In other words, governments will face an exam to answer a simple but decisive question for the health of the Earth: are they really doing what they promised to halt the destruction of nature and restore lost biodiversity? Bolivia is one of the countries expected to show what it has done. Before facing that exam, at COP17 of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), to be held in Yerevan, Armenia, from October 19 to 30, 2026, countries first had to account for their progress. They did so through their Seventh National Reports (7NR), in which each government details the measures it has taken and the results it has achieved.

The deadline was February 28, 2026. These reports will provide input for the first global review of collective progress. Bolivia also submitted its report, a document that makes it possible to reconstruct—from the State’s official account—the progress it claims to have made and the difficulties it acknowledges.

The Great Challenge

In 2022, during COP15 of the Convention on Biological Diversity, countries adopted the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework and laid out a roadmap toward a world living in harmony with nature by 2050. To meet that challenge, they established 23 targets for 2030 that not only commit governments to halting biodiversity loss, but also place Indigenous Peoples and local communities at the center—as rights holders and essential actors in the conservation of their territories and ways of life.

This relationship between conservation and Indigenous rights runs throughout the Framework. It is particularly evident in Targets 1 and 3. The first calls for spatial planning that reduces the loss of areas of importance for biodiversity while respecting the rights of Indigenous Peoples and local communities. Target 3, known as the 30×30 target, establishes that conservation of at least 30% of the planet’s lands and waters must respect these peoples’ rights over their traditional territories. The message is clear: biodiversity conservation cannot be separated from Indigenous Peoples. So, what has Bolivia done over the past four years to fulfill the commitments it made?

If Indigenous territories are part of Bolivia’s strategy to conserve biodiversity, what is actually happening to their forests in the face of deforestation, land encroachment, and the other pressures the State itself acknowledges?

If Indigenous territories are part of Bolivia’s strategy to conserve biodiversity, what is actually happening to their forests?

In its Seventh National Report, prepared by the General Directorate of Biodiversity and Protected Areas, the Bolivian State maintains that Indigenous territories form part of its conservation strategy. Without providing any figures, the document reports progress in the titling of new Tierras Comunitarias de Origen (TCOs) / Territorios Indígena Originario Campesinos (TIOCs), the development of life plans, and the strengthening of Indigenous forms of governance. It also highlights the creation of conservation areas under Indigenous management, as well as initiatives in forest management, sustainable use, restoration, and territorial monitoring.

But the same report points to a more complex picture. Bolivia acknowledges land encroachment, conflicts over land use and overlapping rights, as well as pressures stemming from extractive activities, agricultural expansion, and illegal settlements. It also admits difficulties in updating and harmonizing life plans and, above all, a lack of information to measure land-use change and land tenure in ancestral territories and local communities. The Document states: “No Data Available”.

The paradox is significant. Bolivia presents Indigenous territories as key to conservation and to the international target of protecting at least 30% of the planet’s lands and waters. Yet when it comes to showing what is actually happening within those territories, the State itself acknowledges that it still lacks the data needed to report on one of the indicators established by the Global Biodiversity Framework. If Indigenous territories are part of Bolivia’s strategy to conserve biodiversity, what is actually happening to their forests in the face of deforestation, land encroachment, and the other pressures the State itself acknowledges?

Forests Under Pressure

An investigation by Amazonía Traficada—a journalism project supported by the Pulitzer Center, Mongabay Latam, RAI Bolivia, and Asuntos Centrales—used satellite data to examine a key region for conservation: Bolivia’s Indigenous Amazon. The investigation analyzed deforestation within 48 titled Indigenous territories in Bolivia’s Amazon basin and found that, between 1986 and 2024, these ancestral territories suffered a cumulative loss of 257,000 hectares of forest. That figure represents 3.4% of the 7.6 million hectares deforested in Bolivia during the same period.

To determine how much of that deforestation was legally authorized, the investigation cross-referenced the data with forest-clearing permits issued by the Authority for the Social Oversight and Control of Forests and Land (ABT) between 2003 and 2023. Records show that, over those two decades, the institution authorized the clearing of nearly 80,000 hectares of forest in 41 Indigenous territories. Yet only 17,900 hectares within those authorized areas actually lost their forest cover. Most of the forest loss occurred outside areas where clearing had been authorized.

In other words, between 2003 and 2023, 168,670 hectares were deforested in areas without authorization. The ratio gives a sense of the scale of the problem: for every hectare cleared within an authorized area, more than nine were cleared outside authorized areas. In other words, nearly 90% of the forest loss recorded in Amazonian Indigenous territories during that period occurred outside State authorization mechanisms. The pressure on these territories is part of a nationwide trend. A World Resources Institute (WRI) report shows that in 2025 Bolivia once again ranked second in the world for primary forest loss, behind only Brazil.

A Territorial Struggle with No End in Sight

The pressure on Indigenous territories is not limited to forests. It also extends to land tenure and the legal security of these territories. In its Seventh National Report, Bolivia states that it has expanded the area covered by TCOs/TIOCs through new land titles, although it does not specify how many hectares were incorporated.

However, cross-referencing data from research conducted by the Centro de Estudios Jurídicos e Investigación Social (CEJIS) and the Centro de Investigación y Promoción del Campesinado (CIPCA) shows that the struggle of Lowland Indigenous Peoples for the recognition, titling, and defense of their ancestral territories is far from over.

While much of this territorial demand remains unresolved, the State has continued allocating land to third parties in areas bordering Indigenous territories.

While much of this territorial demand remains unresolved, the State has continued allocating land to third parties in areas bordering Indigenous territories.

From the 1990s through the first decades of the twenty-first century, the 48 Indigenous territories in the Amazon basin collectively requested legal recognition of around 22.7 million hectares. Yet the National Institute for Agrarian Reform (INRA) titled only 11.7 million hectares—just 52% of the area claimed. In other words, more than 11 million hectares were left outside the titling process.

While much of this territorial demand remains unresolved, the State has continued allocating land to third parties in areas bordering Indigenous territories. Between 2009 and 2019, INRA allocated approximately 318,500 hectares for the establishment of 236 intercultural and campesino communities, whose social organizations were aligned with the political party that governed Bolivia between 2006 and 2025.

