci-
sions about our development,management of lands and natural resources,
preserving our traditional forms of social organizing and self-government,
specially over education, health care, justice administration and political
institutions”(CONAIE 2012, emphasis added).
On June 22, 2020, in a virtual panel on Autonomy, Self-Determination, and
Decolonization organized by Servindi, a civil society organization working in
intercultural communication, Atencio López Martínez, who belongs to the
Kuna people from Panama, argued that: “Self-determination is not a dream
anymore ... it is a reality. Against economic and political impositions,
Indigenous peoples have rights. We have history, we have territory, we have
sovereignty”(Servindi 2020, emphasis added).
During the same event, Mexican Indigenous leader María de Jesús Patricia
Martínez, internationally known as Marichuy, said:
3
All translations from Spanish to English of interviewees quoted are my own.
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Our Zapatista brothers, they have their caracoles, their juntas de Buen
Gobierno [Good Government Boards], they have their own municipalities,
they use their own laws and do not use public funds. Also, other brothers from
Cherán ... gained autonomy within the same municipal structures. Also, in
Guerrero, they have their own community police.Theyareorganized to protect
themselves ... also the use of traditional medicine is an exercise of autonomy.
Megaprojects jeopardize this autonomy. Then it is not just self-government but
also protecting our territories.(Servindi 2020,emphasisadded)
Santiago Jesús Manuin, a young Amazonia leader, son of the Peruvian
Indigenous leader Santiago Manuin said:
The state always denied our right to self-determination. My father together with
other leaders undertook a process of articulation with the state to let them know
we had to organize and become an autonomous territory,with our education
system,also our own medicine,our territory,whilestill being Peruvians....Peru
is a plurinational state ... [and] that should mean that we can exercise our rights
according to our customary law,as stated by international law.(Centro
Amázonico de Antropología Aplicada 2020, emphasis added)
Finally, in the words of the Indigenous leader from the community of San Felipe
de los Herreros in Michoacan: “According to the right of self-determination,
Indigenous communities elect their authorities to govern their territories. They
can organize according to their customary norms. Indigenous communities have
rights to autonomy and self-government. If they use public resources, they must
follow legal frameworks regarding transparency, fiscal inspection, and admin-
istrative responsibility”(Ramírez Espinosa and Cerqueira 2021:83, emphasis
added).
All these definitions reflect Indigenous diversity. However, they also share
common features: election of representatives; use of customary norms to
organize community life; territorial protection; decision-making; and control
of lands, resources, development, health, and education. Accordingly, Ramírez
Espinosa and Cerqueira propose a broad definition of self-determination as the
opportunity to build a community life project according to the will of
Indigenous community members that entails autonomy; self-identification;
access to land, territory, and natural resources; cultural integrity; to be consulted
about and freely consent to any measures that impact Indigenous livelihoods; to
rule and be ruled according to Indigenous laws; to elect representatives using
cultural traditions; and to decide development models (Ramírez Espinosa and
Cerqueira 2021:15).
As various anthropologists suggest, Indigenous territories are constitutive of
self-determination (Martínez et al. 2018; Díaz Polanco 1997). Accordingly, the
Indigenous definitions cited above address general aspects of how life in these
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territories should be organized. Self-determination can take a variety of forms as
diverse as Indigenous communities themselves, their history, and their aspir-
ations. However, there are several intertwined objectives that emerge from
Indigenous public declarations and testimonies. I develop this further in the
following section.
2.3 The Multidimensional Nature of Self-Determination
Self-determination is a complex process encompassing multiple dimensions of
Indigenous well-being (Ndayambaje and Fulgence 2017;Flemmer and
Schilling-Vacaflor 2016;Lightfoot 2016;Cornell 2006). In the words of
James Anaya, former UN Special Rapporteur on the rights of Indigenous
peoples, substantive self-determination includes the right to make meaningful
choices in matters that touch upon all spheres of life on a continuous basis, such
as economic, cultural, and social development (Anaya 2000). This is consistent
with the Indigenous testimonies detailed in Section 2.2, which provide holistic
definitions of self-determination by linking it with multiple aspects of commu-
nity life.
First, a political dimension, overemphasized in the last twenty years with the
increase of extractive projects, relates to the right to decide on the use of
Indigenous territories. As such, disputes between Indigenous communities
and national governments have centered on who controls land and the subsoil
resources underneath Indigenous lands (Picq 2020). Prior consultation is the
mechanism designed by international legislators to decentralize decision-
making from national governments to Indigenous communities, although with
limited results.
Second, a cultural dimension is repeatedly emphasized by Indigenous polit-
ical organizations and their legal advocates and is also present in the Indigenous
definitions detailed in Section 2.2. Culture, however, is not easy to define.
Millions of people across the world self-identify as Indigenous and demand
their right to live according to their traditions. Legal definitions of Indigenous
cultures generally relate to ancestral practices based on specific systems of
belief, defined locally and temporally (e.g. Ley para la Protección de los
Derechos de la Comunidad Maya del Estado de Yucatán, 2011 [Law for the
Protection of the Rights of Maya Communities in Yucatán]). Conversely, more
dynamic notions of Indigenous cultural identities understand these as fluid and
relational, and not defined by immutable essences or historic ties to the past
(Guevara 2009;Hale and Millamán 2007). Many Indigenous leaders and
community members constantly interact with the mestizo society, state officials,
religious institutions, or NGO activists. Some Indigenous communities have
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coexisted with foreign and national companies operating on their lands for
decades, while many other Indigenous members temporally or permanently
migrate to cities in search of economic opportunities. In these interactions,
distinctive cultural markers such as language, religious beliefs, and customary
norms are either lost or adjusted in order to be preserved.
For Hale and Millamán (2007), cultural resistance forges political unity and
builds the trenches from which effective political challenges can occur. Against
this backdrop, culture is better understood as ongoing dynamics of resistance,
adaptation, and recreation performed by Indigenous peoples from the position
of social exclusion that they have occupied since colonial times (Guevara
2009:91). Culture is not located at the level of the individual nor at that of
a reified society, but at the intersubjective level where it provides a means for
identifying group boundaries, interpreting events, and according value (Della
Porta and Keating 2008:9). Culture informs and legitimizes conceptions of self,
of social and political organization, of how the world works, and how the
individual and group function in the world (Graham 2004). As such, culture is
not solely ancestral nor static; rather, it entails a permanent process of recuper-
ation, change, and adaptation.
Based on the studies mentioned, I argue that the cultural dimension of self-
determination manifests through community-based practices and narratives that
infuse a collective dimension of belonging. Community assemblies, community
work, and traditions, among others, are typical manifestations of Indigenous
cultural values. Also, new traditions that recreate Indigenous history, such as the
performance of autoconsultas (self-consultations) used to replace prior consult-
ations, or the renewal of Indigenous myths to attract tourists and improve local
economies, are examples of cultural dynamism. These practices reflect the will
of community members to perpetuate their existence as Indigenous peoples by
resisting assimilation and enabling collective survival.
Third, there is an economic dimension related to the Indigenous right to self-
determine their development (Article 32 of UNDRIP). Various legal scholars
argue that self-determination relates to the survival of Indigenous cultures as
much as it relates to strengthening Indigenous economies (Oliva and Blázquez
2007:246; Cornell 2006 cited by Figuera Vargas and Ariza Lascarro 2015).
According to this understanding, the exercise of self-determination should
enable Indigenous peoples to maintain and strengthen their local institutions
and build upon them to develop strong economic models (Graham 2004). This
economic understanding of self-determination is coherent with Indigenous
definitions emphasizing the right to manage development, lands, and natural
resources for community well-being, and to use public resources or accept only
the projects they want, in their best interests. Such views on economy oppose
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states’historical impositions of economic projects that have endangered
Indigenous livelihoods. The economic dimension of self-determination is also
laid down in Article 4 of UNDRIP, which states that Indigenous peoples should
have the means to finance their autonomous functions (United Nations 2007,
Article 4).
Fourth, a legal dimension of self-determination is expressed through
Indigenous demands to rule and be ruled according to their own normative
systems or customary laws. Historically, colonial and racist empires, and later
states, treated Indigenous peoples as uncivilized groups forced to abide by the
different legal frameworks regulating the complex functioning of national
states. This was changed by ILO 169 and other international norms that
followed. However, although states have incorporated political and legal
reforms validating Indigenous laws, national legal systems are slow to change
and Indigenous political organizations continue to defend their normative
systems as more appropriate for solving problems and regulating life in their
communities. Mechanisms to elect authorities, solve conflicts, carry out eco-
nomic transactions, administer lands and natural resources, adopt political
decisions, and control criminal activities are part of Indigenous legal traditions.
As legal pluralism scholars have extensively argued, Indigenous laws are
neither immutable nor completely independent of state laws or other legal
systems (Starr and Collier 2018;Guevera-Gil and Thome 1992;Albó 1987).
Indigenous leaders may sometimes reject the imposition more than the content
of state regulations. The legal dimension of self-determination implies the
Indigenous right to be ruled by laws that have legitimacy and are culturally
appropriate for Indigenous communities. These laws can, however, change and
adjust over time as communities develop new ways of regulating their lives.
All the dimensions detailed –political, cultural, economic, and legal –are, in
some way, contained in two concepts that Indigenous political organizations
repeatedly stress and which international norms include in their definition of
self-determination: autonomy and self-government (González et al. 2021).
These concepts are intertwined and sometimes used interchangeably by
scholars and activists. However, I propose an analytical distinction between
the two concepts that has emerged from my case analysis and that may be useful
for further studies on self-determination.
In the literature on social movements, autonomy is defined as the capacity of
social organizations to implement political projects without being incorporated
into the state. In this view, the state represents an ever-present risk of cooptation
and demobilization (Cortés 2008, cited by Zaremberg and Guzmán 2019).
Applied to the case of Indigenous movements striving for validation of their
political organization and use of their territories and resources, autonomy
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entails Indigenous ability to decide which political and economic paths to
follow, rather than accepting development models from above. Self-
government, on the other hand, while deeply connected with autonomy, relates
to the Indigenous ability to be ruled by their own normative systems and choose
their authorities according to their cultural values and traditions (Kymlicka
1995, cited by Martínez 2006). Applied in conjunction, autonomy relates
more directly to the political and economic dimensions of self-determination,
while self-government relates to the cultural and legal dimensions of the
concept. Throughout the remainder of this Element, both concepts will be
used according to this distinction (see Table 1).
2.4 Indigenous Self-Determination and the Extractive Industry
The ways in which Indigenous communities pursue self-determination are
diverse and often contradictory. Previous ethnographic studies maintain that
anti-extractivism is not, in fact, a defining characteristic of Indigenous peoples
(Penfield 2019:88–89). These findings are consistent with other studies that
have demonstrated that anti-extractivist goals only drive a small amount of
Indigenous protest (Arce 2014;Arellano-Yanguas 2011).
Table 1. Self-determination Dimensions
SELF-
DETERMINATION DIMENSIONS EMPIRCAL EVIDENCE
AUTONOMY Political Community leaders can veto
unwanted state projects, policies
or regulations impacting
Indigenous territories.
Economic Community leaders can undertake
economic projects in their
community to create wellbeing
among members.
SELF-
GOVERNMENT
Legal Customary laws regulate internal
affairs in the community (election
of authorities, conflict solutions,
land and resource affairs)
Cultural Cultural practices (community
assemblies, community work,
cultural beliefs and traditions)
are part of life in the community.
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Still other scholars defend a definition of self-determination as being equal to
anti-extractivism (Cerqueira 2020;Lavinas Picqu 2014). Indigenous discourses
on Buen Vivir (‘the good life’) disseminated in the 1990s by Indigenous intellec-
tuals in the Andes have been particularly influential on anti-extractivist stances.
Accordingly, living well entails utopian modelsof community lifewhere humans
and nonhumans coexist in equilibrium (see Territorio Indígena y Gobernanza [n.
d.] for Indigenous definitions of Buen Vivir). Yet, even while various scholars still
adhere to idealized versions of Buen Vivir (Gudynas 2014;Altmann 2013:291),
others criticize these definitions for advancing essentialist views of Indigenous
peoples. According to Stefanoni (2012), purist disseminators of Buen Vivir do not
make the effort to articulate this philosophy, which allegedly emerges from the
Indigenous cosmovisionbut does not always apply to the realities of everyday life
in Indigenous communities. Over the centuries, European settlers and, more
recently, extractive companies, mestizo communities, and criminal organizations
have pushed Indigenous peoples into unproductive lands, resulting in them
having to abandon their subsistence economies in search of low-skilled jobs
(Partridge and Uquillas 1996).
In some context, extractive resources are the most easily available source of
income for Indigenous communities to function both politically and economic-
ally. As such, the coexistence of Indigenous members and extractive companies
is not always contentious (Penfield 2019). Negotiations with company employ-
ees for economic compensation, the hiring of Indigenous labor, and the provi-
sion of basic services by these companies also forms part of this coexistence. In
this sense, Indigenous communities exchanging their lands for economic agree-
ments may lead to improvement in some living conditions while negatively
affecting others and, often, their environment.
Thus, the new constitutions of Bolivia and Ecuador include the principle of
Buen Vivir but somehowmake it compatible with the expansion of oil and mining
industries in ecologically fragile ecosystems (Merino 2022;Gudynas 2014)
Again, legal advocates tend to disagree with this position, arguing that the just
implementation of Indigenous rights should not enable pacts that are destructive
to Indigenous lands (Engle 2010:210). Extractive activities generally cause
irreparable damage to environmental resources and local communities are forced
to abandon their homes once company operations are completed. Following this
logic, it is unlikely that sustainable living models can emerge from industrialized
exploitation of nonrenewable natural resources (Stensrud 2019:160).
It is evident, therefore, that the way in which Indigenous peoples should
exercise self-determination is a debated topic. The heterogeneity of Indigenous
peoples across the American subcontinent and the different legal and economic
contexts in which they operate mean that these groups remain divided over
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extractivism (Harder Horst 2020: ch. 13). Under such circumstances, a unified
vision regarding how to exercise self-determination remains elusive. Looking
beyond polarized positions in the literature regarding better understandings of
self-determination, I examine Indigenous communities and their decisions
regarding extractive projects together with the outcomes of these choices. In
the following section, I develop the central argument of this Element.
2.4.1 The Argument
My comparative analysis shows two factors that impact self-determination
outcomes in Indigenous communities: the use of favorable legal frameworks
and the type of economic resources available. Together, these two factors allow
Indigenous leaders to make demands and adopt decisions using Indigenous self-
government structures, while enabling them to create or strengthen local econ-
omies and improve community life. The best illustration of this combination of
using favorable legislation and accessing economic resources is the case of the
community of Capulálpam de Méndez in Oaxaca, Mexico. The self-
determination outcomes of this case are highly reflective of the discourses of
international Indigenous organizations and environmental activists.
Conversely, the community of Oxiacaque does not make use of such legal
frameworks and mainly have access to resources derived from oil extraction.
This case represents the worst-case scenario for Indigenous communities as
community members face environmental degradation, health problems, polit-
ical division, and cultural loss. The other cases lie somewhere in the middle with
trade-offs between self-determination dimensions as defined in Section 1.
I discuss these two factors further in Sections 2.1.1 and 2.1.2.
2.4.2 Favorable Legal Frameworks (FAF)
Since the 1990s, Latin American states have adopted a wide range of legislation
in support of Indigenous rights. These laws generally recognize and validate
Indigenous peoples’political, legal, and economic organization. According to
Burguete (2013), for nascent Indigenous movements in the 1980s, the path to
self-determination lay in “autonomy arrangements.”Accordingly, ILO
Convention 169 and the UNDRIP granted Indigenous peoples various rights,
such as the right to organize their lives according to their own institutions, to
customary law and culture over integrationist state policies, and also to prior
consultation and compensation mechanisms regarding interventions on their
land (Rodríguez-Garavito 2011).
Nonetheless, there is heterogeneity regarding how self-determination rights
are legally implemented within and across countries. When Latin American
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nations gained independence from European powers, Indigenous peoples
remained subject to internal colonialism, forced into subordinate interactions
with national governments and new types of colonizers. These interactions
became even more complex as new international actors, in the form of NGO
employees, international officials, or extractive company employees arrived in
Indigenous territories. Subsequently, Indigenous self-determination demands
have taken different forms and are shaped by the local history of relations
between Indigenous communities and outsiders.
For some Indigenous communities, where the municipal authority is the
closest representative of oppressive regulations, gaining the right to participate
in the election of these authorities has been a priority in the struggle toward self-
determination (Burguete 2011). Other communities, facing criminalization by
state justice systems, have directed most of their efforts to gaining the right to
administer justice using customary law (Sieder 2012). With the global expan-
sion of extractive interests, Indigenous demands for prior consultation against
outside interests later became more salient.
