Autonomy, as an expression of self-determination, requires a territorial basis on which it can be exercised. The interdependence of rights, recognised by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, underscores the close relationship between the various Indigenous rights recognised by States. The eviction of an Indigenous community violates more than a single right. Such eviction also entails the denial and infringement of other rights, including the right to cultural identity, the right to water, and the right to adequate food. Consequently, it also prevents Indigenous Peoples from exercising their rights to autonomy and self-determination.

In Argentina, autonomy and self-determination remain distant prospects. Against a backdrop of legislative, administrative, and judicial setbacks that directly affect the daily lives of Indigenous communities, a succession of evictions and attempted evictions stands in stark contrast to the rights previously recognised by the State itself, at least on paper. This discrepancy exposes a state model that continues to refine its methods. Rooted in extractivism and the ongoing promotion of foreign investment through the Incentive Regime for Large Investments (RIGI), which encourages the foreign acquisition of land, this model depends on dispossessing Indigenous communities of their territories.

The Distant Prospect of Indigenous Self-Determination and Autonomy

It is difficult to speak of respect for self-determination and autonomy when public policy denies the very existence and pre-existence of Indigenous Peoples in Argentina. This denial directly contributes to evictions. It is shocking that judges across the country are ordering Indigenous communities to leave their territories.

Beyond individual judicial decisions, these measures must be understood within a broader context that is increasingly hostile to Indigenous rights. The promotion of extractive activities, economic interests in Indigenous territories, and the current government’s failure to recognise Indigenous rights combine to create a situation that is increasingly difficult to address.

Yet evictions are not carried out solely through court orders. Intimidation, threats and fear are also used to force communities from their territories. The balance of power is deeply unequal, leaving Indigenous communities vulnerable to security forces that do not hesitate to enforce eviction orders.

Legal Insecurity Facing Indigenous Peoples in Northern Argentina

Several cases of eviction illustrate the points made above. In July 2026, in the town of Garuhapé, Misiones Province, the judiciary carried out an illegal eviction of the Mbya Guaraní community of Puente Quemado II. During the operation, around 50 police officers presented an eviction order marred by numerous irregularities and forcibly removed community families through threats and violence. Although the community has since returned to its ancestral lands, its long-standing dispute with Arauco, one of Latin America’s largest forestry companies, continues to intensify.

This eviction must be understood as part of a broader process of territorial transformation driven by a production model based on monoculture and agribusiness. The complaint lodged by the businessman that triggered the eviction of Puente Quemado II is a clear indication of the gradual displacement of Indigenous Peoples by economic interests rooted in a model that is incompatible with their ways of life.

Indigenous communities find themselves caught between business interests and the State, which has taken sides and shows contempt for the ways of life maintained by Indigenous Peoples.

The contradictions between different ways of life, reflected in opposing economic models, are not only deepening but also revealing who stands to lose the most.

In Salta Province, the Diaguita Kalchakí community of Las Pailas, in Cachi, suffered a violent eviction carried out through irregular procedures, forcing women, children and older people from their territory. The government’s official narrative seeks to undermine Indigenous identity by setting it against the claims of registered landowners, whom state officials regard as the rightful owners. The tension between Indigenous communities’ territorial claims and private property rights continues to resurface.

The situations in Misiones and Salta offer a glimpse of the bigger picture. The contradictions between different ways of life, reflected in opposing economic models, are not only deepening but also revealing who stands to lose the most. Indigenous communities find themselves caught between business interests and the State, which has taken sides and shows contempt for the ways of life maintained by Indigenous Peoples.

Dispossession in Southern Argentina

In Patagonia, evictions and attempted evictions are commonplace, creating a persistent climate of fear, uncertainty and violence within Indigenous communities. The cases of the Mapuche communities of Quintriqueo and Melo, in Villa La Angostura, Neuquén Province, are clear examples, particularly given the high property values driven by tourism in the area. The eviction order issued in favour of a woman of Belgian origin, who reportedly holds property titles dating back to the 1970s (which the community considers irregular or fraudulent and which were allegedly transferred to private companies). This stands in contrast to documents and anthropological studies establishing the community’s presence in the area since the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This includes a recent resolution by the National Institute of Indigenous Affairs confirming its traditional occupation of the land.

Given the sensitivity surrounding foreign ownership of land, the eviction of these communities prompted expressions of support from organisations and local residents. The Lof Melo community is currently facing renewed threats of eviction, creating a climate of considerable tension. Both communities have legal status and possess technical documentation resulting from a cadastral survey conducted by the State itself. Therefore, it is difficult to understand how the same State that formally acknowledges their public and traditional occupation of the land can simultaneously disregard Indigenous communal property rights and rule in favour of a private individual.

One need only travel across the country and speak to Indigenous communities to understand the difficulties they face and the insecurity they endure under the constant threat of eviction.

One need only travel across the country and speak to Indigenous communities to understand the difficulties they face and the insecurity they endure under the constant threat of eviction.

There is a clear connection between judicial actions, the orders issued to security forces by the executive branch, and the demands of private individuals and companies, both domestic and foreign. Violations of Indigenous Peoples’ constitutional rights and the protections enshrined in international legal instruments are becoming increasingly evident. One need only travel across the country and speak to Indigenous communities to understand the difficulties they face and the insecurity they endure under the constant threat of eviction.

There is a clear link between the State’s drive to extract natural resources, policies that treat Indigenous territories as empty land, the succession of evictions, the denial of Indigenous rights, and incentives for companies to establish operations in Argentina. Together, these processes reveal the continuity of a trajectory that began with the conquest and persists today, well into the 21st century, through a cultural assault that amounts to a blatant violation of rights.

Nothing Changes: Current Challenges and the Crisis of Extractivism

The expansion of extractivism has had a profound impact on Indigenous communities. Today, the new right-wing movements are advancing a political agenda that is far removed from Indigenous rights. Policies hostile to all forms of diversity, combined with economic policies centred on the exploitation of natural resources, are increasingly pushing Indigenous Peoples to the margins of a political agenda that has always paid them scant attention. In short, the disregard for Indigenous rights is becoming ever more apparent, as decisions concerning their territories are made without respecting those rights.