When Protection Is Not Enough

The gap between the protection the State says it provides and what actually happens within Indigenous territories also appears in the Seventh National Report itself. Bolivia acknowledges that it lacks information to measure, amongst other things, land tenure in the ancestral territories of Indigenous Peoples and local communities. It also acknowledges problems of land grabbing and illegal tenure.

These ancestral peoples face pressure from third-party communities settled around their titled territories with authorization from the National Institute for Agrarian Reform. But they also face land grabbing within areas legally recognized by the State—that is, territories for which they hold collective title.

While Indigenous communities denounce land grabbing and State institutions take months—even years—to act, the trees keep falling and Indigenous territories keep being trafficked.

While Indigenous communities denounce land grabbing and State institutions take months—even years—to act, the trees keep falling and Indigenous territories keep being trafficked.

An analysis of interviews with leaders from 30 of the 48 titled Indigenous territories in the Amazon basin concludes that 28 of these ancestral territories have experienced land grabbing over the past two decades and that, in 22 cases, the conflicts remain unresolved. According to the leaders interviewed, behind these occupations are networks seeking to fuel an illicit land market in the Bolivian Amazon, primarily to open up land for large-scale agricultural activities.

While Indigenous communities denounce land grabbing and State institutions take months—even years—to act, the trees keep falling and Indigenous territories keep being trafficked. But this is not the only pressure. The 30 Indigenous leaders also identified conflicts and threats linked to carbon markets, illegal mining, timber trafficking, and drug trafficking.

Conserving Beyond the Map

In Yerevan, Bolivia will have to show how much progress it has made toward 30×30. It will be able to talk about titled territories, Indigenous governance, and conservation under Indigenous management. Yet behind those figures are territories where trees continue to fall, where disputes over land persist, and where Indigenous communities wait years for the State to respond to land grabbing and the trafficking of their lands.

30×30 may look achievable when viewed on a map. But conservation does not happen on a map. It happens in real territories, where Indigenous Peoples defend their forests, their rights, and their ways of life. The unresolved issue Bolivia will take to COP17 is not simply how many hectares it can declare conserved, but how much of what it says it protects is actually safe—and how effectively it can halt or control the pressures it acknowledges in its own Seventh National Report: the expansion of the agricultural frontier, extractive activities, and human settlements as major drivers of biodiversity loss and deforestation.

In other words, beyond the exam it must sit in October, the Bolivian State—regardless of who happens to be the current occupant of power in La Paz—must be capable of enforcing the rules it has created and guaranteeing the protection of the forests and of those who inhabit these ancestral lands. This is not only an obligation to Bolivians. It is also a responsibility to a planet that no longer has time to wait for promises to become action.

The post 30×30 and Indigenous Territories: Bolivia’s Contradiction appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

Another key question is whether the conflict succeeded in halting the structural reforms to the country’s economic model—which initially entailed rolling back hard-won social gains—or whether it instead served to strengthen the protesters’ demand for the president’s resignation, which became the movement’s central demand during its final phase. On this point, several leaders of social organisations and peasant communities explained that the movement envisaged the resignation of the head of state, followed by the constitutional succession of Vice-President Edman Lara and the calling of fresh elections within three months. Some even advocated for allowing former president Evo Morales to stand as a candidate, although the courts have so far ruled out that possibility.

A President No One Saw Coming

Rodrigo Paz Pereira, the son of former president Jaime Paz Zamora, came to power as a complete surprise. The son of a left-wing political family with a guerrilla past, his father served as president and led the former Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR) after forging an unlikely political alliance with the right-wing former dictator Hugo Banzer following the 1989 elections. In 2025, Paz Pereira defeated former president Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga in the presidential run-off, benefiting from the votes left politically adrift by the collapse of the Movement for Socialism (MAS). Drawn largely from popular sectors, these voters would never have supported a far-right candidate such as “Tuto”.

Once in office, Paz temporarily eased the fuel shortage through agreements with the United States and allied countries in the region. Before long, however, he began issuing decrees and resolutions aimed at dismantling what he himself described as the Estado tranca (“gridlock state”). In practice, these measures favoured the powerful economic interests of Bolivia’s eastern lowlands while alienating the electorate that had brought him to power in the Andean region. His government abolished the wealth tax and enacted Supreme Decree No. 5503, whose 121 articles introduced a fast-track procedure for approving foreign investment contracts in infrastructure and natural resource exploitation without parliamentary approval or the free, prior and informed consent of the Indigenous Peoples concerned. It also eliminated almost all subsidies on liquid fuels, doubling the price of petrol and tripling that of diesel.

The origins of the subsequent conflict can be traced back to these early days in office. From the outset, the president and his government adopted a position increasingly at odds with Vice-President Edman Lara, a former police officer who enjoyed broad popular support. Even before taking office, Lara accused the president on social media of reneging on their political agreements and forming a government without his participation. As the dispute escalated, the government issued a decree stripping the vice-president of his constitutional powers and depriving him of almost all public funding. While Paz portrayed Lara as unfit for office, a significant section of his own electorate interpreted the move as a betrayal of their class interests, particularly among the Andean popular sectors represented by peasants, small traders, self-employed workers, transport workers and labourers. These groups have traditionally been distrustful of the middle and upper classes of La Paz, Cochabamba and Santa Cruz, whom they largely perceive as belonging to the political right.

An Accumulation of Demands

The composition of the protest movement changed over time. In April, the president enacted Law No. 1720 without any prior consultation. The legislation sought to reclassify small-scale agricultural holdings as medium-sized properties through an administrative procedure, while introducing a moratorium on verifying whether medium-sized estates fulfilled their economic and social function. The government and agribusiness interests attempted to present the law as one that would benefit smallholder farmers, although it was evident that it was primarily intended to favour the large landowners of Bolivia’s eastern lowlands. Indeed, the region’s leading businessman and senator took the lead in publicly promoting and defending the legislation.

Against this backdrop, the first protest was led by peasant organisations from the Northern Amazon who launched a march demanding the repeal of Law No. 1720. Along the way, they were joined by Indigenous organisations from the department of Beni, which distanced themselves from the agreements reached between the government and the Confederation of Indigenous Nations and Peoples of the Bolivian East, Chaco and Amazon (CIDOB), as the authorities sought to downplay the significance of the peasant march. The mobilisation also prompted mining cooperatives and teachers’ unions to put forward their own demands. Up to that point, the government had portrayed the protests as a collection of sector-specific disputes, attributing them to the legacy of the “20 years of MAS” and to alleged attempts at destabilisation by political leaders displaced from power and aligned with former president Evo Morales.