In addition to the diversity of legal instruments created to address specific
Indigenous demands within each country, Indigenous peoples’use of these
laws also varies. Some communities have been able to ensure the enactment of
favorable legislations and to use this for important aspects of their lives.
Others lack the organizational capacity and mobilization resources to demand
the enforcement of legislation, or are even unaware that they have specific
rights. Often, Indigenous community members have been absorbed into the
labor force by state or foreign companies, thus abandoning traditional eco-
nomic activities such as agriculture, fishing, or hunting. While some of these
communities have been able to restore the collective holding of lands and
customary norms once companies have left, others have lost these and have
been fully incorporated into municipal political organizations (Mattiace
2013).
This heterogeneity creates differences in how Indigenous communities
embrace legislation, regardless of how progressive it may be. For instance,
in Bolivia, the Morales government (2006–19) attempted to enhance
Indigenous rights by creating Indigenous Originary Peasant Autonomies
(AIOCs) which granted full political autonomy to Indigenous populations.
However, the legal process of conversion to this system is full of political
and administrative obstacles and few communities have the organizational
resources to make the transition. Similarly, prior consultation has been
widely used by politically organized Guarani communities (Falleti and
Riofrancos 2018) but does not fulfill the same purposes for politically
weak ethnic groups.
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Self-determined vs. Integrationist Legal Practice
The specific use of existing legislation by Indigenous communities relates to
what legal anthropologists define as legal practice. According to Brandon
Hunter-Pazzara, in comparison with codified law, legal practice refers to the
way laws are adopted and incorporated into everyday social and political life in
particular communities. Legal practice may thus mirror codified laws but can
also change or deviate over time (personal communication with Brandon
Hunter-Pazzara, January 25, 2022). New institutionalism studies consistently
show that local populations can assemble and reshape institutional arrange-
ments to perform new functions (Cleaver and de Koning 2015).
Differences in Indigenous legal practices are evident in the cases analyzed
in Section 3. Politically mobilized Indigenous groups typically expand the
boundaries of pro-Indigenous legislation toward greater political autonomy
(see Table 1). One such example is the community of Chetilla in Cajamarca
(Peru) that abides by the Rondas Campesinas (Indigenous paroles) legal
framework, which was initially recognized in the 1993 constitution and then
supported with a specific law and regulation in 2003. The Chetilla commu-
nity used Indigenous Rondas not only to resolve community conflicts, which
is what the law provides for, but also as vehicles for anti-mining mobiliza-
tion. Likewise, in Oaxaca, the community of Capulálpam de Méndez drew
upon electoral autonomy and customary law to prohibit the entry of mining
companies, even when this contravened federal law; similarly, the Guarani
from Ingre (Bolivia) used the prior consultation legal framework to fight
state attempts to reduce economic compensation derived from gas extrac-
tion. I classify these cases as self-determined legal practice (SLP) through
which Indigenous leaders draw upon favorable legislation to enact substan-
tive demands against the state.
In contrast, the communities of Oxiacaque and Homún (Mexico) are not able
to make use of favorable legal frameworks. In these cases, substantive decisions
concerning territorial affairs, political representation, and law enforcement
remain the jurisdiction of municipal authorities or the federal government.
For these communities, Indigenous rights remain rhetorical and state agencies
retain control over decision-making (Burguete 2013). I classify these cases as
integrationist legal practice (ILP). See Table 2 for an explanation of these
categories.
2.4.3 Economic Resources for Indigenous Communities
The second factor guiding the argument in this Element, is the type of economic
resource available to Indigenous communities. Multicultural policies in the
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1990s were often referred to, in a variety of studies, as hollowed: they were not
accompanied by resources that could make them a reality (Burguete 2013;
Martinez Novo 2013;Hale 2002;Tapia 2000;Wade 1997). According to
these studies, economic resources are indispensable for Indigenous peoples
who are struggling for self-determination. Most Indigenous communities lack
the means to implement economic projects that could improve their living
conditions. Decades of poorly implemented state policies, along with the
advancement of colonizers deeper into Indigenous territories, have resulted in
high levels of Indigenous vulnerability. Most Indigenous environments are
defined by the prevalence of difficult conditions, like hunger and disease,
exacerbated by a lack of basic services such as water, energy, adequate inter-
cultural education, health provision, and professional training.
For decades, international agencies such as the Fund for the Development of
Indigenous Peoples of Latin America, several UN funds (among other agen-
cies), and hundreds of NGOs have been the main providers of resources for
Indigenous rights. Access to these funds, however, is highly competitive and
they sometimes only benefit Indigenous leaders working at international and
national levels. In addition, international agencies frequently work with state
institutions to administer and allocate resources, the criteria for which are often
decided in places divorced from Indigenous reality and thus risk being irrele-
vant for Indigenous communities.
Over the past twenty years, thegrowth in social conflict resulting from increas-
ing operations of extractive industries has led extractive companies to strengthen
local development programs through corporate social responsibility (CSR) frame-
works in the hope of gaining community support (Yakovleva y Vazquez- Brust
2012). With local development as a slogan, CSR attempts to provide neighboring
populations (mostly Indigenous) with education, health, and cultural services
(O’Faircheallaigh and Ali 2008;Dashwood 2007;Haslam 2004). Nonetheless,
Table 2. Indigenous Uses of Favorable Legislation Frameworks
FAVORABLE LEGAL
FRAMEWORKS (FLF) EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE
Self-determined Legal
Practice (SLP)
Indigenous groups use FLF to make
substantive decisions over their territories
and natural resources against decisions by
the state
Integrationist Legal Practice
(ILP)
Indigenous groups do not use FLF either
because they are unaware of them, or
because they choose not to apply these.
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several studies highlight that these programs increase local discontent (Conde and
LeBillon 2017;Himley 2014). As company employees retain control of economic
resources and program design, the programs are frequently not culturally appro-
priate, companies fail to fulfill the agreements made with community members,
and/or environmental impacts are greater than anticipated (Guarneros-Meza and
Madrigal 2022;Gil 2009). Community division tends to follow CSR, and many
consider that companies use social programs to coopt and demobilize community
members. Equally discouraging, most of these programs disappear once compan-
ies leave the extraction sites.
In parallel with corporate initiatives, Latin American governments have
passed decentralization policies aimed at expanding states’distributive capacity
(Haslam and Heidrich 2016). Mining and hydrocarbon royalties, trusts, and
development funds, among others, were created in countries such as Peru,
Ecuador, Colombia, and Bolivia to distribute extractive revenues to under-
resourced rural municipalities. This was done to create economic wealth in
resource-rich regions frequently inhabited by extremely poor communities
(Viale and Cruzado 2012;Arellano-Yanguas 2011). In a similar spirit,
a mining fund (Fondo Minero) was created in Mexico to reinvest the taxes
paid by mining companies in development programs for mineral-producing
municipalities (Guarneros-Meza 2019).
However, weak administrative capacity by subnational governments hinders
efficient investment to sustain development after extractive companies leave
(Conde and LeBillon 2017;Arellano-Yanguas 2011). In most cases, resource
distribution tends to follow integrationist models by expanding social programs
in the poorest communities. Social programs, however, although important for
ensuring the survival of vulnerable groups, are generally blind to the specificneeds
and expectations of Indigenous communities (López Bárcenas 2013;Blaser et al.
2004). Worse still, they contribute to reinforcing stereotypes regarding Indigenous
peoples, as well as discrimination and exclusion (Stavenhagen 1992).
Overall, both corporate and state distributive regimes fail to provide local
populations with viable economic, social, or environmental alternatives in the
long term (Olvera 2020). For the most part, extractive companies and state
authorities retain decision-making abilities regarding how funds are
allocated. Indigenous communities are rarely allowed to design and implement
projects using these resources. As a result, new conflicts have generally followed
the implementation of distributive instruments (Bebbington and Bury 2009).
Even when Indigenous organizations face significant restrictions on access-
ing private or public funding, increased state budgets (derived from the extract-
ive industry or the rise in national and international funding for the conservation
of Indigenous biodiverse territories) do create some opportunities for
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Indigenous direct management of economic resources. I develop this further in
the next subsection.
Nonextractive Resources (NER)
I consider nonextractive resources (NER) as all types of funding not based on
the implementation of extractive operations and aimed at strengthening
Indigenous rights. These resources generally come from international agencies
or national public offices responsible for Indigenous affairs, environmental
protection, or nonextractive industries. Examples of NER are funds to boost
Indigenous economies through sustainable agriculture, cattle raising, fishing,
forestry harvesting, and tourism, among others.
4
From the cases, we learned that the allocation of NER is independent of
Indigenous use of favorable legal frameworks (FLF). Nonetheless, there is no
systematic information regarding Indigenous access to these funds. The amount
of NER that governments or international actors actually allocate for Indigenous
communities, how these resources are spent, and the results for Indigenous
communities have not been systematically documented. For this research,
I have relied upon secondary sources to identify cases of Indigenous negotiation
for NER. In addition, I interviewed state officials working with Indigenous
communities and examined the database of Indigenous peoples created by the
Ministry ofCulture of Peru and the Observatory of Participation, Conflict, and the
Environment created by FLACSO (Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences),
Mexico and De Montfort University, UK.
In Section 3, I examine two cases of NER in Mexico. The first is the Indigenous
municipality of Capulálpam de Méndez (Oaxaca), where community members
employ a SLP and have been able to build sustainable economic models and reject
mining. The second is in Homún (Yucatán) where, despite the community’sILP,
some Indigenous members have been able to access funding and implement
ecotourism for the benefit of most members. However, unlike Capulálpam,
Homún is still struggling to prevent the development of a mega pig farm that
would threaten their lands. In both cases, Indigenous economies have improved but
with different consequences for the community’s self-determination outcomes.
Extractive Resources (ER)
I consider extractive resources (ER) as all types of funding directly derived from
the operation of extractiveprojects. As with NER, there is no official information
4
In Peru, environmental agencies promote community reserves in partnership with Indigenous
communities and SLP Indigenous organizations fund international resources for development and
the protection of biodiversity.
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regarding the amount and further use of ER by Indigenous communities. For
Bolivia, I drew upon secondary sources documenting prior consultation negoti-
ations, the legislation on prior consultation compensations, and interviews with
Indigenous leaders. For Peru, I relied upon secondary sources including the
information on Indigenous peoples available on the Ministry of Culture website.
In Mexico, I accessed secondary sources documenting Indigenous negotiations
with extractive companies. I also built upon the information on socio-
environmental conflicts available from the Observatory of Participation,
Conflict, and the Environment created by FLACSO and De Montfort University.
Indigenous access to ER is also independent of the operation of SLP or ILP.
However, the cases examined in Section 3 shed light on the prevalence of
informal negotiations between Indigenous individuals and company employees
in the case of ILP. Generally, the motivation for these negotiations is to obtain
leaders’compliance with extraction by compensating for damages to the local
environment or any other damage resulting from extractive operations. This is
the case in Oxiacaque (Tabasco) where lack of transparency is evidenced as one
of the main problems for this type of negotiation. Informal economic agree-
ments, frequently reached behind closed doors, raise suspicion among commu-
nity members regarding the commitments made by their representatives.
Conversely, in the community of Ingre (Chuquisaca, Bolivia) governed by
SLP, access to these resources takes place through formal negotiations between
community representatives and extractive companies. Indigenous members
decide how much to ask from extractive companies, and they decide how to
use the resources for community projects in community assemblies. After
a consensus is reached, leaders negotiate with the companies. Table 3 summar-
izes the types of economic resources available to Indigenous communities.
Finally, I also examined cases of no resources (NR) where neither NER nor
ER are available. These are the cases of Chetilla and Atahualpa in Peru where
Indigenous communities depend almost entirely on subsistence activities which
they sometimes supplement with social programs and state services derived
from small municipal budgets or based on political will.
2.5 Preliminary Hypotheses
My comparative case analysis gave rise to the formulation of some preliminary
hypotheses which may be tested by other scholars interested in this topic.
Indigenous legal practices (SLP or ILP), together with the type of economic
resources (ER or NER) or the absence of resources (NR) available for
Indigenous communities, shape self-determination outcomes in rural munici-
palities. Different combinations of the two factors have different outcomes. In
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most cases, I find that Indigenous community leaders make important trade-offs
in order to obtain partial gains. I advance the following hypotheses based on my
findings.
In Capulálpam de Méndez, SLP and access to NER enabled a full exercise of
self-determination in its political, economic, cultural, and legal dimensions. Thus:
H1 Indigenous communities exercising a self-determined legal practice and
receiving economic resources from a nonextractive actor are more likely to
prohibit unwanted projects and strengthen local economies for the benefitof
community members. In the process of guiding their economic development
these communities enhance their cultures and enforce their customary
norms.
In Ingre, SLP and access to ER enabled a partial exercise of self-determination
in its economic and cultural dimensions, but the political and legal dimensions
are reduced. Thus:
H2 Indigenous communities exercising a self-determined legal practice and
accepting resources from extractive actors are likely to implement economic
projects for the benefit of community members. These communities use their
cultural identities to negotiate with extractive actors, which creates incentives
for cultural preservation. However, their ability to prohibit the expansion of
Table 3. Economic Resources Available for Indigenous Communities
TYPE DEFINITION
INSTRUMENTS OF
FUNDING
Extractive
Resources
(ER)
Economic resources provided
by the state or extractive
companies conditioned on
Indigenous approval of
resource extraction.
Compensations, rents,
salaries, micro-credits.
Non-
extractive
Resources
(NER)
Economic resources derived
from international or public
funding aimed at creating
sustainable economies
within Indigenous
territories
State development programs
for agriculture, state
development programs for
rural tourism, ecological
conservation programs,
technical support.
No
Resources
(NR)
There are not resources
available for Indigenous
communities
Indigenous subsistence
activities, social programs,
services derived from the
will of politicians.
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extractive projects in their lands is reduced. Because these communities must
share their territory with extractive employees and infrastructure, their ability
to enforce customary norms inside their territories is also limited.
In Chetilla and Atahualpa, Indigenous communities have SLP but NR. They
can exercise partial self-determination as its political, cultural, and legal
dimensions are met, while economic self-determination remains unfulfilled.
Thus:
H3 Indigenous communities exercising a self-determined legal practice but
with no economic resources to create economic alternatives for their members
can successfully reject extractive companies, keep their cultures alive and
customary norms enforced, but still depend on the state to supplement their
living.
In Homún, Indigenous use of ILP and access to NER resulted in a partial
exercise of self-determination with an increase in the economic, political,
cultural, and legal dimensions, although still with limited results. Thus:
H4 Indigenous communities abiding by integrationist legal frameworks and
with access to economic resources from nonextractive actors can improve local
economies, increase their ability to reject unwanted projects and also revive
their cultures and develop legal mechanisms for self-government, but not
sufficiently for full self-determination.
In Oxiacaque, Indigenous communities with ILP and access to ER do not exercise
self-determination as none of the dimensions of this right are present. Thus:
H5 Indigenous communities abiding by integrationist legal frameworks and
with access to economic resources derived from extractive actors face
important challenges to self-govern their territories according to their
customary laws. They suffer economic scarcities, cultural loss, environmen-
tal degradation, and are incapable of rejecting the state and extractive
companies.
Table 4 summarizes the self-determination outcomes derived from the hypoth-
eses presented above.
2.6 Methodology
The theory presented in this study stems from the analysis of six cases of
Indigenous communities living in rural municipalities in Bolivia, Peru, and
Mexico. In all six cases most members self-identify with an Indigenous ethnic
group, the communities are legally recognized as Indigenous, and they form
part of or comprise an entire municipal jurisdiction. I use a comparative case
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methodology to achieve an in-depth understanding of cases, and the identifica-
tion of patterns and differences across cases. The study rests upon a comparison
of Indigenous communities with contrasting experiences of extractive projects
and different self-determination outcomes. The cases examined are:
Capulálpam de Méndez (Mexico), Ingre (Bolivia), Chetilla (Peru), Homún
(Mexico), Oxiacaque (Mexico), and Atahualpa (Peru).
2.6.1 Case Selection and Time Frame
The lens used to analyze Indigenous self-determination is that of extractive
conflicts. In much of the specialized literature on Latin America’s Indigenous
peoples, the extractive industry represents a major challenge to the realization of
self-determination. Extractive projects jeopardize the right of Indigenous
peoples to reject unwanted projects (autonomy) and threaten existing forms of
territorial management as well as Indigenous institutions, economies, and
cultural traditions (self-government). The salience of extractive conflicts in
Table 4. Preliminary Hyphoteses
ECONOMIC
RESOURCES
FAVORABLE LEGAL FRAMEWORK
SLP ILP
NER H1
Indigenous communities
have political, economic,
legal and cultural self-
determination
H4
Indigenous communities
increase political, eco-
nomic, legal and cultural
self-determination, but
full-self-determination
has yet to be achieved
ER H2
Indigenous communities
have economic and cul-
tural self-determination
but there is a loss of pol-
itical and legal self-
determination
H5
Indigenous communities do
not have any form of self-
determination
NR H3
Indigenous communities
have political, cultural
and legal self-determin-
ation but they lack eco-
nomic self-determination
No empirical instances were
examined
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Latin America has led scholars and activists to develop national and inter-
national databases to systematize information regarding the identity and loca-
tion of communities in conflict, the identity of extractive companies and their
countries of origin, and the causes, development, and outcomes of conflict,
among other information.
