Por Tierra y Igualdad! The Indigenous People’s March

The afternoon was grey and warm for autumn in Buenos Aires. Many locals were out shopping, having a coffee, or trying to get through the workday, when sounds of music – flutes, bells, drums, and voices – rang through the downtown streets. They paused, perhaps momentarily forgetting where they were going or what they were doing, and watched a procession of faces, colorful flags and clapping hands. A few stepped out into the street to join, while others added their applause, as others stood in awe, their eyes tearing up with emotion at the sight before them.

It was the Mapuche of Patagonia, the Wichi and Toba of the central and northern plains, the Diaguita and Huarpe of the Cuyo region, the Coya of the North, and the Guaraní of the Northeast. These were the Argentines, though rarely recognised as such, who descended on Buenos Aires on 20th May in a March of Indigenous Peoples just days before Argentina celebrated its 200 years of nationhood.

For eight days, thousands of native Argentines travelled over 2,000km to the capital in three caravans from the Northern, Northeastern, and the Southern regions of the country. Along each route, they made stops in major towns, rallied in plazas and picked up more to join them for the rest of the journey. Arranged by the National Gathering of Indigenous Peoples, the Tupac Amaru Movement, and many regional indigenous groups such as the Confederation of Mapuche in Neuquén and the Peoples Union of the Diaguita Nation, the march arrived in Buenos Aires to demand recognition of an Argentina that is “plurinational” and “pluricultural”.

“The trip was beautiful,” says Amani Asusena, a young Coya from the northern province of Jujuy in Buenos Aires for the first time. “A little tiring but an unforgettable experience.”

After rallying in the historic Plaza de Mayo, leaders of the march delivered the ‘Pact of the State with the Indigenous Peoples for the Creation of a Pluricultural State’ to President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner. The document included a list of proposals that highlighted the key issues facing the indigenous in Argentina. Among them were territorial recognition and access to land titles, environmental protection of glaciers and forests, a halt to mining and the expansion of soya monoculture, the inclusion of Quechua and Aymara as official languages and an incorporation of indigenous history into education curricula.

Part of this history is the often-ignored reality that Argentina and its 23 provinces were founded precisely through violent territorial battles with indigenous communities that ultimately ended in the murder, enslavement and imprisonment of thousands. One of the most well known military campaigns against the indigenous was led by General Julio A Roca in 1878 which pushed soldiers from the Pampas region into Patagonia. It was ironically named the ‘Conquest of the Desert’, as if the area was previously uninhabited.

Rather than celebrating, 200 years ago the over 30 indigenous nations that had pre-existed Argentina (some for 6-8,000 years) were fighting for their lives while the world around them changed dramatically.

“We are alive”

Though two centuries have passed, native communities find themselves in similar struggles for life and against invisibility. Many have worked in slave-like conditions on land that used to belong to their parents and grandparents, or have been displaced altogether by the expansion of the mining and agricultural industries, forced to look for work in urban areas.

“We have been silent for 518 years,” says Lidia Manqueo, a Mapuche from the province of Río Negro. “They have done everything to the Mapuche people and to the indigenous … We read the books that don’t tell the truth and won’t tell it. They never tell children that they killed so many people, so many ‘Indians’ as they say vulgarly. So many Mapuches, so many Diaguitas, so many Calchaquies.”

She says that the water in the valley of Río Negro is polluted, that the area has been deforested, and that pesticides from nearby apple crops have been harming her community’s health.

“We left with a proposal to request from the government that we all be equal,” she says. ”We are not conflictive, we want a solution.”

With chants of “La tierra no se venda/La tierra se defiende” (You don’t sell earth, you defend it) and doctored songs by the rock band Fabulosos Cadillacs, the march’s spirit was upbeat despite the critical situation the indigenous communities face.

Juana Valdivieso, a Coya from the town of San Pedro in Jujuy talks about the land grab in the north of the country, often by foreigners looking to start up tourist ventures.

“[They] come offering their money and since we are silent, timid, and humble, they want to take away all of our land, our culture, our roots,” she says. “That’s why we fight. To make them see that we exist too, we are alive and we have our roots and our customs.”