The Bolivian Workers’ Centre presented its list of demands in El Alto on May 1, ushering the conflict into a new phase. The dispute took on a more structural character and social polarisation deepened, spilling onto the streets, into the media and across social networks.

The Bolivian Workers’ Centre presented its list of demands in El Alto on May 1, ushering the conflict into a new phase. The dispute took on a more structural character and social polarisation deepened.

Following the partial repeal of Law No. 1720 and the enactment of Supreme Decree No. 5613, which authorised the allocation of state-owned forest land to Amazonian peasant and Indigenous communities, the government declared that the protests were no longer driven by legitimate social demands but had become political in nature. This shift was underscored by growing calls for the president’s resignation—a demand from which Indigenous organisations distanced themselves following the partial repeal of Law No. 1720. At the same time, the government adopted a ministerial resolution allowing mining cooperatives to regularise contracts in protected areas and Indigenous territories without prior consultation. In doing so, the move further entrenched violations of the Indigenous rights enshrined in the Constitution, with the aim of neutralising one of the strongest sectors of the protest movement.

For its part, the Bolivian Workers’ Centre (COB) presented its list of demands in El Alto on May 1, ushering the conflict into a new phase. The dispute took on a more structural character and social polarisation deepened, spilling onto the streets, into the media and across social networks. At this stage, new actors came to the fore: coca growers from Chapare, who launched a march towards La Paz, and peasant organisations from the historic Túpac Katari federation, bringing together the so-called Ponchos Rojos, one of the country’s most militant social movements. Road blockades spread across almost the entire Andean region, while communal peasant communities joined the protests en masse within their own territories. By then, the movement had coalesced around a single overriding demand: the resignation of Rodrigo Paz over the sale of poor-quality fuels, the shortage of US dollars and rising inflation.

A Conflict That Seemed Never-Ending

Another dimension of the conflict was the impact, forged after his electoral victory, that Rodrigo Paz’s alliance with the economic elites of Bolivia’s eastern lowlands had on the Andean popular sectors. Combined with a series of neoliberal measures that rolled back the social gains enshrined in the Constitution, this alliance came to be seen by many as a betrayal of the very voters who had brought Paz to power. This perception was further reinforced by the removal of Indigenous symbols from the state’s official imagery, as well as by a shift in the language and practices through which the government engaged with the protesting sectors. With no interlocutors capable of understanding their grievances, the conflict reached an impasse and dragged on.

Throughout the crisis, the government consistently opted for dialogue while refusing to yield to demands for the president’s resignation, treating the unrest as a series of sector-specific disputes. For several weeks, however, the president’s resignation remained the only condition under which the nearly 100 roadblocks that were beginning to choke access to La Paz, the country’s seat of government, would be lifted. Xenophobic and discriminatory rhetoric directed at the protesters came to dominate social media and much of the mainstream media, which had largely aligned itself with the government. The protesters, for their part, responded with an anger born less of aggression than of frustration and a profound sense of powerlessness.

As in other conflicts led by popular organisations across the Andean region, polarisation exposed and intensified Bolivia’s longstanding fault lines, particularly those rooted in ethnic and regional divisions.

As in other conflicts led by popular organisations across the Andean region, polarisation exposed and intensified Bolivia’s longstanding fault lines, particularly those rooted in ethnic and regional divisions.

In this way, the government adopted a strategy of attrition, refraining from declaring a state of emergency in order to avoid drawing other sectors into the conflict and triggering an even greater crisis. While the absence of armed repression—of the kind witnessed under Jeanine Añez and Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, when crackdowns left a trail of deaths, injuries and arrests—kept the protests within manageable institutional limits, the prolonged conflict inflicted considerable political damage on the president, as growing sectors of society called for the army to be deployed.

As in other conflicts led by popular organisations across the Andean region, polarisation exposed and intensified Bolivia’s longstanding fault lines, particularly those rooted in ethnic and regional divisions.  Given its role as the main supplier of many of the goods consumed in western Bolivia, the roadblocks in Santa Cruz were widely perceived as a measure directed against the department itself. Meanwhile, Indigenous intellectuals—especially Aymara and Quechua voices based in the country’s cities—argued that the conflict had brought to the surface the racism and discrimination still faced by the Indigenous population of the Andes, which was once again being marginalised in public policy. More broadly, there was a widespread perception that the social gains enshrined in the Constitution were under threat.

Evo Morales’ Role

Among the government’s main efforts to discredit the protests was its claim that Evo Morales was behind an attempted insurrection and that he was financing the road blockades through drug trafficking, with the aim of securing his eligibility to stand in the elections that would supposedly follow the president’s resignation. In reality, apart from the mobilisation of coca growers from Chapare, the former president played a much greater role in media coverage than in the protests themselves, not least because he remained at odds with several of the sectors taking part in the mobilisation. Although his supporters shared the movement’s central demand, the broad coalition brought together by the Bolivian Workers’ Centre (COB) and peasant organisations far exceeded the mobilisation of the coca-growing sector, which marched from its historic stronghold in Chapare to the seat of government.

The most tense moments came in May, when several marches entered La Paz and the city was brought to a complete standstill by the road blockades. Protesters increasingly targeted businesses that refused to close and even ordinary citizens who opposed both the radical nature of the protest measures and the calls for the president’s resignation only six months into Rodrigo Paz’s presidency. Across the country, the blockades paralysed the economy and directly and indirectly claimed 22 lives. Ambulances were prevented from passing through blockade points, denying critically ill patients access to medical care, while shortages of essential supplies left hospitals unable to treat those in urgent need.

Urban sectors also criticised the president for his ineffective handling of the crisis, which exposed the government’s limited understanding of the groups behind the protests, particularly those mobilised around land and territorial rights. In this context, the government’s public response was led by senator and landowner Branko Marinkovic, a member of the Free Alliance party headed up by former far-right presidential candidate Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga. His prominent role became another factor fuelling the protests, as many demonstrators saw him as a white landowner of foreign descent from Bolivia’s eastern lowlands promoting a reform that clearly harmed smallholder farmers while relying on arguments that many found unconvincing.