Intuitively, it could be assumed that national government ideology and how
national constitutions address Indigenous rights impact self-determination outcomes
in Indigenous communities. However, much evidence exists suggesting that these
two factors have no impact on the advancement of extractive projects in Indigenous
lands (Merino 2022;Torres-Wong 2019;Poweska 2017;Gudynas 2012). On the
contrary, I emphasize Indigenous use of legal frameworks and the economic
resources available to Indigenous communities.
To obtain variation in national ideology and constitutional settings, I selected
Indigenous municipalities from three countries: Bolivia, Mexico, and Peru. Since
the beginning of the commodity boom (2000), these three countries have been
ruled by both right- and left-wing governments. In addition, Bolivia has some of
the most progressive policies regarding self-determination as these are included
in the constitution and have been legally implemented. In the case of Mexico, it
recognized self-determination in the constitution as a result of the Zapatista
uprising in 1994 and the San Andres Accords signed between the government
and the Indigenous movement. However, it has yet to fully implement the policy
outlined in the Accords and only some states have some form of implementation
legislation. Peru does not recognize self-determination in its constitution.
For the case selection, I drew upon the Observatory for Mining Conflicts in
Latin America (OCMAL), the Global Atlas of Environmental Justice (EJAtlas)
developed by the Institute of Environmental Science and Technology at the
Autonomous University of Barcelona (Temper et al. 2015), and the Observatory
of Participation, Conflict, and the Environment in Mexico developed by
FLACSO and De Montfort University.
In the three countries, FLF are evident, as well as cases of SLP and ILP. This
allowed me to select Indigenous municipalities ruled by different Indigenous legal
practices. Extractive resources are prominent in Bolivia, Mexico, and Peru. In
addition, I found cases of NER in Mexico and of NR in Peru. This variation allowed
for the selection of Indigenous municipalities with access to ER, NER, and NR.
The period under analysis covers the decade of the 1990s, when multicultural
policies began to be converted into legal frameworks, and continues until
January 2022 when the research concluded. Over these thirty years, I examine the
creation of FLF, the availability and distribution of economic resources to
Indigenous communities, how Indigenous leaders adopted political and economic
decisions regarding these resources, the emergence of conflict and/or negotiation
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between community members and extractive companies, and how communities’
use of ER, NER or NR impacts the life of Indigenous members and their collective
goals.
2.6.2 Data Collection
The cases examined in this study draw on data collected during fieldwork under-
taken between 2011 and 2022. The research included eighty-five semi-structured
interviews with Indigenous leaders, extractive company employees, state officials,
and local scholars in Bolivia, Peru, and Mexico. I undertook several visits to the
municipalities of Capulálpam de Méndez, Chetilla, Homún, Oxiacaque, and
Atahualpa during this time and was able to participate in different events in
which Indigenous communities demanded self-determination vis-à-vis the state
and extractive companies (community assemblies, local forums, marches, protests,
legal mobilization events). I was unable to visit Ingre in Chuquisaca, Bolivia and
relied on interviews with Indigenous leaders, scholars, and NGO employees who
had worked with Guarani communities for several decades. In 2015, I conducted
several visits to the El Chaco region, home to the Guarani, and was able to rely
upon the contacts made during those visits to secure phone interviews for this
research. To supplement information regarding Guarani negotiations on ER,
I relied on the database of prior consultations in Bolivia created by Falleti and
Riofrancos (2018) and updated by Zaremberg and Torres-Wong (2018).
Additional secondary sources included scholarly studies, municipal develop-
ment reports in each country, and newspaper articles related to the emergence of
conflict, Indigenous self-determination demands, and negotiations on different
types of economic resources (ER and NER).
2.6.3 Scholarly Work on Self-Determination
Much of the existing literature on Indigenous self-determination is legal and
focuses on how national and international courts define this right and resolve
legal controversies around it (Graham 2004;Anaya 2000;Daes 2000;
Scheinin 2000). I argue that self-determination encompasses more than deci-
sions over specific legal complaints or idealized legal definitions of
Indigenous rights. There is a great disconnect between Indigenous political
organizations operating at the international level with ties to legal activists and
access to international forums and underresourced Indigenous leaders strug-
gling to achieve self-determination at the community level. Rather than being
based on romanticized court decisions with little impact on local Indigenous
societies, self-determination is a process developed within Indigenous terri-
tories on a daily basis through negotiations and conflict with extractive
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companies, state actors, and criminal organizations, among others. In this
regard, I emphasize that legal frameworks addressing self-determination
matter to the extent that they are used by Indigenous communities to materi-
alize their political goals.
Another school of thought rests upon definitions of self-determination that are
based narrowly on anti-extractivism (Picq 2014). According to these, the active
promotion of extractive industries by the state is the main obstacle to the realiza-
tion of the right to self-determination (Poweska 2017). Similarly, various studies
on prior consultation in countries such as Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, and
Mexico define the failures of Indigenous participation as based on Indigenous
groups’inability to veto consulted projects (Torres-Wong 2019;Leifsen et al.
2018;Flemmer and Schilling-Vacaflor, 2016). Such studies offer only a partial
picture of the right to self-determination, as it encompasses economic, political,
and cultural dimensions that extend beyond the approval of projects (Gouritin and
Aguilar 2017). Using prior consultation to examine self-determination can be
reductionist, as it hinders the examination of broader political processes that take
place inside communities. Other scholars study self-determination through the
struggles of some Indigenous organizations that gather various Indigenous com-
munities for the creation of Indigenous autonomous governments (Merino 2020;
Sieder and Barrera 2017). These studies, however valuable, do not represent the
reality of most Indigenouscommunities struggling to gainpolitical and economic
power within the structures of rural municipal jurisdictions.
In this Element, I advocate for territorialized and more dynamic definitions of
self-determination. I frame self-determination as a complex process existing on
a continuum. In this process, Indigenous leaders often make trade-offs to
achieve minimum levels of well-being. Extractivist projects represent
a constant threat to the natural environments of Indigenous peoples; however,
under specific conditions, my cases show that they can represent an opportunity
to secure economic autonomy. Section 3 examines the contrasting results
obtained by Indigenous communities and it attempts to illustrate their hetero-
geneity by emphasizing their different legal abilities and economic resources.
The cases confirm that Indigenous struggles are mostly guided by the desire to
improve living conditions, but without undergoing assimilation (Engel 2010).
The paths taken toward this goal, however, lead to different outcomes.
3 The Cases
3.1 Indigenous Self-Determination and Extractive Industries
This section compares the self-determination outcomes of six Indigenous com-
munities living in rural municipalities in Bolivia, Peru, and Mexico. In some of
these communities, Indigenous leaders embrace anti-extractivist goals, while in
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others self-determination is pursued through extractive revenues. Emphasis is
placed on Indigenous ability to use existing legal frameworks and available
economic resources to improve life in Indigenous communities. I examine the
cases of Capulálpam de Méndez (Mexico), Chetilla (Peru), Ingre (Bolivia),
Homún (Mexico), Oxiacaque (Mexico), and Atahualpa (Peru). Differences in
the use of favorable legal frameworks (SLP or ILP) and in types of economic
resources available for community projects (ER, NER. or NR) shape the self-
determination outcomes.
3.1.1 The Zapoteca People from Capulálpam de Méndez in Oaxaca, Mexico
Oaxaca is a state in Southern Mexico widely recognized as home to the most
sizable Indigenous population in the country, with 65.7 percent of residents
identifying with one of the eighteen ethnic groups in the state. In 1990, the
Constitution of Oaxaca incorporated the right of Indigenous municipalities to
elect their own authorities using customary norms. This became official in 1995
within a context of widespread political contention that originated in the
Zapatista insurrection, with Indigenous communities in Oaxaca demonstrating
on the streets to demand autonomy and self-government (Educa 2020). The new
system, known as Usos y Costumbres (“Customs and Traditions”), prioritized
Indigenous electoral practices over the traditional party system and today it
prevails in 418 of the 517 municipalities in the state.
While Oaxaca made important legal progress regarding Indigenous rights,
multicultural laws still subordinate Indigenous normative systems to national
laws (Educa 2020;Martínez 2006). However, over the years, SLP by most
organized and politically skilled communities has pushed the boundaries of
Usos y Costumbres toward greater political autonomy. In 2005, a conflict with
the Canadian mining company Continuum Resources broke out in the
Zapoteca municipality of Capulálpam de Méndez, located in the northern
mountains known as Sierra de Juarez.
5
The population opposed mining activ-
ities on the basis of their environmental impact. Mobilizing the support of
nearby communities, Indigenous municipal authorities initiated a socio-legal
battle against the company, which finally withdrew the project in 2011. In
2020, anti-mining leaders informed the media that, after five years of litiga-
tion, the Third District Court had recognized Capulálpam de Méndez as the
legitimate owner of their ancestral land (Perez Alfonso 2020).
6
5
The Zapoteca are the largest ethnic group in Oaxaca followed by the Mixteca and the Mazatecos.
6
In Oaxaca, 44 percent of the territory has been granted to mining and it has one of the highest
levels of violence connected with mining projects (Observatory of Participation, Conflict and the
Environment n.d.).
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Several times Capulálpams have demonstrated their capacity to take action
against the state in defense of their natural resources. In the 1980s, Capulálpam
de Méndez, together with neighboring communities, initiated a long process to
recover custodianship of their forests from private companies. With
a population of 1,597 this community is notable for having consolidated
a system of self-government based on Indigenous customary norms and cultural
values.
7
Like most municipalities in Oaxaca, Capulálpam is governed by the
Usos y Costumbres system and elects municipal authorities through customary
law. In parallel, it is recognized as an agrarian community in terms of Mexico’s
agrarian law, holding collective property of lands, and as an Indigenous com-
munity according to the law of Oaxaca. The agrarian authority is the
Comisariado de Bienes Comunales (Commissariat of Community Goods),
responsible for administering community lands and natural resources. There
is also a Consejo de Caracterizados (Elders Council) which represents
Indigenous authority and provides advice to municipal and agrarian authorities,
functioning as a legislative body inside Capulálpam’s municipal jurisdiction
(Capulálpam de Méndez 2018;Chávez and Valtierra-Pacheco 2018).
The General Community Assembly is the most important mechanism for
collective decision-making above the Elders Council. This assembly is the
deliberative institution par excellence in rural Oaxaca and is considered the
ultimate expression of Indigenous self-government (Torres-Mazuera and
Recondo 2022). For Capulálpams, the General Community Assembly is the
central piece of their customary norms system and prevails over municipal and
agrarian authorities.
Historically, Capulálpam was a mining town. Mineral extraction had
existed in the region since 1775 and was the main source of employment
for male community members. Respondents noted that people were able to
send their children to schools in the city of Oaxaca because of their work in
the mine. However, there is also a generalized perception of mining compan-
ies’exploitation of Indigenous labor (Mendez 2017). When extractive activ-
ities came to a halt in the 1990s, people were forced to migrate to other cities
in search of jobs. Nevertheless, a strong sense of community and shared
cultural values preserved unity among community members (Capulálpam de
Méndez 2018). The cargo system, an emblematic Indigenous tradition
through which individuals progress politically by providing different types
of free services (or tequio) to the community is a pillar of Capulálpam’s
political organization.
7
The population size is an estimate from 2017 official records; when temporary residents are
included, the population totals 4,000.
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Strengthening Indigenous Economy through NER
The lack of economic opportunities prompted many Capulálpams to migrate to
Oaxaca, where they found jobs in government. From these positions, Indigenous
professionals have sought ways to improve living conditions in their hometown.
Such is the case of Ricardo Ramirez, a community member of Capulálpam and an
agronomist who served as a state program manager in CONAFOR (the National
Forestry Commission or Comisión Nacional Forestal) promoting sustainable
management of the forest. He has directed efforts and resources to foster this
development model in Capulálpam and neighboring communities from the Sierra
de Juárez: “Economic resources are not sufficient to orient community behavior,
each community has their conditions ... Private exploitation of the forest left
negative perceptions in the communities because they had little room to partici-
pate”(CONAFOR 2007:19).
Various state agencies, such as the National Commission for the Development
of Indigenous Populations (Comisión Nacional para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos
Indígenas or CDI) and the Ministry of Tourism (Secretaría de Turismo) followed
CONAFOR in promoting a sustainable economy in Capulálpam. These agencies
provided Indigenous leaders with technical and economic support to develop
ecotourism. Assisted by the Ministry of Tourism, Capulálpam applied to the
Pueblos Mágicos (“Magic Towns”) federal program aimed at expanding tourism
in Mexico’s rural municipalities. As part of this program, Capulálpam has been
able to access federal resources to promote tourism since 2008.
Through the General Community Assembly,community members approved the
use of state resources to develop their economy and they provided the wood and
nonremunerated community labor or tequio to build the project infrastructure.
Today, the community welcomes tourists from Mexico and abroad. However,
community leaders warn residents to keep foreigners under supervision, in order
to avoid “contamination of the community livelihood”(Torres-Wong 2019).
Over the last decade, Capulálpam has become a model for Indigenous economic
development based on ecotourism and the sustainable use of forestry resources.
Activities such as carbon capturing, sale of forestry belts, and hydraulic services
form part of Capulálpam´s economy. Four community-owned companies are
responsible for creating employment for young people. There are also several
companies created by different community groups selling wooden furniture and
toys and providing alternative medical services based on the Indigenous tradition
(Capulálpam de Méndez 2018).
In comparison with adjacent Indigenous municipalities, Capulálpam de
Méndez represents quality of community life. Most of the population have
their basic needs met and have access to functioning education and health
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care (Bartra 2013;Bray and Merino 2004:153). Furthermore, the majority of
residents do not live on subsistence activities; nor do they need to migrate to
other cities in search of employment (Municipal Council for Sustainable Rural
Development 2009:164).
SLP against the Mining Industry
In 2004, the Canadian mining company Continuum Resources began explor-
ation and exploitation activities for silver and gold on land that formed part of
Capulálpam de Méndez (Mendez 2017:30). Studies carried out by the company
had shown that sizable amounts of these valuable minerals still existed in the
area, and could be extracted using the open-pit technique. At first, Continuum
Resources operated in locations outside the municipality. However, the com-
pany gradually started exploring areas near spring water sources. This con-
cerned the municipal authorities, and caused tension between the population
and mining employees (Aquino 2011).
In 2005, the General Community Assembly decided to prohibit mining and
demanded that the government cancel all mining concessions in its territory.
Against constitutional norms granting the federal government authority over the
national subsoil, Capulálpams claimed their right to govern their territories
according to their own normative and political systems. Opposition to mining
was led by the three local authorities: the agrarian, the Indigenous, and the
municipal. Various street protests, road blockages, and acts of disobedience
(vandalizing the mine’s premises and equipment) took place (Guarneros-Meza
and Torres-Wong 2022), with neighboring organizations joining the anti-mining
struggle and supporting Capulálpam by providing mobilization resources and
spreading anti-mining sentiment.
Representatives from Continuum Resources went to Capulálpam to offer jobs and
development opportunities to the young people; however, the authorities remained
firm in their decision to reject the mining project (Personal communication with the
Commissariat of Community Goods, October 2018). Capulálpam’s anti-mining
stance was also supported by state officials associated with the forestry administra-
tion, such as the Agrarian Attorney (or Procurador Agrario) in Oaxaca, one of the
most important state authorities regarding land affairs. When asked about his
understanding of the conflict, the Agrarian Attorney conceded that: “Capulálpam
has the right to decide about its territory because it is an Agrarian Community, and
the mine is on community lands”(Torres-Wong and Jimenez-Sandoval 2022:6).
In addition to opposing the mining company, Capulálpam was faced with
a neighboring municipality that supported the mining project. Natividad,
located next to Capulálpam, was created after the discovery of a gold and silver
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mine in 1775 from which it acquired its name, Mina de la Natividad (Mine of
the Nativity). At its peak, the mine attracted workers from all over the country,
including members of Capulálpam. However, unlike Capulálpam, Natividad is
not an Indigenous community and economic alternatives did not develop after
the mining companies left. As a result, Natividad approved the reactivation of
the mine. These differences resulted in conflict between residents of the two
municipalities and Natividad became a pro-mining traitor in the eyes of the
Capulálpam authorities (Torres-Wong and Jimenez-Sandoval 2022).