One example is the Incentive Regime for Large Investments (RIGI), introduced by the current government, which facilitates the entry of companies seeking to exploit lithium and hydrocarbon resources. Tax exemptions granted to those seeking to invest in Argentina effectively subordinate all other rights, including the constitutional recognition of Indigenous Peoples’ pre-existence. The ongoing debate surrounding the Land Law, which restricts foreign ownership of land and which Javier Milei’s government sought to repeal through an Emergency Decree (DNU 70/23) shortly after taking office, has become a renewed source of conflict following two recent rulings by Argentina’s Supreme Court of Justice.

The crisis generated by the prevailing model of development and production, and the energy system that underpins it, does not bode well for those who live on and depend on the land.

There are pockets of resistance and proactive efforts to protect territories and nature, alongside attempts to engage with institutions and other actors more willing to support their struggles.

By leaving the constitutionality of Decree 70/23 unresolved, even Argentina’s highest court has shown itself unwilling to uphold the Constitution. This situation also raises alarm among Indigenous communities, which are witnessing mounting threats to their territories and the implementation of a nationwide eviction policy that is far from coincidental. In practice, evictions serve as a barometer of the economic policies being pursued.

The crisis generated by the prevailing model of development and production, and the energy system that underpins it, does not bode well for those who live on and depend on the land. Nevertheless, there are pockets of resistance and proactive efforts to protect territories and nature, alongside attempts to engage with institutions and other actors more willing to support their struggles. Political cycles are long, and Indigenous Peoples have survived all manner of attacks for more than five centuries.

Prospects and Future Horizons

Developments at both local and global levels point to turbulent and violent times ahead. The tensions between Indigenous Peoples’ ways of life, a capitalist system increasingly revealing its darkest side, and States that fail to protect rights while persecuting those who demand them are becoming ever more pronounced. These are all manifestations of setbacks that should not be regarded as irreversible. Rather, they form part of an ongoing process marked by significant milestones that may, under more favourable circumstances, open up new horizons.

The Inter-American Human Rights System, for all its strengths and shortcomings, continues to support Indigenous Peoples in their struggle for their rights. Despite difficulties in implementing its judgments, as illustrated by the Lhaka Honhat case, its rulings remain authoritative legal precedents that can be invoked in defence of Indigenous rights. The changes required by these judgments can provide a basis for efforts to transform existing realities.

Constitutional reform would also be important, although the current political climate is hardly conducive to such an undertaking.

Constitutional reform would also be important, although the current political climate is hardly conducive to such an undertaking.

At the local level, despite widespread distrust of a judiciary that has consistently aligned itself with the political interests of those in power, there are exceptions that make it worthwhile to continue pursuing legal action. This path is fraught with obstacles, but it must be pursued to explore every available avenue within the framework of the rule of law. Nevertheless, recourse to the courts must remain subordinate to a broader political strategy defined by Indigenous organisations and communities.

Ultimately, the goals are clear. In Argentina, legislative changes are needed. One example is a specific law on Indigenous communal property rights, which has never even been debated in Congress. Constitutional reform would also be important, although the current political climate is hardly conducive to such an undertaking. Constitutional amendments, debates on new legislation and institutional reforms all remain distant prospects. More than five centuries after the conquest, Indigenous Peoples continue to demand the effective implementation of their rights. Fortunately, political cycles also change.

The post The Dispossession of Indigenous Territories in Argentina 534 Years After the Conquest appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

Located in north-western Argentina, Jujuy has undergone a profound transformation in recent years. It is no longer simply a question of the historical mining of lead and zinc: in the era of electric vehicles and the so-called “energy transition”, the lithium rush in the salt flats and the search for rare earth minerals now coexist with an emerging wine industry and a tourism sector that places increasing pressure on local landscapes. These processes, driven by private investors and supported by reforms tailored to the interests of capital, are directly affecting Indigenous territories and peasant lands, where legal security of tenure is already fragile.

Against this backdrop, representatives of Indigenous and peasant organisations were invited to participate in the workshop “Policies and Strategies for the Defence of Indigenous Territories in Jujuy”, organised together with the Anthropology of Development and Territorial Policies Team at the Institute of Anthropological Sciences of the University of Buenos Aires (UBA). During the meeting, participants reflected on the socio-environmental conflicts affecting these territories, focusing on the tensions, contradictions and setbacks in national and provincial policies, as well as environmental issues and actions undertaken in defence of the land.

Law 26,160 in the Face of Market Expansion and State Neglect

Indigenous territories are increasingly coming under pressure from economic re-primarisation and extractivism. Decree 749/2024 regulates the Incentive Regime for Large Investments (RIGI), granting tax benefits and legal stability for 30 years to large-scale mining, hydrocarbon and energy projects. Between November 2006 and December 2024, Law No. 26,160 on Territorial Emergency acted as a legal truce in Argentina, suspending evictions and mandating the survey of Indigenous territories. However, in Jujuy, this policy has become a labyrinth of incomplete files and delays that leave territories in an extremely vulnerable position.

For David, from the Rodero community, the survey process has functioned for almost 20 years as a shield against a State that threatens dispossession whenever “there is no official document”. Faced with the perception that the law has lost its force, David stresses that resistance is rooted in identity and in the inhabitants’ historical attachment to the land: “Communities need to secure their territorial organisation and then obtain title deeds. If you do not have a document, they can take the land away from you.” This state debt is far from an isolated case.

In 2023, the Red Puna network denounced the fact that the legal-cadastral survey had never been completed. These delays tend to deepen in territories where land is becoming increasingly valuable to private interests. In Chucalezna, Florencia recounts how a neighbour’s attempt to expand vineyards and tourism projects onto a family house dating back to the nineteenth century ultimately blocked the delivery of their technical file: “That is why we do not have the file: the conflict emerged and the process was interrupted. But we did complete the survey!” The current situation reveals a critical paradox: while the State delays legal recognition, pressure from the mining, wine-producing and tourism sectors continues to intensify, forcing communities to defend their permanence on the land with their own bodies.