The Truce and the Uncertainty Ahead

The conflict came to an end with the signing of an agreement on 26 June. Although it does not amount to a political programme for the popular movement, it could mark a turning point in the relationship between the state and a broad range of social actors with regard to their historic achievements: national sovereignty; respect for Indigenous Peoples; consultation and participation in decisions that may affect them; and the commitment not to authorise mining activities in protected areas and Indigenous territories. One of the agreement’s central commitments was Rodrigo Paz’s pledge not to relinquish control over the country’s natural resources—gas and lithium—or to privatise its strategic state-owned enterprises. The agreement also provided for compensation for damage caused to vehicles by poor-quality fuel, measures to protect household purchasing power, and commitments to restore wages and pensions.

Nearly a month after the agreement was signed, it is clear that many of its demands remain unresolved. Politically, President Rodrigo Paz neither resigned nor was forced to do so. Instead, he declared a state of emergency, although this was not the mechanism that brought the road blockades to an end. Fragmentation in Congress also persists, while the popular organisations have neither regrouped nor emerged stronger. Having secured agreements on a number of specific demands, they returned to their respective regions. Economically, there is still no clear development strategy. The government continues to combine ambitious rhetoric with an unavoidable reliance on international borrowing to fill the budgetary gaps left by the collapse of gas revenues.

Only time will tell who ultimately gained the upper hand in this conflict. The government is already beginning to quietly reintroduce several elements of its economic agenda: allowing the exchange rate to float in order to “correct” its value, proposing legislation to attract foreign direct investment, and easing taxes and state regulations. The proposal to reclassify small-scale agricultural holdings as medium-sized properties—the measure that originally triggered the conflict—has recently reappeared in the form of two new bills, albeit with several amendments and an explicit safeguard for the collective ownership of Indigenous territories. Whether this initiative originated with the agribusiness sector or the government itself remains unclear. If it was indeed the latter, the government would be playing with fire before the crisis unleashed by the road blockades has even fully subsided.

The post The End of Bolivia’s Great National Blockade: No Winners, No Losers? appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

The passage of this law comes in a political context marked by the advance of conservative forces which, from within the state, are seeking to reorient the agrarian model in favour of agro-industrial and corporate interests. It is significant that the bill has been promoted by figures such as Branko Marinković, a leading representative of the Santa Cruz business elite and a long-standing advocate of more flexible land ownership regimes. In this context, the measure forms part of a broader offensive aimed at dismantling the limits that Bolivia’s agrarian framework has historically placed on the commodification of land.

Reactions have been swift. Various peasant and Indigenous organisations have declared a state of emergency and announced mobilisations in defence of land, drawing on a long history of struggle that recognises this measure as a direct threat to hard-won gains. Small-scale property is not simply a legal category; it is a safeguard designed to sustain livelihoods and prevent dispossession. Weakening it would entail dismantling the protective nature of the current agrarian regime. This is therefore not an isolated development but the first step in a broader strategy which, driven by the same centres of power, also targets communal property and Indigenous peasant territories.

Small-scale property in Bolivia’s agrarian regime

Within Bolivia’s agrarian regime, small-scale property is a form of individual agricultural ownership whose purpose is the subsistence and reproduction of the peasant family unit. The National Institute for Agrarian Reform Law (INRA) defines it as the source of subsistence resources for the holder and their family, while Article 394 of the Constitution protects it as indivisible, non-seizable family patrimony and exempt from taxation. This configuration reflects a clear political choice: to exclude small-scale property from market logic. It is not conceived as an asset to be traded, mortgaged or integrated into processes of capital accumulation but rather as a material foundation intended to sustain peasant life and shield it from indebtedness, dispossession and the reconcentration of land.

In Bolivia, small-scale property is not a concession to individual smallholders but an agrarian institution of social protection forged in the context of the struggles surrounding the 1953 Agrarian Reform, which sought to dismantle the latifundio system and secure the livelihoods of rural men and women. Its constitutional recognition in 1967 reaffirmed this logic by establishing a framework aimed at preventing peasant plots from once again being drawn into cycles of seizure, loss and reconcentration. The 2009 Constitution renewed this protection within a new plurinational order, situating it within an agrarian regime that coexists alongside other collective forms of property.

The subject of this form of property is the peasant, understood not as an isolated owner but as part of a broader collective political organisation. Small-scale property constitutes the material basis upon which organised peasantry is structured, expressed through bodies such as the Confederación Sindical Única de Trabajadores Campesinos de Bolivia and the Confederación Sindical de Comunidades Interculturales Originarias de Bolivia. In this framework, land is not merely a means of production but a key element that underpins organisation, political representation, territorial control and the defence of rights. Its protection therefore safeguards not only an individual asset but a social fabric historically built by the peasant movement.

A conversion that strips away constitutional protection

Article 394 of the Constitution expressly states: “Small-scale property is non-seizable, constitutes family patrimony and is exempt from taxation.” This means that small-scale property is protected in order to prevent peasants from losing their material basis of life as a result of debt or market pressures. It should also be recalled that its original basis lies in land allocation — that is, the free granting of land by the state to ensure dignified living conditions. It is not an asset acquired on the market for speculative purposes but a space assigned to sustain peasant livelihoods.

By allowing the conversion of small-scale property into medium-sized holdings, Bill of Law No. 157 is clearly unconstitutional as it effectively removes this protection. The land ceases to be non-seizable and becomes liable for use as collateral. In such circumstances, if a peasant is unable to meet their obligations, they may lose their property. This is not a side effect; it is the direct outcome of the model being advanced: to open the door for peasant land to enter financial circuits and become exposed to appropriation by actors with greater economic power. In this way, the law reintroduces conditions for the reconcentration of land and the reconfiguration of the latifundio, in clear contradiction with Article 398 of the Constitution.

The law opens the door to a financial model that requires land as collateral and, in cases of default, enables its loss. Far from promoting rural development, the measure thus forces the commodification of peasant living spaces.

The law opens the door to a financial model that requires land as collateral and, in cases of default, enables its loss. Far from promoting rural development, the measure thus forces the commodification of peasant living spaces.