A legal battle began in an attempt to resolve the dispute over which of the two
municipalities had the right to decide whether mining activities were to move
forward. Before the conflict, Natividad residents had had free access to
Capulálpam lands, and water was supplied by Capulálpam at no cost. However,
as tensions increased, Capulálpam prohibited access to wood and cut the water
supply to Natividad. Anti-mining leaders sought to force Natividad to desist from
its legal claim. Faced with water scarcity, the leaders of Natividad acquiesced.
However, despite regaining their access to water, they are now required to pay an
annual fee. Natividad has sought alternative solutions to the conflict, yet its petitions
have been ignored, and Capulálpam has refused to attend the conciliation assem-
blies organized to resolve the conflict (Torres-Wong and Jimenez-Sandoval 2022).
In the end, Capulálpam prevailed, and Natividad is now considered part of
Capulálpam territory but with no power to approve projects. Respondents in
Natividad complained about the attitude of Capulálpam’s leaders: “It’s not
a magic town, I call it a tragic town ... they have so much but want more”
(personal communication with a resident of Natividad, October 2018). Anti-
mining leaders refuse to accept Natividad’s petition to accept mining, but they
have not shared the benefits of their flourishing economy with their neighbors.
Self-Determination as Anti-Extractivism
Capulálpams have achieved outstanding levels of self-determination in its polit-
ical, legal, economic, and cultural dimensions. Likewise, the case of Capulálpam
de Méndez is closest to the ideal of Indigenous self-determination as envisioned
by environmentalists and international discourses on Buen Vivir. Self-determined
use of the Usos y Costumbres legislation that granted them municipal autonomy
enabled Capulálpams to confront pro-mining state regulations. According to
Indigenous leaders, customary norms prevail over state laws and are enforced
by the General Community Assembly, portrayed as the head of the municipality
(CONAFOR 2007). Self-determined legal practice, together with NER, enabled
Indigenous leaders to undertake partnerships with state agencies while maintain-
ing control of their economy. Through NER, Indigenous leaders were able to
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strengthen their government by increasing their ability to implement economic
projects that benefit the community. Cultural practices such as the tequio and the
cargo system, considered the glue that holds community members together,
permeated the entire process.
The infrastructure that was built for ecotourism and related services contrib-
uted to economic growth within Capulálpam’s territory, creating new economic
ventures that have proven attractive to the young people of the community. The
autonomy of Capulálpam was not compromised by NER, regarding whether or
not to work with the mining industry. On the contrary, it created conditions for an
economic model that undermined the value of mining and the productive infra-
structure that accompanies it (Guarneros-Meza and Torres-Wong 2022).
Community members are no longer forced to migrate in search of economic
alternatives. Furthermore, Indigenous leaders have aligned Capulálpam’scultural
values with sustainable development. Capulálpams now publicize eco-friendly
services, linking their cultural identity to the defense of the environment.
Indigenous authorities emphasize that it is the community that decides what
is done in Capulálpam, and all the authorities must obey. The combination of
SLP with NER created a virtuous circle, in which community members were
incentivized to preserve their territory and reinforce cultural practices. The case
also demonstrates that even within the same territory, communities do not all
have the same opportunities, as in the case of Natividad which has been
incapable of overcoming mining dependence.
3.1.2 The Guarani People from Ingre in Chuquisaca, Bolivia
The Guarani People are the third largest Indigenous ethnic group in Bolivia,
after the Quechua and the Aymara, and are spread across the departments of
Santa Cruz, Tarija, and Chuquisaca, within the El Chaco region. Together with
thirty-three smaller ethnic groups mostly inhabiting the Amazon basin, the
Guarani comprise the Indigenous peoples from the lowlands. In 1990, lowlands
Indigenous communities undertook “the first march for the defense of territory
and dignity”covering the 640 kilometers from the Amazon to La Paz City,
demanding that the Bolivian government respect Indigenous cultures. In 1995,
the Bolivian constitution recognized the multicultural and plurinational nature
of the country (Cooke 2013), and in 1996 the government passed the INRA law
(National Institute of Agrarian Reform) with the objective of recognizing,
among other things, the collective property rights of Indigenous communities.
Multicultural recognition created conditions for the multiplication of Indigenous
demands centered on Indigenous cultural distinction. For the Guarani from El
Chaco, where most Bolivian gas reserves are located, their fight focused on gaining
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political power over the oil companies. In 2005, in a context of widespread
Indigenous mobilization against neoliberal policies, a new hydrocarbon law
(Hydrocarbon Law 3058) was passed, affording Indigenous communities the right
to prior consultation and including the power to veto unwanted projects
(Hydrocarbon Law 3058, Article 115). In addition, the law granted Indigenous
communities the right to obtain economic compensation for all social and environ-
mental damages resulting from oil-related operations (Hydrocarbon Law 3058,
Article 17).
When Evo Morales came to power in 2006 a new political constitution was
approved, and prior consultation became a constitutional right. Indigenous
peoples were legally recognized as socio-environmental monitors of hydro-
carbon operations with the right to receive salaries from oil companies. This
right was made effective in Supreme Decree 29103 in 2007 and was recog-
nized in the new constitution of 2009. Since 2009, Indigenous peoples have
also been granted the choice to become Indigenous Originary Peasant
Autonomies (AIOCs) with full political independence from municipal
authorities.
8
The Guarani communities are among those ethnic groups that have most
benefited from favorable legislation. Extraction of hydrocarbons had occurred
in El Chaco long before Guarani communities began to reoccupy their lands. Up
until approximately three decades ago, Guarani members had lived in semi-
slavery conditions, working for powerful rancher elites for nearly a century
(Sistema de haciendas-hacienda system). Guarani’s organizing structures and
political goals were thus shaped by their ongoing experiences of conflict and
negotiation with hydrocarbon companies (Humphreys-Bebbington 2012:138).
Over the years and aided by NGOs and the Catholic Church, Guarani leaders
have been able to build strong political organization.
9
Together with other Indigenous ethnic groups from the lowlands, Guarani
communities formed an Indigenous organization, Comunidades Indígenas del
Oriente Boliviano (Indigenous Communities from Eastern Bolivia or CIDOB), in
1982. Five years later, the Guarani created the Asamblea General del Pueblo
Guarani (General Assembly of the Guarani People or APG). Over the years, the
8
Conversion into AIOCs is a complex process fraught with political and economic obstacles; only
a few Indigenous groups have completed conversion (Lopez Flores and Makaran 2020), and
among them are the Guarani People from Charagua Iyambe. Territorial fragmentation and
internal division prevent the AIOCs from being an attractive model for most Indigenous groups
(Lopez Flores and Makaran 2020). Moreover, some leaders argue that AIOCs weaken the
Asamblea del Pueblo Guaraní’s (Assembly of the Guarani People, or APG) decision-making
capacity. Extractive resources, negotiated through prior consultations, continue to be the most
available source of financing for local development.
9
These institutions bought lands from the government for Guarani members to resettle in commu-
nities after they had escaped the estates.
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APG acquired notable convening and coordination powers (Caurey 2015). Today,
Guarani communities are organized into twenty-nine captaincies, politically
subordinate to the APG, with the General Community Assembly as the most
important deliberative and decision-making mechanism (Guarani Autonomous
Government Charagua Iyambae n.d.). In addition, every level in the organization
(community, regional, and national), has its own assembly which makes decisions
over territorial organization and economic development (Torres-Wong 2019).
Well-established mechanisms of deliberation and decision-making have
enabled Guarani groups to hold the government accountable for their rights.
Regardless of how progressive the legal frameworks in Bolivia are, the coun-
try’s dependence on gas revenues prevents these laws from fulfilling the
functions that many Indigenous rights supporters envisioned, and thus alterna-
tive development models, headed by Indigenous peoples, have not proliferated
as many expected. The Guarani are among those who more readily complied
with gas extraction and currently use the rights obtained to negotiate ER.
The Captaincy of Ingre and Gas Revenues
The Captaincy of Ingre is one of nine Guarani Captaincies (capitanías) operat-
ing in the department of Chuquisaca. Ingre comprises 10 small communities
with a population totaling 1,000. All nine Indigenous captaincies are account-
able to the Council of Guarani Captains of Chuquisaca (Consejo de Capitanes
Guaraníes de Chuquisaca or CCCH). Ingre did not convert to the AIOC system
and continues to form part of the rural municipality of San Pablo Huacareta in
the province of Hernado Siles, governed by the political party system. With the
commodity boom and the peak in the price of hydrocarbons, extractive revenues
have become increasingly important for Chuquisaca and the seventy-six com-
munities inhabiting this department.
Traditional Guarani economies are based on agriculture, semi-
subsistence–based farming, hunting, fishing, and the gathering of wild plants
and fruits (Manos Unidas n.d.). Migration rates among Guarani communities
have typically been high (Cauthin 2017; Healy 1987). Even after gaining
freedom from the estates, Indigenous members still migrated temporarily to
the nearest cities or sought employment with their former patrones to obtain an
income. When extractive operations in Chuquisaca began, Guarani communi-
ties in Ingre were able to use prior consultation to ensure that oil companies paid
compensations for using their land.
10
10
There are no official records on prior consultations in Bolivia. As of 2018, academic studies
identified only twelve consultations in the department of Chuquisaca (Falleti and Riofrancos
2018;Zaremberg and Torres-Wong 2018).
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In 2012, Ingre was consulted about seismic processing for gas exploration by the
state oil company YPFB. The current Guarani Captain of Ingre explained in an
interview that a fixed percentage is legally stipulated regarding the amount of
economic compensation per type of hydrocarbon operation. Indigenous communi-
ties know what to ask for and use this knowledge to demand that companies
disburse the funds before projects begin. Leaders are also able to negotiate the
building of infrastructure or the provision of services once extractive operations
start. All communities impacted by hydrocarbon projects participate in the consult-
ation. Community members use Asambleas Zonales (regional assemblies), to
decide how to spend the funds. The resources may be invested in a project shared
by various communities or each community may receive funds to develop their own
small projects (personal communication with Guarani Captain of Ingre, January 14,
2021).
Leaders in Ingre consider that gas revenues have brought economic improve-
ments for Indigenous peoples. Community members are now able to find employ-
ment in oil companies as part of the labor force, provide catering services, or work
in social and environmental affairs. With the compensation money, leaders have
created community companies to promote agrobiodiverse products grown exclu-
sively in Guarani ecosystems. In the words of the current Captain of Ingre:
Now we have the capacity to go to the cities and build our offices there, we
have a food processing plant owned by the Guarani nation, we are moving
forward, ...we are trying to obtain the sanitary registration of food products,
we want to sell our products on the national market ... we have cattle raising
projects and each community receives animals in equal proportions ...there
is more respect for Indigenous peoples, now there are basic services in the
small towns ... . We have made progress during right-wing and leftist
governments alike, it was not because of the government, we did it. (personal
communication with Guarani Captain, January 14, 2021)
The results obtained by the Guarani regarding the implementation of commu-
nity projects are comparable to those of their counterparts in Capulálpam de
Méndez. Indigenous captains are skilled in prior consultation negotiations and
are proud of having ensured that the government fully covers the costs of
consultations. Before becoming captain, the respondent disclosed that he had
served as a socio-environmental monitor and argued that Ingre has a strong
monitoring system in force. In his view, Indigenous members set environmental
standards and could make oil companies assume responsibility for the damage
they cause. However, he openly expressed his concerns over the negative
impacts from sharing their territory with the industry. Moreover, the leader
admitted that there is a risk of young socio-environmental monitors being
coopted by oil companies.
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In March 2015, the Morales government modified prior consultation proced-
ures to be more expeditious and removed the completion of consultations as an
impediment for projects to begin (see Supreme Decree 2298, 2015). Later
that year, the government approved operations in Natural Protected Areas (see
Supreme Decree 2366, 2015). Guarani Captains were able to resist prior
consultation counter-reforms and continued to use it in accordance with cultural
practices, relying on community assemblies to establish times and procedures
for reaching decisions. Still, opposition to extractive operations in Natural
Protected Areas remained unarticulated and Guarani leaders were divided
between pro-government sectors and more critical voices. The government
proceeded with operations despite national and international criticism.
In Ingre, communities have rejected the use of nonconventional seeds as well
as dams in order to protect their natural environment. However, hydrocarbon
projects are generally approved in Chuquisaca and other regions in El Chaco.
11
Not all captains agree with hydrocarbon operations, but they understand that
they cannot refuse these activities (Gustafson 2020; Diaz Arnau n.d.).
Gas Dependence and Repercussions for Indigenous Communities
Despite the progress perceived by some leaders in terms of economic development,
civil society organizations and scholarly studies report that extractive revenues have
created a heavy dependence among both Indigenous and non-Indigenous popula-
tions (Fundacion Jubileo 2018). These organizations report that there is no evidence
that Indigenous socio-environmental monitoring on extractive operations has had
any impact. Several Indigenous rights and environmental activists denounce the
government for using the money negotiated through prior consultation to coopt
Indigenous leaders and advance aggressive extractivism. In the view of these
sectors, Guarani organizations are now politically weaker, and division between
Guarani Captaincies has increased (Ribera 2019).
12
Furthermore, in a recent report on the impacts of hydrocarbon activities in the
department of Tarija, Guarani women report that hydrocarbon operations have
more negative than good consequences. In their testimonies, female respond-
ents consider that economic growth only lasts a few years, but environmental
and social harms remain for many more: “many women got pregnant by oil
employees who lied to them and then abandoned them and their children ...
11
Only the community of Tenteyape, famous for defending the preservation oftheir culture against
the implementation of schools and hospitals in their territories, rejected the oil companies
(Mendoza and Terrazas n.d.).
12
The conflict over the Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro-Sécure (TIPNIS, Indigenous
Territory and National Park Isiboro-Sécure) highway in 2012 triggered division in the lowlands.
Some Indigenous organizations supported the government whereas others rejected it, invoking
environmental and cultural protection (Equipo Nizcor 2012).
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there was prostitution which had never happened before, people became lazy,
they do not want to work the land anymore, they got used to easy money from
working in the companies”(Fundacion Jubileo 2020). Due to these experiences,
Guarani leaders from Ingre prohibited oil company employees from interacting
with women from the communities, yet they also admit that women work in oil
companies and there is a continuous influx of oil workers in Guarani communi-
ties (personal communication with Guarani Captain from Ingre, April 2021).
Ecologists criticize Guarani organizations for supporting the government’s
destructive extractivist policies in exchange for gas revenues (Ribera 2019).
This is consistent with the testimonies of Indigenous captains in Ingre who
recognize that there are leaders who are tempted by the promise of money.
Indigenous respondents agreed that oil companies divide leaders and that
bribery, internal conflict, and overlapping leaderships are prevalent (Mendoza
and Terrazas n.d.).
Self-Determination as Extractivist Development
The department of Chuquisaca, along with Tarija and Santa Cruz, has the
largest hydrocarbon reserves in Bolivia. Since 2012, this department has
increased its income due to the gas rents generated by the Caipipendi block.
Explorations in gas blocks at Azero and Huacareta in 2014 further increased
rents and raised expectations of economic growth (La Razón 2014). Since
escaping the haciendas (estates), the economic resources most available to
Guarani communities, other than NGO support, has come from negotiations
with oil companies.
A SLP has enabled the Guarani to hold the government to consultation for
any potential project on their land. Unlike other lowland Indigenous groups
with few political skills, Guarani organizations can delay oil operations if they
are not consulted and compensated in advance. Guarani leaders build upon
Indigenous identity and cultural practices to negotiate benefits from oil com-
panies. Community assemblies are used strategically to create Indigenous
consensus, make economic demands, and resist government attempts to limit
their use of prior consultation.
Nonetheless, gas production has been steadily declining since 2015, and several
economic reports warn that poverty reduction could be reverted in the absence of
new gas deposit discoveries (Fundacion Jubileo 2018). Economic dependence on
extractive revenues prompted the Morales government to authorize hydrocarbon
exploration in natural parks in 2015, as well as the use of controversial fracking
techniques. This dependence hinders the ability of Guarani organizations to
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oppose gas extraction or to place limits on oil operations for environmental
reasons. The impact of Indigenous monitoring is debatable given the dependence
of Indigenous monitors on the companies that pay their salaries.
The Guarani strategy of combining SLP with ER grants these communities
partial self-determination, as the economic and cultural dimensions are achieved
but the political and legal aspects are reduced. There is increased economic
autonomy in the form of locally designed economic projects controlled by
Indigenous leaders for the benefit of community members. Cultural values remain
a strong guiding force in negotiations with the state and in decisions over the use of
ER. However, internal conflicts and oil-related impacts cause serious problems in
Guarani societies. Guarani Captains are aware that they are subordinate to state
political decisions over gas extraction. Moreover, the continuous influx of oil
employees to Indigenous communities, together with Indigenous members joining
oil companies and becoming accountable to company norms and interests rather
than those of the Guarani, undermine leaders’capacity to make oil employees and
community members accountable to Indigenous customary norms.