Free, Prior and Informed Consultation as a Simulation

Argentina possesses a strong legal framework for Indigenous Peoples, yet it lacks operative legislation on communal land ownership and prior consultation. This legislative vacuum turns ILO Convention 169 into a solitary tool of resistance. In theory, Free, Prior and Informed Consultation should grant communities a leading role; in practice, however, it has become an administrative simulation that companies and the State frequently ignore or delegate to private actors.

For participants in the workshop, the diagnosis is clear: the provincial State operates according to a logic of “selective presence”. It is absent when it comes to ensuring that consultation processes are legitimate, yet it intervenes swiftly to authorise mining exploration. This dynamic revives a colonial imaginary in which Indigenous territory is portrayed as a “sacrificial space” in the name of economic growth, reinforcing a form of discrimination that strips community knowledge and autonomy of their value.

The communities of Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc have created their own biocultural protocol: Kachi Yupi (“Footprints of the Salt”). This document affirms the sacred right to water and establishes that decisions must pass through the General Assembly of the Basin.

The communities of Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc have created their own biocultural protocol: Kachi Yupi (“Footprints of the Salt”).

Meanwhile, environmental impact assessments are financed by the very companies involved, and communities perceive them as documents designed to support external interests. Consultation processes are often carried out in ways that disrupt local practices: fragmented meetings are convened, the timing of community assemblies is ignored, and only limited information is provided. Daniel captures this sense of helplessness as follows: “We say that we are the owners of everything, but then a place is declared a World Heritage Site and nobody consults us about anything. No one defends us.”

In response to the state vacuum, the communities of Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc have created their own biocultural protocol: Kachi Yupi (“Footprints of the Salt”). This document affirms the sacred right to water and establishes that decisions must pass through the General Assembly of the Basin. However, Decree 7751/2023 reduces consultation to an “informational meeting” between companies and communities. For Flavia, president of Santuario Tres Pozos, the State ignores the community protocol: “Simply receiving them is considered consent. Everything is about negotiating quickly in exchange for a few small things: a projector, a generator.”

Snapshots of Dispossession: the State, Mining Companies and the Wine Industry

Socio-environmental conflict in Jujuy has ceased to be merely a dispute over land and has become a struggle for survival. In a context where water and territory are increasingly threatened by extractive, real-estate and state interests, Indigenous communities are deploying strategies that range from legal advocacy to direct action and territorial mobilisation. “The State handed the land over to multinational corporations with us still living on it,” summarises Débora, from the Casa Grande community.

In the area controlled by the El Aguilar mining company, the effects of extractivism are undeniable: tailings dams filled with toxic waste and a water shortage severe enough to threaten life itself. Anabella, from Abra Pampa, denounces what she describes as a “silent genocide”, including lead contamination affecting children within a dismantled public health system. Griselda, from Finca El Pongo, recounts how a model of family farming sustained across three generations was swept aside by medicinal cannabis ventures and lithium industrial parks. Here, the State is not absent; rather, it actively facilitates displacement: police guard Griselda’s home while machinery tears up the soil and the community is denied access to irrigation water.

When community institutions are co-opted by corporate interests, the response is often one of fission: communities split in order to create new organisational units and thereby recover autonomy in their struggle.  

The real-estate pressure on Indigenous territories and communities has even fractured internal ties between relatives and neighbours.

In the Quebrada de Humahuaca, real-estate pressure disguised as “wine-producing development” is generating new forms of dispossession. In the Chucalezna community, the expansion of wineries and tourism-related property developments has altered the course of rivers: these topographical transformations are triggering mudslides that bury crops and homes. Florencia and Amalia denounce the privatisation of community water springs and highlight the unequal means being deployed: “They want to take our water away. We carried out the work with shovels and pickaxes; the businessman does it with machinery.”

This real-estate pressure on Indigenous territories and communities has even fractured internal ties between relatives and neighbours. When community institutions are co-opted by corporate interests — as in the case of delegates who are simultaneously employed by wineries — the response is often one of fission: communities split in order to create new organisational units (as occurred in Antigal de Moya) and thereby recover autonomy in their struggle, even when this entails a painful fragmentation.

“Sowing Water” and “Walking the Land”: Strategies of Resistance

Faced with abandonment, communities have begun to build solutions from within. The struggle often starts on paper, through the filing of reports and complaints, and the forging of alliances with universities and NGOs. It is a process of collective learning in which communities must navigate bureaucratic labyrinths and identify potential allies. Yet when formal channels are exhausted, protest shifts to the body and the road: from hunger strikes and blockades to the seizure of heavy machinery. In the absence of justice, mobilisation and collective organisation become the most effective tools. “There is strength in being united within the Council,” remarks one community member.

In the Puna, the Women Defenders of the Natural Habitat Group (from Casa Grande, Vizcarra and El Portillo) has redefined protest by transforming it into active environmental stewardship. Faced with the decline of the queñua — a native tree capable of storing large quantities of water and devastated by mining activities and road construction — these women have embarked on a process of environmental restoration and healing. “Sowing water for future generations” is the slogan under which they committed to planting 15,000 queñua trees during 2025. This process also required an internal “cleansing”: they had to seek leadership independent from the mining company, since, until 2017, their own representatives had been employees of the firm.

For Diego and David resistance is above all about remaining on the land. Community-based tourism and the strengthening of rural schools have emerged as strategies to prevent the exodus of young people.

For Diego and David resistance is above all about remaining on the land. Community-based tourism and the strengthening of rural schools have emerged as strategies to prevent the exodus of young people.

Another form of resistance was the “Women’s March in Defence of Pachamama”, held in August 2025. From Laguna de Pozuelos, women walked 282 kilometres to San Salvador de Jujuy to denounce how mining dismantles networks of life and traditional ways of living. This action was not merely an act of protest, but also a process of intercommunity weaving that reaffirmed the central role of women as guardians of the territory.