More troubling still, the approved text establishes a ten-year grace period during which compliance with the Social and Economic Function (FES) will not be subject to verification. This is a cornerstone of Bolivia’s agrarian regime, as the FES legitimises property on the basis of its use and productive purpose. By suspending its verification for a decade, the law is effectively dismantling one of the principal oversight mechanisms, allowing converted plots to remain idle or to be redirected towards purposes unrelated to their social function, thereby entrenching a logic of accumulation that the Constitution was designed to restrain.

The main justification advanced for the measure is that conversion will enable peasants to access credit and, in turn, improve production. In practice, however, it opens the door to a financial model that requires land as collateral and, in cases of default, enables its loss. Far from promoting rural development, the measure thus forces the commodification of peasant living spaces and deliberately weakens an agrarian regime specifically designed to protect them.

An irregular legislative process with no social participation

The legislative handling of Bill of Law No. 157 was marked by significant irregularities that call its validity into question. The bill was initially approved by the Chamber of Deputies during the previous legislative term but was subsequently amended in the Senate by the committee chaired by Branko Marinković, introducing substantial changes to its content. Despite this, the amended version was not returned for detailed scrutiny but was instead approved directly in plenary, securing its passage. As a result, the text as adopted has not been subject to sufficient or proper deliberation, despite altering key elements of the agrarian regime.

The issue lies not only in how the bill was passed but also in what was passed. The original draft already proposed converting small-scale property into categories subject to market dynamics. The Senate, for its part, removed references to corporate ownership but failed to address the underlying problem. On the contrary, it streamlined the conversion procedure, reduced oversight and introduced an expedited ten-day timeframe for processing requests. In practical terms, this has facilitated and accelerated a mechanism through which constitutionally protected property can lose that protection. This is not a correction but a redesign aimed at making the transformation of the small-scale property regime more rapid and effective.

An even more serious omission must be noted: the absence of consultation and participation on the part of peasant and Indigenous organisations on a matter that directly affects their land. This is not merely a technical issue; legislation is being enacted on the material basis of peasant life without hearing from those who depend on it. The request for legislative reconsideration submitted on 31 March by Patricia Helen Patiño raised these concerns but failed to secure the required two-thirds majority. As a result, a law lacking sufficient debate and adopted without the participation of those most directly affected has been pushed through.

Land and territory are not for negotiation

The approval of Law No. 157 has prompted an immediate response from peasant and Indigenous movements across the country. Various organisations have declared a state of emergency and issued statements rejecting a law they deem unconstitutional and aligned with the interests of agro-industrial actors, large landowners and private banks. They have also announced mobilisations and the filing of constitutional challenges should the law be promulgated, signalling the beginning of an open confrontation over a measure that directly affects the material basis of their existence.

This rejection rests on a clear understanding of what is at stake. Small-scale property is not merely a legal category; it is a historic achievement. Its constitutional protection was not a concession but the outcome of struggles aimed at securing an autonomous material base for peasant families. To alter its legal framework is therefore to reshape fundamental conditions of access to and control over land while opening up the possibility of its renewed concentration in the hands of powerful groups.

In this context, Law No. 157 does not stand as an isolated development but as the starting point of a broader offensive. Weakening small-scale property opens a pathway that could extend to other forms of tenure, particularly communal property and Indigenous peasant territories. What is at stake is not only a category of ownership but the protective nature of Bolivia’s agrarian regime as a whole. The mobilisation now being announced thus constitutes a pre-emptive defence against a process that is seeking to reconfigure land as a market commodity rather than as the foundation of life.

The post Rollback of rights in Bolivia: an offensive against peasant land appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

In 2016, the traditional authorities began collecting formal agreements to initiate administrative procedures in accordance with state requirements. Thanks to this groundwork, in June 2018 the Promoting Commission formalised the request for autonomy by applying for the Certificate of Ancestral Territory Status and the Certificate of Governmental Viability from the Vice Ministry of Autonomies. Both certificates were granted in January 2020.

On 15 February 2020, more than 3,000 community members gathered at the Jacha Mara Tantachawi and voted “yes” for Indigenous Peasant Original Autonomy (AIOC). The Deliberative Assembly was then formed, initially comprising 45 primary Constituent Members (later expanded to 60) and 15 alternates. After years of debate, conciliation, socialisation, and consultation, the highest decision-making body, the Jacha Mara Tantachawi, approved the Autonomy Statute in December 2023. This decision was endorsed by more than 4,000 community members, assembled in the capital, Challa Lacuyo, of the Challa Original Autonomy (AOCH).

Delays in State Bureaucracy

In May 2024, representatives of the Challa Original Autonomy submitted the draft of the Law Establishing the Challa Indigenous Peasant Territorial Unit to the Plurinational Legislative Assembly. The draft law had been prepared by the Vice Ministry of Autonomies in collaboration with traditional authorities and supporting institutions. Through this submission, they entrusted the Assembly with enacting the law that would enable the territorial consolidation of Challa.

Following the formal handover of the draft law to the President of the Senate, Andrónico Rodríguez, the AIOC representatives held a ceremony featuring cultural performances and musical rhythms of the Challa Original People, including pinkillada, thurumeada, khonqoteada, and moseñada. Since then, the draft law has been subjected to numerous technical reviews and bureaucratic delays, both in the Senate and across other branches of the state apparatus.

Since then, the draft law has been subjected to numerous technical reviews and bureaucratic delays, both in the Senate and across other branches of the state apparatus.

Progress has been slow due to constant technical observations and a lack of institutional clarity.

Faced with persistent bureaucratic delays, the President of the Council of Authorities of the Challa Original Autonomy, Fabián Choque Cruz, explained: “After the initial submission, the commission’s work concluded in late October 2024. All progress was nullified, as they were unable to address the observations. The draft law was then resubmitted to another Senate commission, headed by Senator Romaña.”

The conclusion of the commission’s work in October interrupted the progress that had been achieved, compelling the traditional authorities to resubmit the draft law. It was subsequently reviewed by the new Senate Commission on Territorial Organisation and State Autonomies. Progress has been slow due to constant technical observations and a lack of institutional clarity.