3.1.3 The Quechua People from Chetilla in Cajamarca, Peru
The Quechua people represent the largest Indigenous group in Peru with
a population totaling 5,179,774 (Ministry of Culture of Peru n.d.), concentrated in
the highland regions of Cusco, Apurimac, Huacanvelica, Huanuco, Ancash, and
Puno. In these regions, Indigenous peoples organize into Peasant Communities
(Comunidades Campesinas), legally recognized as autonomous bodies entitled to
collective property land rights and to use natural resources for their development.
13
Peasant Communities have political, economic, and administrative autonomy and
elect their authorities according to their customary norms. Community authorities
are accountable to the Community Assembly, the highest decision-making body,
where community members deliberate and decide on issues of interest to the
community.
The state recognizes these communities as Indigenous with all the rights
granted in international and national legislation. Ethnic-centered identities,
however, are not overarching in most of the Peruvian Andes and people
generally identify as peasants. Traditionally, community leaders have served
as intermediaries between their community and the state (Ministry of Culture of
Peru n.d.). This type of authority coexists with municipal authorities who are
elected through the regular party system, yet a tendency toward municipaliza-
tion among Peasant Communities seeking access to state resources has
13
Peasant Communities are recognized in the 1993 constitution, in the General Law of Peasant
Communities of 2006, as well as in supplementary legislation.
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undermined the authority of traditional leadership (Urrutia 2002). Over the last
two decades, peasants have begun to run for municipal seats. However, in order
to do this, they are required to form alliances with political parties (Monge
2004). Electoral competition creates division between community members
who must choose between the wide array of political parties that emerge during
Peru’s electoral seasons. Once in office, it is frequent that peasant mayors are
subsumed into municipal politics and state development plans.
In addition, another form of community organization exists that has gained
importance over the last forty years. In the mid-1970s, various groups of
peasants in the Cajamarca region organized patrols to protect community
members from local crime (Gitlitz 2013). Subsequently, in the 1980s, when
political violence caused by the armed conflict between the Peruvian army and
the Shining Path (Sendero Luiminoso) gravely affected Quechua societies, this
system of community defense, named Rondas Campesinas (peasant patrols),
assisted the government in defeating the insurgency (Degregori et al. 1996).
In 1993, the new constitution approved by the Fujimori government recog-
nized the power of the Rondas to resolve conflicts using customary norms. In
2003, Law 27908 (Ley de Rondas Campesinas) granted legal personality to the
Rondas Campesinas and authorized them to dispense justice and participate in,
supervise, and control any type of project or program implemented in their
jurisdictions (Articles 1 and 6 of Law 27908). The successful administration of
justice by the Rondas and their contribution to social peace led the regional
government of Cajamarca to support the work of peasant Ronderos. Legal
training and the implementation of coordination mechanisms between
Ronderos and state agencies have been established on the understanding that
there is no subordination of the peasant justice system to the state but collabor-
ation between the two parties (Digital Platform of the Peruvian Government
2020).
SLP against the Mining Industry
The rural municipality of San Esteban de Chetilla is located in the province of
Cajamarca, capital of the Cajamarca region. Chetilla is a Quechua community,
politically organized into a municipal council headed by a mayor and five
council members elected every four years. The population of Chetilla totals
3,660 (National Institute of Statistics of Peru 2018) and it is the only Indigenous
community still inhabiting Cajamarca. Community political organization coex-
ists with municipal authorities (Municipality of Chetilla 2019). Chetilla has the
legal status of Peasant Community, accountable to its Community Assembly,
together with a strong system of Rondas Campesinas that is deeply entrenched
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in Chetilla’s local society due to the effectiveness of the Ronderos’administra-
tion of justice (Torres-Wong 2019).
Cajamarca is one of the most important mining centers in Peru as it is home to
Yanacocha, an open-pit gold mine that has been operating in the region since the
1990s. Mining municipalities in Peru receive a percentage of mining royalties to
foster local development (canon minero). However, Chetillans oppose mining
activities. Environmental disasters attributed to Yanacocha, as well as the
numerous conflicts between the company and adjacent communities, account
for this rejection (Torres-Wong 2019). Maintaining that water is more valuable
than gold, community authorities have remained steadfast in their anti-mining
stance, arguing that ecological damages will be greater than the economic
development of local communities (Zavaleta Mauricio 2014).
14
Access to water is critical for Chetilla’s agriculturally based economy, as well
as for the functioning of its hydroelectric plant. Thus, mining is perceived as
a major threat to community survival. In 2003, the Peruvian government
authorized several companies to initiate activities in the Colpayoc Mountain,
located on Chetilla land. Preliminary studies predicted findings of over 313,000
ounces of gold, using the open-pit exploitation technique (Enlace Minería
2014). However, community members never consented to the operations.
Violent confrontations took place between members of the Ronda Campesina
and mining engineers working in the Colpayoc. In a personal communication,
a former member of the municipal council recounts how, without seeking any
form of negotiation, hundreds of community members captured the engineers
and gathered in the main square. In the presence of community members,
leaders burned the engineers’mining equipment, took away their shoes and
some clothing, and expelled them from the municipality (personal communica-
tion, July 16, 2014, cited by Torres-Wong 2019).
A similar event occurred again in 2009, when the mining company Estrella
Gold Peru sent employees to Chetilla to resume exploration activities. Estrella
Gold Peru finally withdrew the project in 2013, arguing that the “social costs”
were too high and that local conditions needed to change before progressing
with mining operations (Enlace Minería 2014). Even today, mining companies
have been unable to reinitiate operations. Municipal politicians in Chetilla
support the anti-mining stance despite the fact that there is a majority in support
of mining in the national government. To secure peasant votes, candidates
understand that mining cannot appear on their political agenda (Torres-Wong
2019).
14
Poverty persists in peasant communities in Cajamarca after twenty-two years of gold extraction
(National Institute of Statistics of Peru 2018).
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Underfunding and the Repercussions for Self-Determination
Low rates of revenue collection together with minimal mining royalties have
resulted in a reduced municipal budget, insufficient to cover the population’s
basic needs. Furthermore, even when Chetillans are united against mining
companies, they tend to be divided into different political parties when voting
for municipal authorities (for results, see National Office of Electoral Process
2014). Scarce public resources together with increasing divisions over party
affiliations prevent both Indigenous and municipal authorities from achieving
efficient administration of municipal resources.
In 1995, community authorities organized the minga (Quechua for “commu-
nity work”) for the construction of the road that now connects Chetilla to the
city of Cajamarca (the main urban center in the region). Chetillans depend on
subsistence agriculture, cattle raising, and milk sales. Due to the new road,
Cajamarca is now only two hours away by overground transportation, facilitat-
ing trade in Chetillan agricultural products and providing some cash income.
However, this income is insufficient to improve life in the community. In 2000,
a joint effort between community and municipal authorities mobilized Congress
representatives to authorize resources for the construction of a hydroelectric
plant that now provides electricity to the population at minimum cost (La
Rotativa 2013). Nonetheless, Chetilla remains one of the poorest districts of
Peru (National Institute of Statistics of Peru 2018). Basic services, such as
education and health care, are not adequately covered, and illiteracy and
malnutrition are rampant (National Institute of Statistics of Peru 2018).
Temporary migration to Cajamarca is common among Chetillans, who leave
their hometown for education or temporary jobs to supplement their income.
Tourism has been proposed by various political candidates aspiring to
become mayor of Chetilla. In 2018, one candidate, Luis Dilas Mendoza,
promised to expand this industry. Natural resources, in the form of water
springs, archaeological sites, and distinctive cultural markers such as language,
traditional food, clothing, and religious festivities could attract tourists to
Chetilla and increase families’income. However, poor road conditions connect-
ing Chetilla with Cajamarca limit access for visitors. In addition, the infrastruc-
ture to receive tourists is insufficient, with only two small restaurants and one
hotel in the entire district and no travel agencies, tourist guides, or adequate
transportation (Montesinos 2018).
When Dilas became mayor, he announced that the government of the prov-
ince of Cajamarca had approved the construction of the Cumbemayo highway,
connecting Chetilla with important archaeological sites. However, according to
municipal officials from the city of Cajamarca, the project was indefinitely
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suspended due to the COVID-19 pandemic (personal communication with
council member of the Municipality of Cajamarca, March 10, 2021). In add-
ition, successive political crises in Peru, which have seen four presidents in the
last four years, hindered adequate coordination between national and local
authorities. This, together with reductions in municipal budgets, has created
uncertainty about the availability of the economic resources pledged to Chetilla.
Chetillans continue to make a living from traditional activities which they
supplement with government social programs that promote agriculture (Suarez
Vasquez 2020). State officials always coordinate with community authorities
and the Rondas before implementing such programs. Still, neither the Rondas
Campesinas nor the Community Assembly have the ability to administer public
resources. In 2019, the Provincial Municipality of Cajamarca initiated the
creation of a special office for Rondas Campesinas, to strengthen their capacity
to promote development in their communities. This was also interrupted due to
the COVID-19 pandemic.
Self-Determination amid Extreme Poverty
Social conflicts and violence over mining projects are common in the Peruvian
highlands (OCMAL n.d.). Over the last two decades, Peasant Communities and
Rondas Campesinas have actively opposed multinational companies, denoun-
cing the social and environmental damage caused by the mining industry (Diez
and Ortiz 2013). The Peruvian government has refused to conduct prior con-
sultation in Cajamarca, despite numerous episodes of violent anti-mining
mobilization. As it happens, prior consultation is neither necessary nor
demanded by Chetillans, as the Peasant Community has built on the justice
administration capacities of the Rondas Campesinas to prohibit mining.
In Chetilla, strategic SLP allowed community authorities to achieve partial
self-determination in its cultural, legal, and political dimensions. Since they
began to operate, the Ronderos have ensured that the state respects their cultural
practices and customary norms to sanction crime and resolve internal conflict.
Over the years, the legitimacy acquired by these authorities within their com-
munities enabled them to prohibit unwanted mining projects, contrary to
national state decisions. However, the economic dimension of self-
determination remains unmet. Community leaders lack the means to carry out
new ventures that can eradicate extreme poverty, and their ability to undertake
economic projects, such as tourism, is limited by the absence of funding. The
community continues to receive social programs and depends on the political
will and resources of the national government. Overall, NR prevents Chetillans
from achieving full self-determination.
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3.1.4 The Maya People from Homún in Yucatan, Mexico
TheMayaarethesecond-largestethnicgroupinLatinAmericaaftertheQuechua,
spread across Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, and El Salvador. In Mexico,
Mayans comprise the second-largest group after the Nahuas, numbering 1,475,575.
Mayan speakers inhabit the states of Yucatan, Quintana Roo, Campeche, Chiapas,
and Tabasco. In Yucatan, however, where most Mayan communities are found,
Indigenous political organization for ethnic-centered demands is uncommon. Some
scholars consider the Maya to be “peaceful”in comparison with othergroups from
Oaxaca, Chiapas, or Michoacan (Mattiace 2013).
The henequen “green gold”industry, prevalent in the region until the mid-
twentieth century, transformed Indigenous peasants into wage earners who received
a salary from the state company Cordemex. Indigenous communities lost control of
their agricultural production and focused most of their political demands on labor
rights (Mattiace 2013:227). Nonetheless, more than 65 percent of the population in
Yucatan self-identifies as Indigenous even when they do not assert ethnic-centered
rights. According to a young Indigenous activist, the Mayan culture permeates life
in the Yucatan, and both the language as wellasmanyculturaltraditions continue to
thrive (personal communication with Indigenous activist, August 2019). However,
Mayan communities have remained indifferent to favorable legislation that recog-
nizes their collective rights (Duarte 2013).
Yucatan was the last southern state in Mexico to incorporate pro-Indigenous
reforms, which finally occurred in 2011 when the state government approved
the Law for the Protection of the Rights of Mayan Communities (Ley para la
Protección de los Derechos de las Comunidades Mayas). However, various
scholars have highlighted that this law did not emerge from Indigenous
demands, but rather from federal legislators pressuring the subnational govern-
ment to regulate Indigenous rights (Mattiace and Llanes Salazar 2015). The new
legislation emphasized the most folkloric aspects of Indigenous culture but
neglected more substantive affairs, such as Indigenous control of their lands
and natural resources (Duarte 2013;Mattiace and Llanes Salazar 2015).
Mayan communities do not use favorable legislation for their political organ-
ization and continue to abide by state legal frameworks, exhibiting an ILP.
Indigenous authorities are generally absent, and the municipal president is the
highest political body at the community level. Participatory and deliberative
practices are not common among Indigenous communities (Torres-Mazuera
and Recondo 2022). The ejido system of collective property of lands is still
present but was diluted with the implementation of neoliberal reforms.
15
Currently, the ejidatarios (owners of ejido lands) operate as private owners
15
The ejido is a system of collective land-holding resulting from the 1910 Mexican Revolution.
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and are not accountable to the needs and interests of the rest of the community
(Torres-Mazuera and Recondo 2022). As a result, neither the ejido representa-
tives nor the municipal president serve as a counterweight to federal state
decisions that impact Indigenous livelihoods.
Homún is a Mayan municipality inhabited by almost 7,000 people. It is
located within the natural protected reserve known as Anillo de Cenotes (“the
ring of cenotes”), sixty kilometers southeast of the city of Merida (capital of the
state of Yucatan). Today, many people from Homún earn their living by working
in the ecotourism industry. For years, Homún maintained good relations with
state offices and fully complied with state regulations. However, in 2016 the
state government authorized the company Producción Alimentaria y Porcícola
(PAPO) to build a mega pig farm in the municipality. The project triggered
opposition from various sectors of Homún which, for the first time, mobilized
around the Indigenous right to self-determination and demanded cancellation of
the project. A prestigious NGO from Merida supported the Indigenous demands
and pursued various legal remedies to finally obtain legal suspension of the
project.
Strengthening Indigenous Economy through NER
For the members of Homún, the end of the henequen industry gave rise to an
extended period of unemployment. People were forced to migrate to Merida and
other parts of Yucatan in search of economic opportunities to support their
families. In 2010 a group of community members decided to open cenotes for
tourism. Cenotes are natural pools of crystalline water found either inside caves
or in open areas, formed millions of years ago in the Yucatan peninsula as
a product of limestone rock erosion. There are approximately 300 cenotes in
Homún, 13 of which have been opened to visitors (Torres Wong 2022).
Due to the private land regime operating in Homún, the cenotes belong to the
residents on whose property they are located. Thus, the exploitation of these
natural attractions was undertaken through individual initiatives. The National
Commission for the Development of Indigenous Peoples (CDI) and the
Ministry of Urban Development and the Environment (SEDUMA) supported
the cenote owners (cenoteros), providing them with the economic resources
necessary to develop tourist infrastructure or with technical advice to attract
national and international tourists. In addition, the CDI helped young people to
buy moto taxis to transport visitors between the different attractions.
16
While
the cenoteros are the major beneficiaries of this industry due to the tourist
charge for access to the natural pools, new businesses have been developed
16
Moto taxis are motorcycles with wagons attached that can transport up to three passengers.
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by young people in the area. In collaboration with cenoteros, about 300 young
men work as tourist guides and/or in transport services. Small businesses in the
form of restaurants, street food vendors, swimming equipment rentals, and
lodgings, among others, have also flourished. According to one respondent,
Homún has evolved since the exploitation of cenotes first began: “there is
economic flow”(personal communication with the first cenotero of Homún,
August 2019). Another commented: “Right now, Homún does not ask the
government for anything ... in four or five years, Homún has managed to self-
employ its people”(personal communication with a cenotero and restaurant
owner of Homun, August 2019).
The decision to open the cenotes to tourists implied changes to the cultural
patterns of the municipality. The cenotes were considered sacred places by the
ancient Mayans:“Not everyone could access the cenotes, they had to purify
themselves, ask for permission”. And “our grandparents told us that cenotes are
special places ... You have to enter with respect because it is not yours”
(interview with Mayan woman and Indigenous rights activist from Merida,
August 2019). As a result, many residents were afraid of using the cenotes for
economic profit. Currently, anyone whopays the entrance fee has access. At the
same time, some Mayan traditions regarding the spiritual value of the cenotes
are being recovered by young tourist guides as foreign visitors show interest in
the Indigenous cosmovision.
ILP and Conflict with the Mega Pig Farm
In 2016 the municipal president of Homún authorized changes in land use for
the installation of a mega pig farm without informing the population. The
cenoteros initially believed that a road being built connecting Homún to
a nearby lagoon was to promote tourism. When they realized it was not
a road, they approached the municipal office for information regarding the
type of project being executed, but did not obtain a response. In Merida, the
cenoteros discovered that PAPO had begun construction of a megaproject
aimed at raising 49,000 pigs. The municipal president had authorized the farm
without the endorsement of the municipal council. This news generated great
concern among cenoteros regarding the polluting of their water source.