For Diego and David, from the Rodero community, resistance is above all about remaining on the land. In the face of tourism-driven gentrification and extractive pressure, community-based tourism and the strengthening of rural schools have emerged as strategies to prevent the exodus of young people: “I studied in Tucumán and came back because I missed the community. Being on the territory is the best form of defence. We work so as not to lose our identity.” David adds a demographic urgency to this vision: “We know the territory, but we need people to stay.” A territory that remains inhabited and sustained by people with a strong sense of identity is far more difficult to sacrifice than an “empty space” on investors’ maps.

Imagining Other Possible Futures

However, not all strategies are embraced unanimously. A growing phenomenon has emerged: the fragmentation of communities. Faced with internal tensions or political co-optation by companies, groups of community members — such as those of the newly formed Antigal de Moya community — have chosen to separate from their original organisations. While these ruptures seek to safeguard the autonomy of those committed to resisting, they also reveal the capacity of the extractive model to erode the cohesion of the Indigenous Peoples who inhabit north-western Argentina.

In sum, the report produced by the Anthropology of Development and Territorial Policies team at the Institute of Anthropological Sciences not only documents the conflicts and challenges that Indigenous and peasant communities face on a daily basis, but also opens a horizon of possibilities, inviting us to imagine other ways of inhabiting and relating to the environment. The experiences shared by Indigenous and peasant communities in Jujuy make clear that territory is not merely a resource for extractive planning, but a living fabric of histories that resists being reduced to the logic of the market.

By placing local and academic knowledge in dialogue, the report sheds light on practices, experiences, forms of resistance and territorial strategies that are often silenced: from the creation of autonomous biocultural protocols to the collective planting of queñua trees. The experience in Jujuy demonstrates that resistance is written through the body and through permanence on the land. It also underscores a shared certainty: in the face of a model that projects “empty spaces”, rooted identity and the effective occupation of territory constitute the strongest frontier against dispossession.

You can read the report by the Anthropology of Development and Territorial Policies team on the website of the Institute of Anthropological Sciences.

The post “Being on the Land Is Our Best Defence”: Indigenous and Peasant Territorial Resistance in Jujuy appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

This claim marked the emergence of the Lhaka Honhat organisation (“our land” in the Wichi language), which brings together all the communities of the five peoples sharing the same territory. The petition made clear that they were not seeking individual titles for each community but a single, undivided title in the name of all. The Lhaka Honhat struggle formally began in 1991 with the submission of a toponymic map reflecting areas of traditional occupation, covering 530,000 hectares. The claim was grounded in a historical and legal framework based on international law and applicable domestic norms concerning Indigenous Peoples.

The area, known as Fiscal Lots 55 and 14, had been occupied since the early 20^th century by non-Indigenous cattle-ranching families. This led to severe environmental degradation, exacerbated by the ongoing clearing of native forest. Since then, the communities have strengthened their demands for State protection. In 1992, Lhaka Honhat obtained legal personality, a requirement imposed by the Salta government as a condition for land titling under Decree No. 2609/91. The regulation provided for the allocation of land to both groups, without taking into account the Indigenous claim, supported by arguments submitted to the authorities alongside the map of the territory of traditional use.

Defending the territory: the judicial route

The decree was repealed as work progressed on the implementation of the so-called “bioceanic corridor”, intended to link Argentina with Paraguay and, at a later stage (2026–2027), with Brazil and Chile, with the aim of facilitating international trade between Mercosur and Asia. The first phase involved the construction of an international bridge between the community of Misión La Paz (Argentina) and Pozo Hondo (Paraguay). In response to this development, Lhaka Honhat filed an amparo (a constitutional remedy) before the local courts to protect natural resources and to require environmental impact assessments.

In 1996, for 23 days, more than a thousand Indigenous people occupied the bridge to publicly protest against the lack of free, prior and informed consultation. They also warned of the impact that the movement of people would have on the territory of traditional use and on the communities of the five Indigenous Peoples, who have been its custodians since time immemorial. The protest ended with the signing of an agreement under which the Salta provincial government undertook to grant title to the communities.

From the total area of the territory of traditional use, Lhaka Honhat agreed to set aside 130,000 hectares that were not being intensively used, for titling in favour of criollo families.

From the total area of the territory of traditional use, Lhaka Honhat agreed to set aside 130,000 hectares that were not being intensively used, for titling in favour of criollo families.

Once again, the Salta provincial government failed to honour its commitment, and Lhaka Honhat decided to pursue international legal action. In 1998, the Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales (CELS), acting as the association’s representative, lodged a petition before the Inter-American human rights system setting out the claim for the titling of its territory. In addition to its submission, CELS attached an anthropological report describing, from an historical perspective, the social, political and economic organisation of the communities. It also submitted an environmental report, endorsed by the National Parks Administration, on the condition of Fiscal Lots 55 and 14.

A friendly settlement process was initiated before the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), between the State and Lhaka Honhat, leading to substantive changes to the original claim. On the one hand, the communities agreed to include non-Indigenous families in the discussions—not as parties to the case but as part of a pragmatic strategy to advance a solution. From the total area of the territory of traditional use, Lhaka Honhat agreed to set aside 130,000 hectares that were not being intensively used, for titling in favour of criollo families.

Hearing of the parties and judgment of the Inter-American Court

In 2006, the IACHR issued its Admissibility Report on the petition and, subsequently, in 2012, its Merits Report, in which it recognised violations of the communities’ rights and ordered the Argentine State to provide appropriate reparations within a time frame that was extended on 23 occasions. Ultimately, in light of the State’s continued non-compliance, the IACHR referred the case to the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACtHR) in 2018.

In 2019, the Court convened a hearing in Costa Rica, bringing together the parties (the State and Lhaka Honhat) to hear from the organisation’s representatives and officials from both national and provincial governments, who presented their arguments and responded to questions from the judges. The Court also commissioned expert, legal and anthropological reports, which were incorporated into its final deliberations.