Bureaucratic Obstacle to Autonomy Rights

One of the most contentious points in the draft law was the redefinition of interdepartmental boundaries between Oruro and Cochabamba, a responsibility that lies with the governments of both departments. If unresolved, this issue would have directly affected the Challa territory, located precisely in this border area.

Throughout 2024, the traditional authorities of Challa facilitated dialogue and called for urgent attention to this matter, which falls outside their jurisdiction but affects the progress of the autonomy process. On 23 October, the issue was finally addressed with the approval of Law No. 127/2024-2025, the Law on Boundaries/Sections between the Department of Oruro, Municipality of Paria, and the Department of Cochabamba, Municipalities of Tacopaya, Tapacarí, and Bolívar. This provided territorial certainty and allowed the autonomy process to continue.

The inconsistency stemmed from outdated systems and a lack of coordination between state agencies, creating confusion regarding the numbering of titles issued under different administrations.

The inconsistency stemmed from outdated systems and a lack of coordination between state agencies, creating confusion regarding the numbering of titles issued under different administrations.

The second objection came from a report issued by the Ministry of Rural Development and Lands (MDRyT) and the National Institute of Agrarian Reform (INRA), which deemed the process “unfeasible” due to the alleged absence of the SAM-TIOC 369 executive title in their records. This title corresponds to the K’usilliri community, one of the 12 TIOCs comprising the Challa territory. The issue arose because there were two different numbers: one under the SAM-SIM 304 system and another updated under SAM-TIOC 369.

The inconsistency stemmed from outdated systems and a lack of coordination between state agencies, creating confusion regarding the numbering of titles issued under different administrations. However, thanks to technical dialogue tables involving the traditional authorities, the Vice Ministry of Autonomies, and supporting clarifying reports, it was demonstrated that there were no contradictions regarding the land’s extent or its legal regularisation.

Political Victory for Challa: Bolivia’s Ninth Indigenous Autonomy

On 30 October 2025, the Challa Original People achieved a historic milestone in the country’s autonomy process. The approval of the Law Establishing the Challa Indigenous Peasant Territorial Unit consolidates a long-standing process of struggle, resistance, and collective construction. Despite some opposition from those who still fail to recognise that Indigenous autonomy extends far beyond mere economic management, the law was backed by a coalition of political forces in the Chamber of Deputies committed to the common good and respect for collective rights.

Challa’s authorities were unequivocal: they do not seek handouts, but the full recognition of their right to self-government and self-determination. With the law providing legal backing, the Challa Original Autonomous Government (GAOCH) now enters a new phase of internal organisation, electing its leaders according to its own norms and procedures and implementing its Territorial Management Plan.

Each new autonomy is celebrated as a collective achievement, reflecting persistence, political clarity, and commitment to building self-government.

Each new autonomy is celebrated as a collective achievement, reflecting persistence, political clarity, and commitment to building self-government.

During the National Assembly of Indigenous Peasant Autonomies, held on 18–19 November, the National Coordinator of Indigenous Autonomies (CONAIOC) officially recognised the Challa Original Government as the ninth GAIOC of the Plurinational State of Bolivia. The resolution, approved by the Assembly, legitimises the bureaucratic process that the Challa territory successfully navigated, fully incorporating it into the network of already established autonomies.

The event brought together established GAIOCs such as Yura, Salinas, Charagua Iyambae, Kereimba Iyaambae, Raqaypampa, Huacaya, and Challa, as well as autonomies still in development, including Corque Marka, Totora I, and Oica Cavineño. The gathering highlighted that each new autonomy is celebrated as a collective achievement, reflecting persistence, political clarity, and commitment to building self-government. Amid words of congratulations, existing autonomies emphasised that the real challenge begins with the implementation of the Autonomy Statute.

Challa Territory Receives Its Territorial Unit Law

In one of the final acts of his administration, former President Luis Arce Catacora promulgated Law No. 1689, establishing the “Challa Indigenous Peasant Territorial Unit,” on the night of 7 November. The delay underscores that Indigenous autonomy processes were not a priority during his government.

On 23 November, more than 3,000 Challa community members from the Urinsaya, Aransaya, and Majasaya ayllus celebrated the law that recognizes them as an autonomous entity—a struggle that has faithfully followed the mandate of the grassroots for years. Music, dance, wiphalas, and ceremonial staffs marked the celebration, signalling the start of a new phase. The community will now move forward with the electoral stage, following their Election Regulations for the Authorities who will form the Original Autonomous Government.

Now more than ever, it is crucial to strengthen these experiences and support the genuine exercise of self-government, so that Indigenous Nations and Peoples can continue building their own systems of organisation, decision-making, and community life.

The true Plurinational State will only be realised when self-determination moves beyond rhetoric and becomes a lived reality in the territories.

The consolidation of Indigenous Autonomies in Bolivia continues to be an unfinished task for the Plurinational State. Following the end of the left-wing period described as “Indigenous Power,” only eight autonomies were able to fully establish themselves, leaving open questions about how the new centre-right government will assume responsibility for advancing the implementation of Indigenous self-governments.

Now more than ever, it is crucial to strengthen these experiences and support the genuine exercise of self-government, so that Bolivia’s Indigenous Nations and Peoples can continue building their own systems of organisation, decision-making, and community life. The true Plurinational State will only be realised when self-determination moves beyond rhetoric and becomes a lived reality in the territories.

The post Political Victory for Challa: Bolivia’s New Autonomous Territorial Entity appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

However, today the livelihoods of most communities are threatened by the overexploitation of natural resources, agricultural expansion, road construction, infrastructure projects, and other industrial-scale activities that alter their environments. These extractive projects jeopardise their survival, making it essential to have tools that strengthen governance and autonomy in the defence of their territories and natural resources.

The experience we wish to share in this article is a collaborative work carried out by the authorities of the Multiethnic Indigenous Territory (TIM): the Autonomous Indigenous Government, the Subcentral of Indigenous Councils, and the Subcentral of Women. This synergy, combined ancestral knowledge with new mapping technologies, resulted in the creation of an Atlas and a set of cartographic tools designed to optimise governance and reinforce autonomy.