The company owns more than 100 farms and claims to have created 7,000
jobs from the production of 261,000 tons of pork per year, which is exported to
Canada, the United States, Chile, China, Korea, Japan, and Singapore. It has
denied causing water pollution as all its facilities have wastewater treatment
plants with the most advanced technology (Lliteras 2017). Nevertheless, for
many, a project with these propensities represented a threat to the cenotes and
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could negatively impact ecotourism. The cenoteros expressed their distrust of
the company: “the land [of Yucatan] is very permeable. Everything seeps into
the groundwater. Farms make oxidation ponds ... there is a lot of corruption,
they [state officials] come to inspect, and they [the company] give them their
mocha [bribe] and they [state officials] say that everything is fine”(personal
communication with the first Cenotero of Homún, August 2019).
When tensions with PAPO first began, the cenoteros did not know how to
challenge the municipal decision. The SEDUMA, which had supported the
cenotes initiative to develop tourism, now supported the implementation of the
mega farm, arguing that there was no risk of contamination. A priest from Homún
connected the cenoteros with Indignación (Indignation), a human rights NGO
based in Merida. The NGO lawyers were initially skeptical about the case as it
appeared to be a business dispute between local entrepreneurs and the govern-
ment, although Indignación finally agreed to take it on. Assisted by NGO
members, the cenoteros organized into a collective, Ka’anan Ts’onot (Mayan
voice for guardians of the cenotes). By reclaiming their right to self-
determination, Kana’an Ts’onot set its sights on decisions about community land.
The cenoteros argued that the municipal president had not acted in the
interests of the people. The farm approval had several flaws, including
adeficient environmental impact assessment (Vega 2018). Additionally, the
people in Homún were not considered to be Indigenous and there was thus no
legal obligation to carry out prior consultation. Indignación used a variety of
legal remedies to revoke municipal approval of the mega farm. Moreover, legal
advisors recommended that the cenoteros carry out an Indigenous autoconsulta
(self-consultation) and convince the people from Homún to vote on the project.
The autoconsulta was held on October 8, 2017. Members of Indignación
were careful to follow the international standards stated by ILO Convention 169
(personal communication with lawyer from Indignación, August 2019). State
officials from the Ministry of the Environment and Natural Resources
(SEMARNAT) and SEDUMA, as well as representatives of PAPO, were
invited to the event but did not attend. A public notary certified the validity of
the consultation process in the presence of various Indigenous political organ-
izations such as the National Indigenous Congress (CNI) and the Union of
Inhabitants of Chablekal in Defense of Land, Territory and Natural Resources,
among others. Lawyers from Indignación, observers from the United Nations
Development Program (UNDP), and the municipal police also attended the
process. Of the 4,000 people registered on the municipal electoral roll, a total of
789 attended the event: 732 members voted against the project, 52 voted in
favor, and there were 5 spoiled votes. These results were presented to the
governor of Yucatan as a sign that the people had voted against the project.
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Many residents of Homún remained indifferent to the fight against the mega
farm. Some groups with ties to the municipal president supported the project,
arguing that it offered job creation, while others saw Ka’anan Ts’onot as
motivated by the economic interests of their members. Several cenoteros
had previously occupied the municipal presidency and three of them had
received substantial support from the CDI to build their tourist locations, all
of which made them vulnerable to charges of corruption. However, as time
passed, young tour guides and transport providers, together with their fam-
ilies, began to attend the preparatory meetings for the autoconsulta.One
female member of Homún recalled that framing the dispute around water
quality was decisive in convincing people that the farm was not only
a problem for the cenoteros, but it would have negative impacts on the entire
population (personal communication with female member from Ka’anan
Ts’onot, August 2019).
In May 2018, a SEDUMA state representative announced that the construc-
tion of the mega farm would continue and that despite the legal remedies filed
against the farm the project had not been suspended (Diario de Yucatán 2014).
At the end of September 2018, the project was inaugurated amid the discontent
of the groups that had voted against it. However, shortly after, on October 9, the
Judge of the Fourth District of the State of Yucatan declared the definitive
suspension of the project. The suspension was in response to the legal resource
presented by Indignación on behalf of the children of Homún against the
municipal president, SEDUMA and the governor of the state for failure to
respect their human right to enjoy a healthy environment. The court considered
that the evidence presented by the parties showed that the company had not fully
guaranteed that water would not be contaminated (Section Amparo, Fourth
District of the State of Yucatan [Mexico] 2018, Table V INC1128/2018). The
company attempted various legal actions to revoke the sentence, but in
November 2020 the administrative courts of Yucatan confirmed the suspension.
On July 6, 2021, PAPO filed another legal recourse, arguing that their water
treatment plants fulfilled the necessary legal requirements to operate. At the
time of writng, the legal dispute remains unresolved (Torres Wong 2022).
Nascent Self-Determination Driven by Economic Growth
The case of Homún illustrates how an Indigenous municipality ruled by ILP and
with access to NER was able to increase its levels of self-determination in all
dimensions –economic, cultural, legal, and political. Local leaders with cenotes
on their lands could launch a successful economic model based on individual
entrepreneurship and collaboration with state agencies. The cenoteros were able
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to create a waterfall effect that positively impacted the economic situation of
many community members. This allowed them to mobilize the support of
community members against the mega pig farm. The autoconsulta, while
lacking legal validity, was a performative exercise of the right to prior consult-
ation in which the people of Homún decided collectively on the future of their
lands. Moreover, ecotourism created incentives for a cultural revival as young
people strategically began recovering cultural practices to attract tourism.
In spite of this progress, self-determination in Homún is only nascent.
Community-centered visions of development are still weak as the ecotourist
economy still fails to benefit the majority of residents. As a result, few residents
participated in the vote against the company, and those who did participate more
actively in the fight against the pig farm were mostly family members of
cenoteros and young people linked to the ecotourism economy. Decisions on
the cenotes were not made using customary norms, nor did they include
community participation. Most residents remained on the sidelines during the
conflict, and many considered that the farm challenged the interests of a handful
of landowners.
The cenoteros have, until this point, been able to stop the project as a result of
the Indignación legal strategy which focused on the defense of children’s rights.
However, the court did not recognize the Indigenous autoconsulta, nor did it
recognize the Indigenous right to self-determination. The rights of Indigenous
peoples remain symbolic in Yucatan, and more substantive outcomes remain to
be seen. Nevertheless, the case demonstrates that even in contexts of ILP, NER
can have positive impacts on Indigenous self-determination.
3.1.5 The Chontal People from Oxiacaque in Tabasco, Mexico
The southeastern state of Tabasco is home to the Yokot’anob or Chontal
Indigenous people, spread across the municipalities of Centla, El Centro,
Jonuta, Macuspana, and Nacajuca with a total population of 57,296 (Atlas
de los Pueblos Indígenas 2015).
17
Chontal communities still preserve their language;
however, they have lost most of their distinctive cultural practices and traditions
(Vasquez 2000). As in Yucatan, Indigenous ethnic-centered demands are weak.
Indigenous communities abide by municipal regulations and elect municipal author-
ities through the traditional party system. In addition, Tabasco is one of the largest oil
producers in Mexico along with Campeche, Tamaulipas, and Veracruz, and most oil
perforation takes place on Indigenous land.
Legislation favorable to Indigenous rights was not implemented until 2009 when
the law of Indigenous Rights and Cultures was approved by the government of
17
The Chontal belong to the Mayan linguistic family.
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Tabasco (Ley de Derechos y Cultura Indígena del Estado de Tabasco, April 25,
2009). As in Yucatan, pro-Indigenous laws did not arise because of Indigenous
demands but were adopted to fulfill international norms and Mexico´s constitu-
tional provisions. As in most places in Mexico and elsewhere in Latin America, the
law authorized Indigenous communities to use their own forms of political organ-
ization and customary norms and affirmed that protecting Indigenous cultures was
a priority for the state. In 2013, the government of Peña Nieto passed an energy
reform that opened the oil industry to private companies. The new legislation
included the right to prior consultation for Indigenous communities regarding any
effects on their land. In addition, the law mandated that participatory assessments of
social impacts, known as EVIS (Evaluaciones de Impacto Social)hadtobe
conducted before extraction could proceed. None of these provisions in the legisla-
tion, however, had a significant impact on Indigenous peoples in Tabasco.
Chontal communities have been the most impacted by oil operations. In decades
of oil activity, Indigenous communities have never been consulted about any
project implemented on their land, nor have their environments been adequately
restored any time the state oil company, Pemex, or any other company caused
damages. Chontal communities live on subsistence agriculture, fishing, and small-
scale cattle raising. Thus, degradation of the soil, acid rain, and the contamination of
rivers undermine local economies. The rates of unemployment are high among
Indigenous members and many struggle to find temporary unskilled employment in
the oil industry. Compensations for environmental damage obtained through infor-
mal negotiations with Pemex, together with state social programs financed with oil
revenues, supplement the fragile economy of most Indigenous communities.
ILP and Oil Extraction
Oxiacaque is a Chontal community with a population of 4,000, which belongs to
the municipality of Nacajuca. There is a municipal delegate who only coordin-
ates with the municipal president for the provision of basic services and social
programs, as well as an ejido Assembly comprising 500 ejidatarios (land-
owners), governed by the Agrarian Law.
18
The ejido is responsible for admin-
istering land affairs. However, as in Yucatan, there is no collective holding of
lands and each ejidatario owns their individual plot (parcela). Coordination
between the ejido and the municipal delegate is weak, and each type of authority
considers itself to be independent.
Oxiacaque is also home to an oil field known asCampo Sen and has important
oil wells located on its land. Even though Oxiacaque is a rural community, the
18
The Agrarian Law was passed following the 1910 Mexican Revolution; it distributed lands to
peasants across the country (Guarneros-Meza and Zaremberg 2019).
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highways connecting it with the rest of the state are in excellent condition. This
infrastructure was built by Pemex and, for Indigenous members, oil employees
moving across communities in well-equipped vehicles is a common sight. This
contrasts with the office of the municipal delegate that is equipped only with
a table and two plastic chairs. The municipal delegate does not receive a budget to
implement community projects and depends exclusively on the municipal presi-
dency of Nacajuca. According to one respondent, the lack of public funds defines
the relationship between Oxiacaque and the Tabasco government (personal
communication with the municipal delegate, May 2018).
Before the oil wells were discovered, community members lived on fishing,
agriculture, and poultry farming. According to various community members,
a diversity of animals and plants existed that is now difficult to find. No
highways connected Oxiacaque with bigger cities such as Paraiso or
Villahermosa, and people walked through the forest to get to wherever they
needed to go. Older community leaders agree that times were better then as the
soil was fertile and, whatever they planted, grew (personal communication with
a group of community members, May 2018).
Today, ejidatarios are paid rent by Pemex for the occupation of their land;
however, there is discontent about this and several members said that the
money does not compensate for the damage caused by oil extraction (personal
communication with the ejido representative, May 2018). Landless commu-
nity members do not receive rent, and there are no legal mechanisms to
compensate communities for environmental damage caused by oil drilling.
However, Pemex employees distribute informal compensation to avoid con-
flict. Oil spills caused by bursting pipelines are common, and rivers and
lagoons are contaminated with oil residues which poison fish.
19
Still, respond-
ents described a vicious circle in which it is convenient for some leaders that
Pemex continues to pollute the environment as they can then ask for compen-
sation without having to work. This vicious circle is often referred to as
Tabasco’s“industry of complaint”(Industria del reclamo), in which
Indigenous peasants are portrayed as “lazy”and using environmental pollu-
tion to extort Pemex (Cobos 2017).
Ejido representatives are aware of the environmental standards that oil
companies must meet, yet the general perception is that environmental
assessments always yield favorable results for Pemex (personal communi-
cation with union members, May 2018). Access to fertile land is more
19
This was corroborated by a 1992 report by the National Human Rights Commission in Mexico
(Comisión Nacional de Derechos Humanos or CNDH) which found that the oil industry had
committed several violations of human rights through unrepaired environmental damage and
fraudulent compensation to Indigenous communities (Uribe Iniesta 2016).
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difficult now, especially for young people. In the past, community members
were able to find employment in the oil industry as carpenters, bricklayers,
and cleaners, but jobs have become more scarce over time. Unemployed
male community members are frequently found at the entrance to Oxiacaque
asking for “economic cooperation”from every visitor who comes to the
community.
When asked about the participatory mechanisms created by the 2013 legisla-
tion that included the voice of Indigenous communities in decisions impacting
their land, neither the delegate nor the ejido representative had ever heard of the
EVIS. Regarding prior consultation, the ejido representative said that he had
information that Pemex had to consult with the people about what they needed
but, as of 2019, this had not occurred.
Conflict over the Explosion of the Terra 123 Oil Well
In October 2013, the Terra 123 oil well located on land near Oxiacaque
exploded and burned for over a month causing serious damage to the popula-
tion’s health, local housing, and the environment. People from the community
had to be evacuated but many residents decided to stay despite the risks
associated with the fire. Pemex was silent about how it was going to mitigate
the damages. Oxiacaque members, together with nearby communities, block-
aded the highway demanding redress (Torres-Wong 2021).
Several respondents agreed about Pemex’s lack of accountability. In the
words of the municipal delegate, “the government and Pemex are the same
because they work together.”One of the few civil society organizations operat-
ing in Tabasco, Comité de Derechos Humanos de Tabasco (CODEHUTAB,
Commission for Human Rights in Tabasco), supported community members in
their fight for justice by providing legal advice during negotiations with the
government. In the end, however, the lawyers conceded that little was accom-
plished as people had given up. To contain the protests, the oil company
distributed food, wire fences for peoples’land, farm animals, microcredits,
and paid individual compensation to the ejidatarios (personal communication
with a lawyer from CODEHUTAB, August 2019).
In their testimonies, community members who participated in the blockades
explained that they had given up fighting because they lacked support from state
authorities and the resources to maintain social mobilization. Community
authorities argued that mobilization activities ceased because Pemex made
economic commitments, although they believe these were never fulfilled. It is
suspected that some leaders and municipal authorities accepted the money paid
by the company but kept it and never distributed it to the communities.
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Community members have become resigned to the environmental pollution,
only requiring fair economic compensation and “development”for the people.
There are few signs of any community projects undertaken independently of
Pemex resources.
Indigenous Hope, Social Programs, and More Oil
Reflecting on the future, respondents expressed enthusiasm about the then
presidential candidate Lopez Obrador (locally known as AMLO), a native of
Tabasco, becoming president of Mexico. Several community members com-
mented that they had met Lopez Obrador when he was a young social leader and
recalled him with admiration. Interviewees claimed that almost all Chontal
members would vote for AMLO, and their hope for change after the 2018
election was evident. According to some, their main objective was to obtain
more social programs to improve their economies.
By July 2019, seven months after Lopez Obrador took office, new social
programs were already being implemented in Tabasco. In Oxiacaque, the
Sembrando Vida (“Growing Life”) program, aimed at decreasing rural poverty
and environmental degradation by increasing sustainable agriculture, provoked
different reactions among community members. Some were concerned about
the time they would have to wait before seeing results, while others were
confident that, over time, peasants would achieve economic improvement
based on the growth of their products. One important challenge of the program
that was identified by older members was that the younger generations no longer
wanted to work in agriculture. Most preferred to find employment with Pemex
or in the cities. Several people hoped for the reactivation of the oil industry and
the creation of jobs (Torres-Wong 2021).
Along with social programs, state investment in Pemex and oil-related
infrastructure has been central to Lopez Obrador’s economic agenda. With the
discovery of new oil reserves and the construction of the Dos Bocas refinery in
Tabasco, the government seeks to reduce dependence on imported gasoline and
foster development for Indigenous and non-Indigenous citizens through jobs
associated with extractivist infrastructures (Tabasco.gob.mx 2020).
20
Abundant scientific evidence indicates, however, that hydrocarbon reserves
in Mexico are running out and it is unlikely that the country will be able to
regain its position among major oil producing countries (Olvera 2020;Buenfil
2005). Environmentalists and scientists have criticized the government’s
20
On August 1, 2019, the Congress of Tabasco passed a law known as the Stick Law (Ley Garrote)
providing that prison sentences would be imposed on protestors who blockade public and private
infrastructure. In 2021, the Supreme Court of Mexico declared that prison sentences as provided
for in the Stick Law were unconstitutional.
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oil-centered policies for being economically and ecologically unsustainable
(Ecoosfera 2020). Indigenous communities had never been consulted about
whether they approved of oil extraction on their land and with Lopez Obrador
in power this has not changed.