The Court ordered the Argentine State to “delimit, demarcate and grant title, in the name of all the communities, to a unified area, without internal divisions, under a single title” within a maximum period of six years (2020–2026).

The Court ordered the Argentine State to “delimit, demarcate and grant title, in the name of all the communities, to a unified area, without internal divisions, under a single title” within a maximum period of six years (2020–2026).

As a result of this hearing, on 6 February 2020 the Court found the Argentine State responsible for violations of Indigenous rights. The Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACtHR) held that the Argentine State had: (1) violated the right to Indigenous communal property, as well as the rights to cultural identity, a healthy environment, adequate food and water; (2) failed to comply with its obligation to respect and ensure the rights set out in the American Convention on Human Rights, in particular Article 21 (right to property), in relation to the rights to judicial guarantees and judicial protection, Article 23(1) (political rights), and Article 26 (economic, social, cultural and environmental rights); and (3) breached Article 8(1) due to undue delays in judicial proceedings and failure to adopt effective measures to halt activities harmful to these rights.

With regard to the merits, the Court ordered the Argentine State to “delimit, demarcate and grant title, in the name of all the communities, to a unified area, without internal divisions, under a single title” within a maximum period of six years (2020–2026). It also ordered a number of reparations: to refrain from carrying out acts, works or projects without free, prior and informed consultation (FPIC); to submit a report on critical situations involving lack of access to safe drinking water or food to the Court; and to adopt an action plan to ensure permanent access to safe drinking water and establish a community development fund.

A notable aspect of the judgment was the Court’s decision to include criollo families, without undermining the protection of Indigenous rights. To that end, it ordered that families residing within Indigenous territory should agree, together with the Indigenous communities, on their relocation to areas not subject to traditional occupation.

Disappointing results

In 2020, the provincial government established a Provincial Implementing Unit tasked, alongside a team of territorial experts, with defining boundaries. The work was carried out under a Work Plan, with the participation of one Indigenous and one criollo representative. The following year, the Ministry of Justice and Human Rights created the Temporary National Implementing Unit for the Execution of the Judgment (UENT) with the aim of “coordinating the implementation of joint initiatives with national, provincial and municipal authorities in order to comply with the reparations ordered by the judgment”.

In 2023, the UENT was dismantled and the activities it had been mandated to carry out in order to implement the reparations were suspended. Under the new national administration, responsibility for Indigenous affairs was transferred from the Secretariat of Human Rights to the Ministry of the Interior; within it, the National Institute of Indigenous Affairs (INAI) was restructured as the Secretariat for Indigenous Affairs. The Court will monitor full compliance with the judgment and will close the case once the State has complied with all the measures ordered. As of 6 February 2026, six years after the judgment, implementation has yielded limited and discouraging results for the communities.

Between 2020 and 2026, the Indigenous territory continues to be occupied by non-Indigenous settlers, ranchers’ fences have not been removed, and the clearing of native forest continues to increase unchecked.

Between 2020 and 2026, the Indigenous territory continues to be occupied by non-Indigenous settlers, ranchers’ fences have not been removed, and the clearing of native forest continues to increase unchecked.

Objective 1, which aims to delimit the territory of traditional use, is dependent upon dialogue between both groups. At present, the most recent map agreed in 2023 indicates that further meetings are still required to determine the boundaries between criollo family settlements and Indigenous territory. This is compounded by uncertainty as to who holds direct responsibility for the task, given the institutional changes within INAI and the difficulties of carrying out fieldwork during the summer rainy season. As for Operational Objective 2, concerning the provision of safe drinking water and adequate food, the initiatives launched through agreements between the National Implementing Unit and other state bodies (such as the National Institute of Agricultural Technology) were discontinued under the new administration of President Javier Milei.

Meanwhile, between 2020 and 2026, the Indigenous territory continues to be occupied by non-Indigenous settlers, ranchers’ fences have not been removed, and the clearing of native forest continues to increase unchecked. This is compounded by renewed interest among Mercosur governments in advancing the bioceanic corridor project, reviving concerns highlighted in the judgment regarding violations of the right to consultation and access to free, prior and informed information. All of this goes beyond the worsening environmental degradation, once again undermining recognition of the traditional use of resources vital to the five Indigenous Peoples.

Importance of the Judgment for Indigenous Peoples in Argentina

The Court extended the scope of this judgment to all Indigenous Peoples in the country, emphasising that Argentina lacks an adequate legal framework to effectively guarantee the right to collective property. According to the Court, this implies that Indigenous communities are not afforded effective protection of their property rights.

Case No. 12094, Asociación de Comunidades Aborígenes Lhaka Honhat v. Argentina thus stands as a landmark in the Indigenous struggle in the country, with implications for all communities. However, strikingly, it remains little known in Argentina. In this context, the Court recommended that the State publish the judgment through official print media. This constitutes a measure of considerable importance in light of the legal uncertainty faced by many communities due to the absence of legislation or other measures necessary to ensure legal security for Indigenous collective property rights.

Meanwhile, the voices of Indigenous leaders continue to be heard persistently asking: “What can we do now? How much longer must we continue waiting?”

The post Six years on from the Court’s ruling against Argentina for violations of Indigenous rights appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

There, they endured a system of exploitation, discipline and subjugation in exchange for meagre wages. When they returned from the harvest, these small sums allowed them to buy clothes, tools and utensils in the shops of Las Lomitas and nearby towns. Yet when they attempted to return to their ancestral lands, they were confronted by criollos (non-Indigenous settlers) who sought to dispossess them. Allied with the authorities, the settlers pressured the Pilagá to relocate to the Bartolomé de las Casas Mission (130 kilometres away). Alternatively, they were forced into two agricultural and livestock colonies established in 1936, also located in militarised zones under military surveillance and control.