A Territory Where Five Peoples Coexist

The Multiethnic Indigenous Territory is located in the Bolivian Amazon, in the so-called Llanos de Mojos—the third most important seasonally flooded savannah in South America. The TIM was officially recognised as an Indigenous territory by Supreme Decree 22,611, following the first march led by the Indigenous Peoples of the Lowlands in 1990. It is called “Multiethnic” because the territory comprises 28 communities belonging to five Indigenous Peoples: Mojeño Ignaciano, Mojeño Trinitario, Movima, Yuracaré, and T’simane. In this way, TIM exemplifies harmonious coexistence between diverse ethnic groups and nature.

In 2010, a Gathering of Corregidores (the highest territorial decision-making body) decided to begin establishing an autonomous government in the Multiethnic Indigenous Territory, as provided for in the Political Constitution of the State. The complex process began with fulfilling multiple requirements, including participatory drafting and approval, at several levels, of a statute that sets out the rules of the new Indigenous government. What makes the TIM Indigenous Autonomy unique is that it is established over the entirety of the ancestral territory titled as collective lands, unlike the other eight recognised Indigenous autonomies to date, whose territorial jurisdictions correspond only to former municipal boundaries.

By using “talking maps” and satellite imagery, sites of importance to each community and people have been georeferenced, with their various uses across the territory carefully documented.

By using “talking maps” and satellite imagery, sites of importance to each community and people have been georeferenced, with their various uses across the territory carefully documented.

After 13 years of lengthy procedures led by the Subcentral of Indigenous Councils and the Subcentral of Women, autonomy was finally achieved on 1 March 2023 with the adoption of Law No. 1497, which established the Territorial Unit of the Multiethnic Indigenous Territory (TIM). In November of the same year authorities that formed the new Autonomous Indigenous Government officially took office.

Since 2020, the Legal and Social Support Organisation (ORE) has been collaborating with TIM authorities, providing support in the management of shared natural resources, forest conservation, and monitoring and control systems. Within this framework of joint work with Indigenous organisations and authorities, environmental, geographic, demographic, and cultural maps have been produced. By using “talking maps” and satellite imagery, sites of importance to each community and people have been georeferenced, with their various uses across the territory carefully documented.

The Use of Cartography in TIM Governance

This initiative has enabled the creation of an Atlas of the Multiethnic Indigenous Territory, providing essential tools for territorial and environmental management. The atlas offers detailed information about the “Territorial Unit,” including its location, area, boundaries, and constituent communities, as well as physical, geological, and hydrographic features. In addition, through extensive collaboration with communities, social data has been updated, covering access to health and education at all levels, alongside an assessment of strengths and weaknesses to support the exercise of these fundamental human rights.

The atlas functions as both a visual and political instrument, designed not only to record land use and distribution but also to strengthen cultural identity and preserve historical memory. The maps combine ancestral knowledge with modern technologies, producing a dynamic representation that respects traditions while addressing contemporary needs. They also feature a historical map, narrated by the communities, showing the location of Jesuit reductions established in the 1600s. Furthermore, the atlas identifies areas that, centuries later, were exploited by logging companies but have now been restored to the Indigenous Peoples of Mojos.

Users can view territorial boundaries while monitoring hotspots in real time—a feature that proves crucial during fire season in August, September, and October, at the end of the dry season.

Users can view territorial boundaries while monitoring hotspots in real time—a feature that proves crucial during fire season, at the end of the dry season.

This historical and cultural mapping holds great significance in dual aspects of territorial governance. Internal governance entails taking control of one’s own affairs: the effective exercise of collective rights concerning territorial management, the functioning of local institutions, systems for distributing resource benefits, inter-community agreements, and the resolution of internal conflicts. External governance, on the other hand, involves legitimising these representative structures to outside actors, strengthening them to develop coherent policies and engage effectively with those seeking to influence decision-making within the territory.

Access to cartographic information is not limited to a physical atlas. Interactive maps have also been developed and are accessible via the TIM governance website. This tool allows authorities, community members, students, and the general public to create their own maps online through an intuitive geo-visualiser, offering layers of geographic, environmental, and social data. Users can view territorial boundaries while monitoring hotspots in real time—a feature that proves crucial during fire season in August, September, and October, at the end of the dry season.

A Conservation Area that Strengthens Culture

One key aspect of territorial management and governance was the development of zoning through a long and participatory process with communities. Six land-use zones were mapped: bodies of water, pampas, savannahs, grazing land, agricultural land, forests for traditional use, and a conservation area. Building on this zoning, on 26 November 2022, during a Gathering of Corregidores, the Subcentral of Indigenous Councils and the Subcentral of Women proposed the creation of the “Loma Santa Conservation Area.”

During the Jesuit reductions, the ancestral inhabitants of Gran Mojos moved in search of an ideal location deep in the forest—free from disease and human exploitation, where peace and abundant food could be found. They named this place “Loma Santa.” Centuries later, on 3 October 2024, the Autonomous Indigenous Government of TIM enacted Autonomous Law No. 003/2024, establishing a Conservation Area of Historical, Cultural, Social, and Spiritual Heritage under the name “Loma Santa,” thereby formalising the decision taken by the Gathering of Corregidores two years earlier.

This conservation area is the first Indigenous protected area created in the Bolivian Amazon. Cartography shows that “Loma Santa” is part of an important conservation mosaic linking protected areas and Indigenous territories and is connected to the extensive Vilcabamba-Amboró biodiversity corridor, which stretches across the central region of the country and extends into Peru. The TIM’s location is also highlighted as part of a globally significant wetland, the RAMSAR Site “Río Matos.”

Cartography: A Tool for Indigenous Autonomy

In recent years, TIM has faced various threats, ranging from the exploitation of its natural resources to climate-related events such as fires and floods. Access to accurate and up-to-date information allows timely decision-making and the protection of the territory. In response to these challenges, a Territorial Monitoring and Control System has been developed to safeguard common natural resources, monitor environmental changes, and strengthen Indigenous governance in the face of external pressures.

Territorial mapping by the Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia represents an act of recovery and reaffirmation of the lands they have traditionally inhabited. For decades, resource exploitation has caused the displacement and social and cultural disruption of these communities. In this sense, the process of land titling has sought, to some extent, to repair that damage.

Cartographic tools, therefore, are merely static representations of geographic reality but are dynamic expressions of historical events and political decisions made by Indigenous Peoples. They aim to illustrate situations, disseminate information, and reaffirm the rights of Indigenous Peoples over their territory, its biodiversity, and other elements of the natural environment.