Oxiacaque represents the worst-case scenario in terms of Indigenous self-
determination. Nationalist discourses in the 1970s –and again today –around
oil as the leverage for economic development harms Indigenous possibilities to
choose their own development paths. Refusing extraction is impossible, as is
developing economic projects outside the realms of extractive rents, informal
compensation, or state programs. With the entry of the oil industry, Indigenous
peoples were integrated into a nationalist project that undermined their distinctive
political institutions, cultural values, and customary norms. Today, there are no
deliberative spaces where community members can challenge state decisions that
impact their livelihoods.Local authorities do not have a coordination system that
enables collective action, nor are there any signs that Lopez Obrador’snationalist
government has any interest in promoting these mechanisms.
Oxiacaque members can only hope to obtain fair compensation for all the
damages caused by Pemex and to receive state resources distributed through
social programs. The hydrocarbon industry remains a priority for the current
government. Lopez Obrador strengthened social programs to raise people out of
poverty, yet this only represents a continuation of integrationist policies long
superseded by international Indigenous rights legislation. The case shows that
ER in the context of ILP hinders any form of Indigenous self-determination.
3.1.6 The Awajun People from Atahualpa in Loreto, Peru
Loreto is the largest region of Peru, located in the Amazon basin and home to
thirty-two Indigenous ethnic groups. Amazonian Indigenous peoples live in
Indigenous communities and are usually part of Indigenous federations that
gather together several communities sharing a common territory. Federations
comprise subnational political organizations and at the national level; they are
part of the Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana or
AIDESEP (Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian
Jungle), a political organization representing 109 of these federations.
Together with nine other national organizations from the Amazon basin,
AIDESEP is part of the international Coordinadora de las Naciones Indígenas
de la Cuenca Amazónica or COICA (Umbrella Organization of Indigenous
Nations in the Amazon Basin).
Since the 1990s, the Peruvian constitution has recognized Indigenous col-
lective land and the right of Indigenous peoples to organize politically,
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economically, and administratively, as well as to use their land and resources for
their best interests (Article 89 of the Constitution of Peru 1993). In 2003, a new
law recognized the longstanding Rondas Campesinas and the right to adminis-
ter justice in Indigenous communities, thereby validating Indigenous use of
customary norms to prosecute crime. In 2011, in an emotive ceremony in the
city of Bagua, the recently elected Ollanta Humala, who had campaigned in
defense of Indigenous rights against extractive companies, approved a law
mandating prior consultation for any endeavor attempted on Indigenous lands.
Indigenous organizations at the national and international level have built
upon favorable legislation to strengthen their position against the Peruvian
government. The conflicts that became more visible in 2000 between
Indigenous peoples and the state over extractive projects in the Amazon
ended with the 2009 Baguazo conflict. Thousands of Awajun and Wampis
members blockaded the Curva del Diablo (Devil’s curve) highway in the city
of Bagua to protest two decrees that sought to privatize community land to
promote hydrocarbon extraction. Indigenous protestors claimed that, according
to international norms, the government was obligated to consult with
Indigenous communities about any measure attempted on their territories. In
response, the García government ordered the eviction of protestors, during
which thirty-three people were killed, including both police and Indigenous
members. International pressure and protest rallies subsequently forced the
government to suspend the decrees.
The Baguazo, as this conflict became known, was the result of decades of
mobilization over respect of Indigenous collective rights. Although the national
organization AIDESEP has significant convening and coordinating capacity for
collective action, it has poor capacity to improve life in Indigenous territories.
Several factors explain this failure: the geographic disconnect of many
Amazonian groups and the lack of sufficient resources, mostly provided by
international donors, are among the main obstacles to unified action that would
benefit the most vulnerable Amazon communities (Flemmer and Schilling-
Vacaflor 2016).
The Awajun community of Atahualpa is an example of this disconnect.
Located in the region of Loreto in the province of Datem del Marañon,
Atahualpa forms part of the rural municipality of Manseriche. Together with
nearby communities, it is organized into the Awajun Federation of the Apaga
river, or FENARA, formed to protect Indigenous territories and develop their
economies; FENARA is also part of the subnational political organization
Coordinadora Regional de Pueblos Indígenas or CORPI (Regional Coordinator
of Indigenous Peoples), which gathers Indigenous federations from Datem del
Marañon.
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Amazon communities like Atahualpa are organized into rural municipalities
and are often part of supracommunity Indigenous organizations. The lack of
affordable river transportation and the long distances that need to be traveled
inhibit fluid communication between Atahualpa and the political centers where
Indigenous federations and municipal offices operate. As a result, Atahualpa,
like many communities in Datem, remains isolated and somehow autonomous
from the state.
Recognition of Cultural Rights but without Economic Resources
Strong cultural identities prevail among the Atahualpans, and they preserve
their language, political organization, customary norms, and subsistence econ-
omies based on fishing, hunting, and gathering (Bártenes 2016). The Apu is the
traditional authority in Amazon communities, elected through the Community
Assembly, the main decision-making body. In Atahualpa, the Apu is elected
every two years and organizes the political life of the community. In addition,
the lieutenant governor (Teniente Gobernador), also elected every two years, is
responsible for resolving community conflicts. There is also a system of justice
administration based on Indigenous paroles or Rondas Campesinas for pros-
ecuting local crime and protecting the community.
Like Chetilla, Atahualpa is among the poorest localities in Peru. The com-
munity lacks adequate basic services such as health-care centers and schools,
and high levels of malnourished children and nursing mothers prevail. The
community has a population of 1,000 and is located twenty-four hours away (by
boat) from San Lorenzo, the capital city of Datem (the trip may be longer,
depending on the river flow). Climate change and the expansion of the mestizo
society increasingly limit the natural resources available for Indigenous sub-
sistence. Most Atahualpans have neither the means nor the necessary identity
cards to go to the nearest city to receive social program benefits. The few
economic resources available take the form of small projects carried out by
Catholic missionaries.
21
Indigenous teachers are the only workers who are paid
a salary by the state as this is the only professional training available in the
province. However, those willing to become teachers must migrate to San
Lorenzo (the capital city of Datem) for the training, which is beyond what
most families can afford.
For Atahualpa’s leaders, it is municipal resources that are most available for
implementing community projects. However, Indigenous leaders face many
21
A health center was built with the aid of the NGO Levante in March 2014; however, the absence
of health workers willing to work in Atahualpa, and the lack of medicine and electricity, has
inhibited its adequate functioning.
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obstacles in accessing municipal funding.
22
Datem province has almost always
been governed by mestizo mayors.
23
As in the rest of Peru, municipal author-
ities are elected through the party system, and while the mestizo population is
a minority in the area, the Indigenous vote tends to be split between the various
ethnic groups seeking municipal office.
In 2014, a group of Indigenous teachers from Atahualpa and nearby commu-
nities sought to compete in subnational elections for municipal seats in the
province. Indigenous candidates had to form alliances with the non-Indigenous
regional movement, MERA, to be able to fulfill Peru’s legal requirements and
participate in the elections.
24
Indigenous teachers eventually lost the election to
non-Indigenous candidates (personal communication with Awajun leader run-
ning for mayor in the province, July 8, 2013). This was in part because
Indigenous federations from the seven ethnic groups that inhabit Datem del
Marañon failed to reach an agreement over which political party to support, and
neither AIDESEP nor CORPI endorsed any of the Indigenous candidacies.
Indigenous candidates thus joined different political parties, thereby fragment-
ing the Indigenous vote.
SLP and the Conflict with Repsol
Awajun communities have been at the forefront of Peru’s Indigenous movement
(Greene 2009), taking a prominent role in anti-oil mobilization in Amazonia.
The Awajun from Atahualpa are no exception. Their lands overlap with oil
block 109, granted by the Peruvian government to the Repsol oil company
without consulting Indigenous communities. The authorities from FENARA,
the Apu, and Indigenous teachers led the opposition against oil extraction.
25
In 2008, a confrontation between community members and Repsol employ-
ees occurred when the latter attempted to access Atahualpa without permission.
Community members seized the ship used by oil employees and sent them back
to the capital of the province. However, over the years, community leaders have
struggled to maintain a unified position against oil exploitation. Voices critical
of anti-oil positions have emerged among some community members seeking to
22
In 2007, an Indigenous leader, Emir Masegkai, was elected as the first provincial mayor of
Datem. However, after he left office in 2010 Indigenous candidates have systematically lost
elections to mestizo candidates.
23
With the exception of Emir Mansekai, the first and only Awajun member, who won the first
elections in the province in 2005.
24
MERA is a political movement formed in Iquitos, the capital city of the Loreto region, and
named after its founder, Jorge Mera.
25
“Indigenous teachers known as maestros billingues or bilingual teacher, because of their
command of Indigenous languages as well as Spanish, represent a new type of Indigenous
authority operating as intermediaries between the community and dominant society ... they are
defenders of collective identities”(Greene 2009:168).
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negotiate with the company in the hopes of obtaining jobs and resources.
Community leaders were able to silence those voices by appealing to cultural
values and the protection of their river and lands. In 2014, Repsol announced its
withdrawal from the province due to pervasive conflict with Indigenous com-
munities and the poor results of exploration activities (Saldarriaga 2014). This
decision secured Atahualpa’s territory and, at the same time, precluded
Indigenous access to extractive revenues.
In the elections of 2018, Claudio Wampush, one of the Awajun leaders who
had competed in 2014, participated once again and won the municipality of
Manseriche, raising enthusiasm among Awajun communities. However, he
faced scarce municipal resources and, together with insufficient technical
capacity to implement the budget according to municipal bureaucracy, he was
prevented from using resources to benefit the communities.
In 2021, FENARA and other Indigenous federations joined the CORPI in
their efforts to obtain direct control of state resources designated for the
education of Indigenous children (PUINAMUDT 2021). According to
Indigenous leaders, the mestizo administration of these funds reproduces
discrimination against Indigenous peoples and does not incorporate intercul-
tural principles into education plans. Using ILO Convention 169 to support
their case, Indigenous teachers have demanded the right to educate Indigenous
communities according to their values and aspirations. The government of
Loreto has resisted the idea of having Indigenous teachers administer funds.
The dispute is still unresolved and Indigenous federations continue to fight for
the resources.
Obtaining assistance from and the cooperation of NGOs is another option
Indigenous leaders from Atahualpa pursue; however, access to these resources
is competitive, as there are numerous ethnic groups and communities in desper-
ate need of international solidarity. Few communities are able to engage in
enduring cooperative relations that can deliver benefits for their members.
Self-Determination by Isolation and State Indifference
Awajun communities have been vocal in the defense of their territories, using
their distinctive cultural identities as powerful discursive strategies to demand
collective rights. Their participation in the Baguazo conflict in 2009 afforded
them international fame as radical defenders of their territories against oil
extraction. However, the ability of community leaders to implement economic
projects that can improve Indigenous living conditions is limited.
Community authorities like the Apu or the Teniente Gobernador live in
conditions of poverty and do not receive any support from the state to perform
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their functions. Under such conditions, these authorities are incapable of
delivering solutions to the most urgent problems that Atahualpans face in
their daily lives, creating dissatisfaction with Indigenous institutions and cus-
tomary norms (personal communication with female member from Atahualpa,
January 2022). Political division is on the rise, as Indigenous members affiliate
with political parties to compete in elections.
Indigenous candidates who gain municipal office also do not seem to resolve
Indigenous problems. Indigenous mayors operating in the remotest areas of the
country are generally granted extremely limited budgets to perform their func-
tions. Indigenous political organizations are constantly struggling for economic
resources and face resistance from state offices. The Peruvian constitution grants
autonomy to Indigenous communities to organize their political and economic
affairs and administer justice at the community level. However, as the case of
Atahualpa demonstrates, the lack of economic resources (NR) prevents impover-
ished Indigenous leaders from creating economic alternatives for their people.
As in Chetilla, the case of Atahualpa shows how SLP enables community
members to achieve partial self-determination in its cultural, political, and legal
dimensions. Atahualpans maintain strong cultural identities and build upon
these to defend their land from potential colonizers, such as Repsol and other
uninvited visitors. Community work and subsistence activities sustain most
members of Atahualpa, even while extreme poverty is rampant. Customary
norms still govern the daily life of community members; however, unlike
Chetillans, Atahualpans express discontent with the traditional Indigenous
system. Arguably, this is due to the lack of state support for Indigenous author-
ities as they discharge their duties, unlike in Chetilla.
Table 5 offers a typology of self-determination outcomes based on the case
studies examined in this Element.
3.2 Discussion of the Cases
Environmentalists, legal advocates, and adherents of the most romantic ver-
sions of Buen Vivir interrelate the legal protection of Indigenous peoples’rights
with the protection of the environment. These positions are consistent with the
fact that 40 percent of natural forest and nearly 80 percent of global biodiversity
are on Indigenous territories (ScientificAmerican 2021). More recently, inter-
national policies have begun to include Indigenous peoples as knowledgeable
partners in the mitigation of the impacts of the climate crisis (The Green
Initiative and International Labour Organization 2016). In this regard, some
scholars have pointed to the need for state policies specifically designed to
create partnerships with Indigenous municipalities in order to develop
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ecologically sustainable local economies (Carrera-Hernández 2014). Such
visions bring together government respect for Indigenous rights, national pol-
icies promoting ecologically sustainable development, and the economic
resources needed to implement these.
Capulálpam de Méndez in Oaxaca (Mexico) illustrates how Indigenous
exercise of self-determination and the protection of the environment can con-
verge. For this community, access to NER stems from partnerships with state
agencies seeking to foster sustainable economic activities. A combination of
SLP and resources for sustainable economic projects enabled leaders to prohibit
mining and create well-being for community members. Through economic
alternatives, Indigenous leaders were able to strengthen territorial control,
discourage migration and increase the legitimacy of the Indigenous
government.
Homún in Yucatán (Mexico) is another case of how NER can create condi-
tions for Indigenous economic growth along with environmental protection. In
this case, ILP hindered community unity due to the absence of Indigenous
authorities, customary norms, or cultural resistance. This translated into limited
capacity to prevent unwanted projects. However, a new economy based on
ecotourism created the conditions for young people to revive their culture and
oppose projects like the mega farm. The cenoteros and NGO members are
confident that a reconfiguration of Indigenous government can take place in
Homún. The extent to which the tourist model can trigger full self-
determination remains to be seen, as well as the ability of cenoteros to gain
the support of most community members.
Table 5. Typology for Self-determination Outcomes
ECONOMIC
RESOURCES
FAVORABLE LEGAL FRAMEWORKS
SLP ILP
NER Capulálpam de
Méndez
(Full self-
determination)
Homún
(Nascent self-determination)
ER Ingre
(Partial self-
determination)
Oxiacaque
(Null self-determination)
NR Chetilla and
Atahualpa
(Partial self-
determination)
No empirical instances were
analyzed
Prediction: (Null self-
determination)
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Other cases, however, show the inherent risk of idealizing Indigenous rela-
tionships with nature. Essentializing Indigenous peoples as radical environmen-
tal defenders living in perfect harmony with Mother Earth has proven to be
a powerful political discourse to mobilize support from broader sectors of
society. However, it may mask the extreme vulnerability in which thousands
of Indigenous communities live. Latin American governments still do not
allocate sufficient economic resources for the realization of Indigenous peoples’
rights, despite the sustained economic growth derived, ironically, from resource
exploitation on Indigenous land.
Chetilla and Atahualpa in Peru are examples of this, evincing the poor living
conditions of the vast majority of rural Indigenous peoples. Both communities
maintain strong cultural identities and most of their cultural practices still guide
community life. The culture unites community members for organizing self-
defense, community work, and subsistence activities. In both cases, Indigenous
leaders chose not to negotiate with extractive companies. Against constitutional
provisions that grant the government the capacity to exploit the subsoil,
Indigenous members have drawn upon favorable pro-Indigenous legislation to
oppose mining and oil industries. However, even when their environment has
been protected, Indigenous authorities are left with little capacity to foster well-
being and improve living conditions in their territories.
New territorial threats continue to arise in the form of disease, organized
crime, and new forms of extractivism. Atahualpans and Chetillans are particu-
larly vulnerable to these threats due to the lack of resources that would allow
their leaders to strengthen Indigenous economies. Peru is heavily dependent on
mining revenues and, in the last twenty years, the country has been considered
the economic miracle of South America for its impressive economic growth
(Justo 2016). Still, it seems that resources for extremely poor Indigenous
communities unwilling to compromise their territories for the extractive indus-
try remain restricted. Overall, these two cases illustrate that winning the battle
against the extractive industry does not ensure full self-determination for
Indigenous communities.
On the other hand, activists’concerns regarding the outcomes of prior
consultation and compensation, two rights recognized by international norms
(Articles 2 and 15 of ILO Convention 169), reveal the imbalances between
economic redistribution and the protection of nature, which extractivist econ-
omies produce. Prior consultation and compensatory mechanisms aim to safe-
guard Indigenous self-determination by preventing impositions on Indigenous
communities. However, many Indigenous communities –aware that rejecting
the extractive industry is not a real possibility during state-led consultations and
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that few additional sources of income are available –choose economic bargain-
ing over securing their environments from industrialized resource extraction.