Hungry, ill, and persecuted by pervasive violence, the Pilagá converged on La Bomba from surrounding settlements, seeking the aid of a healer, Luciano Córdoba (Tonkiet), whose powers offered relief from the wounds of economic exploitation and colonisation. In the colonial imagination of the criollos, however, this gathering of Indigenous people was first cast as an “irreducible” group of unusual size, then as a potential threat, and finally as the pretext for a military assault.

A National and Colonial Massacre

Before the massacre, the authorities had urged the Pilagá to disperse and resettle in Bartolomé de las Casas. After the massacre they managed to confine the survivors there where they were subjected to exploitation under conditions akin to slavery. Plantation, missionaries, economic exploitation and military surveillance together constituted a network of colonial spaces that formed the basis of a broader structure of violence.

In the years that followed and while the events remained largely concealed from the rest of Argentine society, the Indigenous people relied on their own social mechanisms to cope with the damage. Many distanced themselves from “life as it was before” and embraced Evangelical Christianity, through which they processed their trauma and sought refuge from State harassment. During the 1990s and 2000s, various initiatives emerged across the Chaco demanding memory, truth and justice, in the wider context of national transformation and the constitutional recognition of Indigenous Peoples in the region and in Argentina.

Rincón Bomba challenges the notion of the massacre as an isolated, singular event in time and space. On the one hand, it belongs to a continuum of violence. On the other, its spatial imprint is dispersed and far-reaching. Both dimensions point to the collective nature of the harm: temporally by revealing the multiple generations that have endured this violence and its legacies; and spatially, by exposing the broad geographic scope of its impact.

A Foretold Massacre

The first major outbreak of violence recorded in the twentieth century occurred with the attack on Fort Yunká in 1919, which resulted in the Pilagá suffering a harsh—albeit misdirected—reprisal [1]. The field diary of Swedish officer Gustav Emil Haeger, who conducted an expedition to the Gran Chaco in 1920, documents the case of the settler Anselmo Calermo, described as “an old friend”, who, after being “driven away by the Pilagá” from the Cañada de Descanso, turned to Fort Chávez and instigated a military expedition against Nelagadik and his people—highlighting the collusion between the military and criollo cattle ranchers [2].

Anthropologist Jules Henry recounts further army attacks in 1933, during which several Indigenous people were killed and others forcibly relocated some 50 miles west of their traditional “communities” [3]. In 1935, hundreds of Pilagá who had fled to Paraguay to escape Gendarmerie assaults sought refuge at the El Toba Mission, under the protection of missionaries who would later establish the Pilagá Mission [4]. Between 1937 and 1939, testimonies from Anglican missionaries at the Pilagá Mission indicate that “clashes between the Pilagá, the army, cattle ranchers and settlers were commonplace” [5].

Recognizing themselves as “Argentines” for having collaborated with the army and having acted as border guards, the Pilagá maintained confrontations with their traditional enemies, the Nivaĉle and the Maká, who had been converted by the war into Paraguayans.

Recognizing themselves as “Argentines” for having collaborated with the army, the Pilagá maintained confrontations with their traditional enemies, the Nivaĉle and the Maká.

Missionaries also documented how Indigenous people faced systematic violence at the hands of Paraguayan soldiers. Among these assaults were two massacres: one in April 1937 which claimed the lives of six Indigenous people and another in 1938 which killed seven more [6]. Meanwhile, criollo settlers also killed Pilagá with impunity, accusing them of cattle theft. When anthropologist Alfred Métraux travelled through the area in 1939, he encountered a landscape of “decay and death”; smallpox was rampant, conflicts with the army were constant, and the settlers occupied Indigenous lands. During the 1930s, in the context of the Chaco War, the Pilagá also suffered violence from Paraguayan soldiers [7].

At the same time, having been recognised as “Argentine” for collaborating with the army and serving as frontier guards, the Pilagá continued to confront their traditional enemies, the Nivaĉlé and the Maká, who had been incorporated into Paraguayan forces by the war. According to Dr Anne Gustavsson, a Social Anthropology scholar, prior to 1947 a dozen Pilagá men, led by Sedaakie’n and Peletooe’n, went clam-gathering north of Laguna Yema and were ambushed by criollo settlers, who, in collusion with the police, deceived and massacred them. Only Sedaakie’n and Peletooe’n managed to escape. After this “clam-gatherers’ massacre”, the site came to be known as “Pozo Quemado” due to the traces of fire left behind [8].

Mapping the Massacre

Let us also broaden the perspective geographically. The Gendarmerie attack at Rincón Bomba did not take place at a single location, but across a series of sites. On the afternoon of October 10, 1947, Squadron 18, divided into two groups, opened fire on an indeterminate number of Indigenous people who had gathered at La Bomba [A]. In the preceding days, the Pilagá had been disarmed by the same gendarmes, who sought to “demobilise” them and force them into submission.

On October 11 and in the following days, the attacks continued as the Pilagá attempted to flee. Most headed north, without water or food, enduring long nocturnal marches while hiding in the bush. On several occasions, they were forced to abandon their youngest children. At Pozo de los Chanchos Panorí, two children were attacked by a patrol, and two young people fleeing with the group of Desade’en were killed by gunfire [B]. On the lands of landowner Esteban Curesti at Campo del Cielo, a woman named Seecholé and her family were detained all day in 40-degree heat without water. The gendarmes separated a girl from the group, and the squadron’s second commander, Aliga Pueyrredón, raped her [C].

In Pozo del Tigre, the gendarmes found a couple, burned them alive, and executed a girl with a gunshot to the head. On October 13 and 14, the gendarmes caught up with the Piakqolek group fleeing towards Navagán, detained three individuals, and executed them in front of the entire group.

In Pozo del Tigre, the gendarmes went from house to house searching for fugitives: they found a couple, burned them alive, and executed a girl with a gunshot to the head.