Those visual customs were on full display as different sections of the march were outfitted in the llama wool ponchos of the North or the silver jewellery and colourful ribbons of the South, yet all carrying the rainbow checkered indigenous flag.

“Each of us represents a community,” says Juana. “And there are many people who are much poorer than us who can’t defend themselves and don’t know how to read and write.”

This vulnerability of indigenous communities, many of whom are entitled to – but do not possess – legal land titles, is taken advantage of by local politicians and businessmen alike looking to acquire land.

In writing, Article 75 of the Constitution of Argentina explicitly states the “pre-existence” of indigenous nations and cultures and recognises the “legal personality of the communities and the possession and common ownership of the lands traditionally occupied by them”. However in practice, local authorities – politicians, police, and judges – have a miserable track record of implementation.

When asked whether provincial governments were doing anything in the way of indigenous rights, Amari Asusena stated bluntly: “They are the first to take away land.”

‘Part of us’

According to government estimates, 2% of the Argentine population and 25% of the rural population is indigenous. However a large majority of the country is mestizo, or mixed, as 56% of Argentines have indigenous heritage.

Still, Argentina has long given cultural priority to its European – mostly Spanish and Italian – heritage, and the indigenous or “Indians” have been historically depicted as lazy or stupid. Stories of struggle and repression against indigenous people in rural areas of the country rarely reach the capital or make national headlines. When they do, indigenous communities are often portrayed as violent, and major newspapers like La Nación have even made claims about Mapuches having ties to organisations like the FARC in Colombia.

Despite this, and despite being in a city where marches are a regular occurrence, people on the streets of Buenos Aires greeted the Indigenous People’s March with solidarity and applause.

“I applaud because they are my brothers and I see that they are very down-trodden,” says Carlos, a native-born Italian who moved to Buenos Aires as a child.

“This country opened its arms to me, a foreigner,” he says, “and it has to open its arms to those who are the natives and the owners of this country. I am very pleased and happy that they are here represented on this historic occasion.”

Onlookers Fernando and Claudia ask for a moment before speaking with me as they watch the march with tearful eyes.

“I think it’s the first time that something like this has been done and it’s very emotional for me that they have gathered here,” says Fernando. “‘These people are very forgotten and to have them closer makes them more real.”

“It’s like remembering ourselves,” adds Claudia. “There is a part of us that we have forgotten.”

Just the beginning

Mario Quinteros is a member of the indigenous community of Amanche de Valle, a town the province Tucumán, which makes up one of 18 groups that form People’s Union of the Diaguita Nation. He says politicians, including the national government, “look the other way” when it comes to indigenous rights.

Hence the significant amount of skepticism within the movement about the national government’s commitment to the issues proposed in the Pact. Quinteros explains that often the government meets with indigenous leaders or adopts policies as a strategy of “containment” more than anything else. Still, he sees the march overall as a step forward.

“Beyond the criticism and the meetings with the government, I see the possibilities for a future that this movement can construct,” he says, explaining that there is more work ahead.

“We still need to discuss what we want to do and how to do it,” he says, and notes the progress of indigenous and social movements as a whole, remarking that in previous times there was a “division between social groups and indigenous groups”, and that sponsoring groups like the Tupac Amaru Movement used to not include indigenous issues within its political framework of organising.

“My big hope is that this movement, that has held together for eight days touring the country, can articulate a political project for the future that will go beyond the politics that precisely this government is doing that is mostly to contain social demands,” he says.

I ask him about the reactions from locals in Buenos Aires. He says he feels a lot of sympathy and emotion coming from the city, and wonders if it is “historical guilt” or if  “maybe they are really sincerely emotional seeing such a movement arise”.

“They should see us. We should see ourselves,” he says. “We should see ourselves as different, and we should come to terms with that way of living.

“Society has a promise, not just to the indigenous people but with itself,” he continues, “to break from imperialism that is seen every day and return to solidarity.” This he says will help everyone to “live with less stress” and learn to “stop distrusting each other.”

“We should fight for democracy and the future. Today is the beginning.”