Over the last decade, the Guarani Captaincy of Ingre (Bolivia), has built an
economic system that relies upon compensation and salaries paid by oil com-
panies. With these resources, Indigenous leaders have improved the functioning
of their political organization and implemented ecologically sustainable pro-
jects in the hope of achieving independence from extractive companies.
However, community projects coexist with gas plants, and oil employees pass
through Guarani lands. Guarani leaders struggle to enforce community laws vis-
à-vis the companies. Preventing environmental impacts is also challenging as
socio-environmental monitors are paid for by the companies. A permanent
tension thus remains between affirming Indigenous political autonomy and self-
government and depending on extractive revenue.
The case of Oxiacaque demonstrates that the situation can become even more
complicated if Indigenous communities do not develop the capacity to use
existing favorable legislation to enforce their rights. Indigenous customary
norms, prior consultation, or social impact assessments (EVIS) remain rhet-
orical in Tabasco. In such cases, Indigenous dependence on extractive revenues
can block any form of self-determination. Individual compensation and infor-
mal mechanisms of environmental redress only serve to calm discontent and
disarticulate collective action. Indigenous voices are not allowed in decision-
making over oil extraction, preventing extractive revenues from improving
Indigenous life. Even worse, in Oxiacaque extractive resources are tied to social
and environmental damage, thereby creating a vicious circle of pollution,
complaints, compensation, and impunity.
3.2.1 What the Cases Demonstrate about Each Country
By focusing on two local factors –Indigenous ability to use favorable pro-
Indigenous legislation and the types of economic resources flowing into
Indigenous territories –I sought to refocus attention on Indigenous communi-
ties and their progress in achieving self-determination. In addition, there are
important lessons that can be learned about the three countries examined here.
In Mexico, the best- and worst-case scenarios for Indigenous self-
determination can be found. Capulálpam de Méndez with SLP and access to
NER achieved full self-determination, whereas in Oxiacaque, Indigenous lead-
ers are coopted and unemployment and environmental degradation is rife. This
sharp contrast relates in part to the federative organization of the country which
allows the thirty-two states relative legal independence. In general, Mexico has
progressive laws regarding Indigenous rights, most of which were implemented
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in the 1990s during the first wave of rights recognition. However, legal benefits
are not equally available for Indigenous communities in all thirty-two states.
For instance, self-government rights were implemented in Oaxaca in the 1900s,
yet Yucatan and Tabasco did not have legislation in this regard until the mid-
2000s. This is also the case with respect to the right to prior consultation which
has yet to be legally incorporated through a national law. In some cases,
Indigenous populations have been able to use it to negotiate resources, such
as the Zapoteca population in Juchitán and the Yaqui People in Sonora.
However, these procedures are not systematically enforced across the country.
In addition, national economic resources for Indigenous communities are not
equally distributed. Since 2002, Mexico has dedicated a specific section of the
Expenditure Budget of the Federation to the development of Indigenous
peoples. By 2015, the Indigenous budget had increased fivefold, with economic
resources for Indigenous development distributed among various branches
(Secretaría de Gobernación n.d.). The National Institute for Indigenous
Peoples (INPI), formerly the CDI, allocates part of the budget. In 2018, the
government approved a National Program for Indigenous Peoples aimed at
strengthening local organization, participation, and sustainable development
(INPI 2018). However, the economic resources available from these agencies,
even when not tied to extractive projects, are competitive and the criteria to
distribute them vary according to the specific objectives of each institution.
Communities like Capulálpam and Homún benefited from CDI resources, as
they were able to demonstrate that they had the capacity and natural environ-
ments to attract tourists. However, Oxiacaque, located near oil reserves, has not
been as fortunate.
Bolivia has perhaps the most progressive legislation in Latin America regard-
ing Indigenous rights. Indigenous jurisdictions have the right to convert to
AIOCs, prior consultations grant veto power to Indigenous communities, and
Indigenous rights have had full constitutional recognition since 2009. However,
state funding for Indigenous development is tied to extractive revenue. Bolivia’s
economy is heavily dependent on gas and there are few alternative sources of
income that can be distributed directly to Indigenous communities.
Accordingly, progressive laws coexist with retrograde economic policies,
increasing dependency on commodity exports.
Peru trails in granting economic access to Indigenous peoples. Peruvian laws
regulating Indigenous rights emphasize culture, internal organization, and just-
ice administration. Since 2011, a prior consultation law has obliged the govern-
ment to consult with Indigenous communities about any project on their land.
However, unlike Bolivia, Peru’s state officials are reluctant to allow Indigenous
communities to use prior consultation to negotiate compensation from
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extractive companies. The Peruvian economy depends on the export of minerals
generally found in the central Andes and promotes the expansion of oil and gas
extraction in Amazonia –both are regions inhabited by rural Indigenous
peoples. The government, together with extractive companies, has created
several funds to distribute extractive resources to Indigenous communities.
These funds are coadministered by multiple actors (state, corporate, and
Indigenous actors) which dilutes the Indigenous voice in resource administra-
tion. Unlike Mexico, there is no national budget for Indigenous development
and available economic resources for Indigenous communities are usually tied
to specific extractive projects. Over the last five years, the Ministry of Culture
has developed new instruments to enable Indigenous communities to achieve
self-determination (Ministry of Culture of Peru 2016). Indigenous life planning
(Planes de Vida), as these instruments are known, draw on the experiences of
Colombia and Ecuador and aim to increase organizing capacity and the collect-
ive construction of development plans among Indigenous communities
(Espinoza 2014). It remains to be seen if these instruments will be accompanied
by the economic resources needed for their implementation.
Extractivist economies produce multiple dependences. On the one hand,
national governments continue to “sell nature”in exchange for profits, thus
lacking sufficient incentives to transform their economies (Gudynas 1996). On
the other hand, extractive revenues create dependence, as Indigenous commu-
nities trade their subsistence activities for a more sustained flow of economic
resources. This poses challenges for Indigenous autonomy as well as for the
biodiversity that characterizes Indigenous territories. The findings presented
here reveal that one effective way in which Indigenous self-determination goals
can converge with environmental sustainability is through economic partner-
ships between state agencies and Indigenous communities. In the absence of
these partnerships, Indigenous communities could develop legal skills to take
maximum benefit from extractive resources. Yet, the increase in environmental
risks that alliances between Indigenous communities and extractivists could
engender should not be overlooked, especially in the face of the threats posed by
the climate crisis.
4 Conclusion
Multiple international norms such as ILO Convention 169 (1989), the UNDRIP
(2007), and the OAS Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2016)
widely recognize the Indigenous right to self-determination. Nevertheless, as
progressive as legal frameworks might appear, few Indigenous communities
enjoy this right and most remain disempowered, impoverished, and
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increasingly vulnerable to environmental degradation and climate change
(Gouritin 2021).
Indigenous struggles against extractive projects are typically framed as
demands for self-determination. Accordingly, many studies document that
land dispossession, the aggressive exploitation of natural resources, discrimin-
ation, and criminalization of Indigenous protest are all intrinsic to extractivist
economies (Global Witness 2020;Svampa 2019). Conversely, Latin American
governments argue that extractive resources are the most easily available
resource that can be used to improve the lives of Indigenous and non-
Indigenous citizens. Meanwhile, Indigenous communities remain divided
over the acceptance of extractive projects.
This Element has assessed progress in Indigenous self-determination in three
countries where extractivist policies are prevalent. The study of six Indigenous
communities with contrasting experiences of extractive industries in Bolivia,
Peru, and Mexico has shown that existing legal frameworks favorable to
Indigenous rights may be helpful in fostering self-determination. Those
Indigenous communities capable of using these laws strategically are better
positioned to either ban extractive projects or negotiate extractive resources to
their benefit. In addition, the comparative case study demonstrates that eco-
nomic resources, whether from an extractive or another source, are necessary
but not sufficient for Indigenous self-determination.
This Element has offered some preliminary hypotheses based on the cases
that may be tested in further studies. Indigenous ability to use favorable legal
frameworks to their advantage, together with access to nonextractive resources,
is a winning combination for both Indigenous self-determination and the envir-
onment. The cases also reflect the fundamental importance of culture for rural
Indigenous peoples. Community work, collective holding of land, community
assemblies, customary norms, history, memories, and beliefs (real or recreated)
are all important traditions reflecting the values that hold community members
together against assimilationist laws and industries.
In all six cases, Indigenous authorities demonstrated pragmatism but also
concern over the environment, regardless of whether or not they had accepted
extractive projects. Congruent with environmentalists and Indigenous dis-
courses on Buen Vivir, there is an interdependence between Indigenous com-
munities and their natural environments. However, the cases add nuances to our
common understanding of this interdependence. They show that relations
between Indigenous communities and surrounding natural resources are in
permanent flux. Whether Indigenous communities engage in extractivism or
not, guaranteeing environmental sustainability is critical to securing the repro-
duction of Indigenous collective existence. Furthermore, protecting the
68 Politics and Society in Latin America
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biodiversity found in Indigenous territories is as much a matter of global interest
as it is of social justice.
Self-determination is a daily struggle pursued through different means by
Indigenous communities, which are themselves marked by heterogeneity.
Indigenous peoples engage in a permanent search for economic resources to
implement community projects that can respond to their needs and aspirations.
The difficulties of accessing these resources pushes Indigenous leaders into
cooperative relations with state agencies or extractive companies, and this may
sometimes mean compromising the integrity of their territories. Ideally,
Indigenous communities should have the means to achieve self-determination
without having to sacrifice their natural environments.
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Appendix: Interviews
Interview with environmental activist participating in Indigenous socio-
environmental monitoring (Bolivia), December 2020.
Interview with Guarani Captain from Ingre (Bolivia), March 2021.
Interview with Ejido representative from Oxiacaque (Mexico), May 2018.
Interview with municipal delegate of Oxiacaque (Mexico), May 2018.
Interview with union members from Oxiacaque (Mexico), May 2018.
Interview with Agrarian Attorney, Oaxaca (Mexico), October 2018.
Interview with member of Natividad community (Mexico), October 2018.
Interview with the Commissariat of Community Goods of Capulálpam de
Méndez, Oaxaca (Mexico), October 2018.
Interview with young professional women of Capulálpam de Méndez (Mexico),
October 2018.
Interview with a cenotero and restaurant owner of Homún (Mexico),
August 2019.
Interview with female member from Ka’anan Ts’onot (Mexico), August 2019.
Interview with first cenotero of Homún (Mexico), August 2019.
Interview with Indigenous activist from Indignacion (Mexico), August 2019.
Interview with lawyer from Indignacion (Mexico), August 2019.
Interview with lawyer from the NGO CODEHUTAB in Villahermosa, Tabasco
(Mexico), August 2019.
Interview with legal anthropologist (Mexico City), January 2022.
Interview with Awajun teacher from Atahualpa and candidate for mayor of
Datem del Marañon (Peru), July 2013.
Interview with former Rondero member of Chetilla (Peru), July 2014.
Interview with municipal council member of Chetilla (Peru), July 2014.
Interview with municipal council member of Cajamarca (Peru), March 2021.
Interview with female member from Atahualpa in Datem del Marañon (Peru),
January 2022.
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Politics and Society in Latin America
Maria Victoria Murillo
Columbia University
Victoria Murillo is Professor of Political Science and International Affairs at Columbia
University. She is the author of Political Competition, Partisanship, and Policymaking in the
Reform of Latin American Public Utilities (Cambridge, 2009). She is also editor of Carreras
Magisteriales, Desempeño Educativo y Sindicatos de Maestros en América Latina (2003), and
co-editor of Argentine Democracy: the Politics of Institutional Weakness (2005). She has
published in edited volumes as well as in the American Journal of Political Science,World
Politics, and Comparative Political Studies, among others.
Tulia G. Falleti
University of Pennsylvania
Tulia G. Falleti is the Class of 1965 Endowed Term Professor of Political Science, Director of
the Latin American and Latino Studies Program, and Senior Fellow of the Leonard Davis
Institute for Health Economics at the University of Pennsylvania. She received her BA in
Sociology from the Universidad de Buenos Aires and her PhD in Political Science from
Northwestern University. Falleti is the author of Decentralization and Subnational Politics
in Latin America (Cambridge University Press, 2010), which earned the Donna Lee Van
Cott Award for best book on political institutions from the Latin American Studies
Association, and with Santiago Cunial of Participation in Social Policy: Public Health in
Comparative Perspective (Cambridge University Press, 2018). She is co-editor, with Orfeo
Fioretos and Adam Sheingate, of The Oxford Handbook of Historical Institutionalism
(Oxford University Press, 2016), among other edited books. Her articles on
decentralization, federalism, authoritarianism, and qualitative methods have appeared in
edited volumes and journals such as the American Political Science Review,Comparative
Political Studies,Publius,Studies in Comparative International Development,and
Qualitative Sociology, among others.
Juan Pablo Luna
The Pontifical Catholic University of Chile
Juan Pablo Luna is Professor of Political Science at The Pontifical Catholic University of Chile.
He received his BA in Applied Social Sciences from the UCUDAL (Uruguay) and his PhD in
Political Science from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He is the author of
Segmented Representation. Political Party Strategies in Unequal Democracies (Oxford
University Press, 2014), and has co-authored Latin American Party Systems (Cambridge
University Press, 2010). In 2014, along with Cristobal Rovira, he co-edited The Resilience of
the Latin American Right (Johns Hopkins University). His work on political representation,
state capacity, and organized crime has appeared in the following journals: Comparative
Political Studies,Revista de Ciencia Política, the Journal of Latin American Studies,Latin
American Politics and Society,Studies in Comparative International Development,Política
y Gobierno,Democratization,Perfiles Latinoamericanos, and the Journal of Democracy.
Andrew Schrank
Brown University
Andrew Schrank is the Olive C. Watson Professor of Sociology and International & Public
Affairs at Brown University. His articles on business, labor, and the state in Latin America
have appeared in the American Journal of Sociology,Comparative Politics,Comparative
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Political Studies,Latin American Politics & Society,Social Forces, and World Development,
among other journals, and his co-authored book, Root-Cause Regulation: Labor Inspection
in Europe and the Americas, is forthcoming at Harvard University Press.
Advisory Board
Javier Auyero, University of Texas at Austin
Daniela Campello, Fundação Getúlio Vargas
Eduardo Dargent, Universidad Catolica, Peru
Alberto Diaz-Cayeros, Stanford University
Kathy Hoschtetler, London School of Economics
Evelyne Huber, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill
Robert Kaufman, Rutgers University
Steven Levitsky, Harvard University
Antonio Lucero, University of Washington, Seattle
Juliana Martinez, Universidad de Costa Rica
Alfred P. Montero, Carlton College
Alison Post, University of California, Berkeley
Gabriel Vommaro, Universidad Nacional de General Sarmiento
Deborah Yashar, Princeton University
Gisela Zaremberg, Flacso México
Veronica Zubilaga, Universidad Simon Boliviar
About the Series
Latin American politics and society are at a crossroads, simultaneously confronting serious
challenges and remarkable opportunities that are likely to be shaped by formal
institutions and informal practices alike. The Elements series on Politics and Society in
Latin America offers multidisciplinary and methodologically pluralist contributions on
the most important topics and problems confronted by the region.
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Politics and Society in Latin America
Elements in the Series
America
Ezequiel A. Gonzalez-Ocantos
Dependency in the Twenty-First Century?
Barbara Stallings
Uneven Trajectories
Gabriela Benza, Gabriel Kessler
A Middle-Quality Institutional Trap
Sebastián L. Mazzuca, Gerardo L. Munck
The Politics of LGBTQ Rights Expansion in Latin America and the Caribbean
Javier Corrales
The Distributive Politics of Environmental Protection in Latin America and the
Caribbean
Isabella Alcañiz, Ricardo A. Gutiérrez
The Circuit of Detachment in Chile
Kathya Araujo
The Post-Partisans
Carlos Meléndez
Beyond “Plata O Plomo”
Gustavo Duncan
The Political Economy of Segmented Expansion
Camila Arza, Rossana Castiglioni, Juliana Martínez Franzoni, Sara Niedzwiecki,
Jennifer Pribble, Diego Sánchez-Ancochea
Feminisms in Latin America
Gisela Zaremberg, Débora Rezende de Almeida
Innovating Democracy? The Means and Ends of Citizen Participation in
LatinAmerica
Thamy Pogrebinschi
The Indigenous Right to Self-Determination in Extractivist Economies
Marcela Torres-Wong
A full series listing is available at: www.cambridge.org/PSLT
https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009410861 Published online by Cambridge University Press