In El Descanso, near Pozo del Tigre, Panorí’, two more children and over fifty people were detained in an animal corral [D]. In La Alcoba, near El Descanso, three elders were tied to a tree and burned alive [E]. In Pozo del Tigre, the gendarmes went from house to house searching for fugitives: they found a couple, burned them alive, and executed a girl with a gunshot to the head [F]. On October 13 and 14, the gendarmes caught up with the Piakqolek group fleeing towards Navagán, detained three individuals, and executed them in front of the entire group [G].

The Dasae’en group, which had fled north after the La Bomba massacre, was intercepted by the Gendarmerie near La Lagunita following denunciations by criollo settlers; a woman was wounded there [H]. Near the Paraguayan border, seven people were killed [I]. On October 16 a Junker aircraft that had taken off the previous day from the El Palomar base in Buenos Aires strafed several Indigenous people with a machine gun [J]. In El Cuervo, Oñedié was captured, taken to Fort La Soledad, and subsequently sent to Colonia Muñiz [K]. Confidential Document No. 1047 recorded 15 deaths in a supposed confrontation without judicial verification or any record of the fate of the bodies [L].

Following the repression many Pilagá surrendered to the authorities. At first, they were rounded up in Pozo del Tigre and then taken to the station from where they were transported by train to Estanislao del Campo, and subsequently by truck to Bartolomé de Las Casas and Francisco Muñiz [M]. There, they were forced to work without pay under the mission system until at least February 1948 [22]. An agricultural-style settlement was established under the administration of “Cacique Coquero” with a government promise to grant land titles and develop a population centre for the Pilagá survivors of the massacre [N].

Disputes over Recognition, Restitution, and Reparation

In the years that followed, collective gatherings—including Evangelical assemblies—were nearly prohibited and, even throughout the 1950s, remained subject to police harassment. In later decades, under closer State supervision, the legal registration of Indigenous churches served as a form of protection.

Some families who had taken refuge in the bush gradually returned to their settlements, increasingly limiting their movement within traditional hunting, fishing, and foraging territories, which were progressively appropriated by cattle ranchers. Others resettled in communities such as Namqom in Formosa, far from their ancestral lands and largely inhabited by the Qom, their traditional rivals. In all cases, the Pilagá adopted a more sedentary way of life and reduced mobility between communities.

In 2019, the judiciary acknowledged the responsibility of the National State for the massacre and emphasised the collective dimension of the harm. The Pilagá Communities Federation maintained that the reparations remain insufficient and that the usurped territories must be included.

In 2019, the judiciary acknowledged the responsibility of the National State for the massacre and emphasised the collective dimension of the harm.

In 2007, the Argentine judiciary authorised excavations at the site where the massacre began, which until then had been used as the shooting range of the National Gendarmerie in Las Lomitas, on lands that had been appropriated. Other excavations uncovered three mass graves and human remains. In 2019, the judiciary acknowledged the responsibility of the National State for the massacre and emphasised the collective dimension of the harm. Since then, the Pilagá Communities Federation, the main advocates of the legal claim, maintained that the reparations remain insufficient and that the usurped territories must be included.

The current political climate in Argentina offers little hope for guaranteeing Indigenous territorial rights. Even more concerning is a territorial survey law unimplemented for 20 years that has left Indigenous communities in a situation of clear legal vulnerability, amid a context in which the national government seeks to further advance an extractivist economic model. The restitution of territories seized through violence from Indigenous communities remains, as it always has been, an unfinished task.

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Argentina’s legal framework on Indigenous Peoples is of constitutional status. It recognizes their pre-existence as distinct peoples, their right to collective ownership of ancestral territories and to management of natural resources. Although Argentina has ratified ILO Convention 169 and endorsed the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, there are still no national laws regulating collective land ownership or the right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent. As a result, the effective exercise of Indigenous Peoples’ specific collective rights is often dependent on the political will of national and provincial governments.

Regulatory Rollbacks and Violations of Rights in Argentina

The Argentine Republic has signed and ratified the Paris Agreement. In December 2020, it submitted its Second Nationally-Determined Contribution (NDC), committing to limiting net greenhouse gas emissions to no more than 359 million metric tons of carbon dioxide by 2030, in line with Article 4.4 of the Agreement. The government’s current actions are, however, moving in the opposite direction. President Javier Milei, who denies the existence of climate change and has claimed it is “just another collapsing lie”, ordered the withdrawal of Argentina’s delegation on the third day of COP29, held in Baku, Azerbaijan — a move that caused significant concern among other delegations.

In recent months, the government has introduced a series of regulatory changes that pose serious threats to the rights of Indigenous communities. These measures dismantle oversight mechanisms for extractive activities and have a severe impact on Indigenous territorial rights. They also encourage the intensified exploitation of natural resources by repealing laws deemed “restrictive” and dismantling state regulatory bodies — signalling a policy of full deregulation in the agricultural, energy, and mining sectors.

Furthermore, the National Executive issued Emergency Decree 1083/2024, which repealed the most recent extension of the Indigenous Territorial Emergency Law. The expiry of this legal protection leaves Indigenous communities at risk of forced evictions — some of which have already begun — and is heightening tensions that need to be urgently addressed through the passage of a law to implement Indigenous communal land ownership. In addition, in 2020, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights issued its ruling in Lhaka Honhat v. Argentina, ordering the State to adopt “legislative and/or other measures to provide legal certainty for the human right to Indigenous communal property”.

A New Form of Colonialism

In an increasingly adverse context for Indigenous rights, lithium extraction — a key component of the energy transition — is advancing rapidly. Pía Marchegiani, Deputy Executive Director of the Environment and Natural Resources Foundation (FARN), notes that, in recent years, global demand for lithium has surged, largely driven by mounting pressure from the Global North to accelerate energy transition strategies. “But what about ecosystems and human rights?” she asks.

Indeed, complaints from Indigenous Peoples have intensified in response to the exploitation of natural resources by companies operating with the backing of both provincial and national governments. These operations often ignore environmental impact assessments and violate the human rights of those most affected. While moving away from fossil fuels is undeniably urgent, doing so by replicating the current model of excessive natural resource consumption will only reinforce the very same extractivist logic that underpins today’s energy system — a model that is abusive, individualistic, and inherently harmful to both people and the planet.

Colonial dynamics have intensified across the region in recent decades, marked by an increasing concentration of land and resources in the hands of large foreign corporations, facilitated by local governments. The Indigenous organizations are, however, responding.

Colonial dynamics have intensified across the region, marked by an increasing concentration of land and resources in the hands of large foreign corporations, facilitated by local governments.

Lithium extraction has caused significant damage in several regions of Argentina.This is not an isolated phenomenon but part of a long history of plundering and sacrificing natural resources that has repeated itself throughout the continent. Since European colonization, Latin American territories have been treated as raw material reserves for the Global North. In this context, resistance to extractivism represents a continuing struggle to defend Indigenous lands and territories.

Colonial dynamics have intensified across the region in recent decades, marked by an increasing concentration of land and resources in the hands of large foreign corporations, facilitated by local governments. The Indigenous organizations are, however, responding.

Diaguita Women Defenders of Life

In the official discourse promoted by both transnational corporations and local governments, the energy transition is portrayed as the arrival of progress to rural territories. In the province of Catamarca, media campaigns and official announcements seek to reinforce the idea of the “benefits” that mining would bring. From this perspective, it seems as if domestic economies and local forms of organization are “backward” compared to the innovation and “prosperity” promised by large mining projects, along with the promise of job creation.

The young Indigenous women of the Union of the Diaguita Nation Peoples are promoting a community defence strategy in response to the contradictions posed by the energy transition in their territory. They are rolling out concrete, localized practices that challenge exploitative policies, halt the plundering of their lands, and call for action. The young women from the Yocavil Valley, east of Catamarca, assert that life must be defended in real-time: “We can’t just keep watching companies destroy the territories without doing anything.”

“We know very well the wealth we have; we do not want their so-called progress. That is why we are organizing to preserve our territory from mining companies,” explains Milagros Romero.

Milagros Romero: “We know very well the wealth we have; we do not want their so-called progress. That is why we are organizing to preserve our territory from mining companies.”

The Yocavil Valley has a long-standing history of struggle by the peoples who have ancestrally inhabited it. The young Diaguita women leaders state that they are choosing to care for the land today because tomorrow will be too late, emphasizing that progress and development are not the same. Milagros Romero, from the Toro Yaco community, explains that a full life is related to both practice and reflection on how we consume, produce, and care for nature. For this reason, the Union of the Peoples of the Diaguita Nation produces and markets their food, spices and crafts while protecting the natural environment they belong to, all while actively blocking the entry of extractive companies. “We know very well the wealth we have; we do not want their so-called progress. That is why we are organizing to preserve our territory from mining companies,” explains Milagros.

Similarly, in December 2024, the Solidarity Union of Communities of the Diaguita Cacano People issued a declaration condemning the presidential decree that repealed the Indigenous Territorial Emergency Law, and they called for the establishment of an Indigenous parliament. The declaration argued that the sole purpose of the decree was to allow unrestricted exploitation of Mother Earth and to dispossess Indigenous communities of their legitimate rights, which are recognized by international treaties and national legislation. Additionally, it warned that the situation had deteriorated because the government deemed the number of registered communities excessive and was labelling many as non-existent.

The Kolla People of Salinas Defend Their Territory Against the Expansion of Lithium Mining

In Jujuy, the communities of the Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc region are facing a serious violation of their human and environmental rights. Mining exploration continues to advance despite the absence of complete and comprehensive environmental impact assessments covering the entire basin, which are essential to accurately identify the real risks in this water-scarce area. The Indigenous Communities’ Assembly of Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc has been engaged in decades of struggle and advocacy across multiple arenas. They have even drafted their own Free, Prior, and Informed Consent protocol, which the provincial government has yet to implement.

Additionally, the brothers and sisters of the Kolla people of Jujuy from Salinas Grandes took part in the so-called Third March for Peace, which challenged the then provincial government led by Gerardo Morales in 2023. At that time, the executive branch imposed a provincial constitutional reform favouring resource exploitation at the expense of Indigenous Peoples’ rights. Consequently, the communities endured violent repression, various forms of persecution, and the criminalization of social protest.

The World Bank has suspended all planned hydrological studies that were to be conducted without consulting or involving the Indigenous communities in the Salinas basin.

The World Bank has suspended all planned hydrological studies that were to be conducted without consulting or involving the Indigenous communities in the Salinas basin.

The Supreme Court of Justice of the Province of Jujuy granted an injunction affirming the right to environmental public information. This ruling benefits the Indigenous communities of Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc, recognizing their right to access reliable environmental information—a right already enshrined in the Escazú Agreement. The legal action was brought by the Foundation for Environment and Natural Resources (FARN) in order to obtain information on lithium and borate mining applications to operate within their territories.

Moreover, in a letter dated 24 February 2025, the Kolla communities of Jujuy received encouraging news: the World Bank has suspended all planned hydrological studies that were to be conducted without consulting or involving the Indigenous communities in the Salinas basin. The financial institution has also ordered the suspension of these studies until all stakeholders can engage in meaningful dialogue.

A Transition That Upholds Human Rights

The energy transition in our countries must represent an opportunity to move toward fairer and more equitable processes of energy production and distribution. In this context, the role of the international human rights protection system is crucial to ensuring respect for and enforcement of human rights within climate crisis solutions.

As stated by the International Forum of Indigenous Peoples on Climate Change in their final advocacy document on “Just Transition” for COP28 of the UNFCCC: “The rights, perspectives, knowledge systems, and lived experiences of Indigenous Peoples must be considered and fully integrated into the definitions, criteria, and implementation of Just Transition projects and programmes.”

The normative framework established in the Declaration, alongside the commitments made under the Paris Agreement, moves us closer to the ideal of “justice” in the Energy Transition. The current extraction of transition minerals such as lithium, copper, and nickel on Indigenous territories is, however, happening without their Free, Prior and Informed Consent—falling far short of what justice requires.

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