The post Cartography as a Tool for Indigenous Governance in the Multiethnic Indigenous Territory appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

Although many countries—especially in Europe—have sped up their energy transitions to meet climate commitments and to respond to the energy crisis triggered by the war between Russia and Ukraine, not all possess sufficient reserves of these minerals. The success of the transition is closely linked to the availability and supply of these resources, potentially reinforcing extractivist development models in resource-rich countries.

According to the International Energy Agency, China is the world’s leading producer and processor of rare earth elements, accounting for around 60% of global extraction and nearly 90% of global processing. The Xi Jinping administration has recognized that the value of these minerals lies not only in their marketability but also in their strategic importance for technological advancement. As a result, Western countries have become increasingly dependent on China—a dynamic that directly affects both the pace and the sovereignty of the global energy transition. In Latin America, only Brazil ranks among the top ten countries with the largest reserves, placing third with approximately 15% of the global total.

Rare Earth Elements and Critical Minerals in Indigenous Territories

Paradoxically, the energy transition that is being driven by renewable sources has increased the demand for rare earth elements and critical minerals—non-renewable resources—the extraction of which is concentrated in strategic and fragile ecosystems, such as Indigenous territories. A global study published in 2022, based on the international platform on mineral supplies for the energy transition, reveals that more than a half of extractive projects related to these resources are located within or near Indigenous lands.

In Latin America and the Caribbean, an estimated 73% of these projects directly or indirectly affect formally titled Indigenous territories. Many also overlap with areas facing high levels of water stress, further increasing their environmental vulnerability.

The exploitation of rare earth elements and critical minerals brings not only significant environmental impacts but also deep social and cultural consequences. These include the risk of forced displacement of Indigenous communities and threats to their cultural identity, driven by migration, territorial fragmentation, and the rapid transformation of their ways of life. Traditional decision-making structures and governance systems are also being undermined—especially as state authorities continue to disregard the right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent.

Bolivia in the Context of Rare Earth Element and Critical Mineral Extraction

Bolivia is suffering a profound economic and energy crisis resulting from the collapse of its hydrocarbon-based development model. The surge in international oil prices, combined with a sharp decline in domestic gas reserves, has triggered a severe fiscal imbalance. This crisis has far-reaching impacts across the social, political, and legal spheres and is compounded by weak democratic institutions and a lack of independence of the different branches of government.

Against this backdrop of multidimensional crisis, the national government has chosen to further entrench the extractivist development model by expanding hydrocarbon and mining frontiers into the Amazon, and is showing increased interest in the extraction of rare earth elements and critical minerals. While international attention on the energy transition has largely focused on lithium extraction projects in the country’s southeast, it is essential to also pay close attention to exploration and extraction initiatives targeting rare earth elements and critical minerals in regions such as the Amazon, Chiquitanía, Chaco, and Pantanal.

The national government is seeking to promote a “new, non-traditional mining” approach to meet the growing global demand in the face of the energy transition.

The national government is seeking to promote a “new, non-traditional mining” approach to meet the growing global demand in the face of the energy transition.

As part of the expansion of the extractivist model,in 2022 Bolivia established the Vice Ministry of Technological Minerals and Rare Earth Elements as part of its extractivist expansion strategy. Two years later, in January 2024, the Ministry of Mining and Metallurgy announced the commencement of exploration activities for these resources. The national government is seeking to promote a “new, non-traditional mining” approach to meet the growing global demand in the face of the energy transition. The objective is to diversify mineral extraction beyond traditional resources—such as silver, tin, lead, zinc, and gold—towards others like nickel, cobalt, and rare earth elements. To support this, the Bolivian Mining Corporation (COMIBOL), the state-owned enterprise that manages the mining production chain, has created the National Directorate of Technological Minerals and Rare Earths.

Alongside lithium extraction in Potosí, led by Yacimientos de Litio Bolivianos (YLB), two rare earth exploration projects are currently underway in Bolivia: Cerro Manomó and Rincón del Tigre, both located in Santa Cruz department within the Chiquitanía and Pantanal regions. These projects aim to identify and quantify reserves of minerals, including thorium, niobium, nickel, cobalt, chromium, gold, and rare earth elements.

Additionally, in 2023, prospecting activities took place in San Javier (Chiquitanía), where samples of rubidium, cesium, tungsten, titanium, tantalum, lanthanum, praseodymium, europium, cerium, neodymium, samarium, and thorium were taken. To date, the results of these studies remain unpublished, and little is known about which stakeholders may be involved in the extraction phase.

Technological Minerals and Rare Earth Elements in Indigenous Territories

There is currently no official database on the presence of technological minerals or rare earth elements in Indigenous territories of the Eastern region, the Chaco, and the Amazon. However, an overlay analysis conducted by CEJIS—comparing the Map of Technological Minerals and Rare Earths in Bolivia with the surface area of the 58 Indigenous Territories formally recognized by the State—reveals that these projects are mainly concentrated in the regions of Chiquitanía, Pantanal, and Northern Amazonia.

In Chiquitanía, the Indigenous Community Lands (TCO) of Guarayos, Monte Verde, Lomerío, and Zapocó are directly threatened by the Pico Suto project, while the Bajo Paragua TCO is affected by the Cerro Manomó project. In the Pantanal, the Rincón del Tigre project is directly affecting the Pantanal TCO and the territory of the same name owned by the Ayoreo people. In the Northern Amazon, the Madre de Dios gold mining project will directly affect the Multiethnic II Territory.

In addition, projects implemented by COMIBOL in Santa Cruz department will have an indirect impact on four Indigenous territories: Guarayos, Pantanal, Tobité, and Turubó Este.

Indigenous Peoples in Voluntary Isolation and Initial Contact

Prospecting projects also pose a significant threat to Indigenous Peoples living in voluntary isolation and initial contact in the Pantanal and the transitional areas toward the Chaco. In particular, the Rincón del Tigre project directly affects the migratory routes of the last Ayoreo groups that remain in voluntary isolation.

There is no evidence that safeguards have been developed to protect the integrity of these peoples or to uphold their decision to remain in isolation, as established by Article 31 of the Political Constitution of the State, in force since 2009. In an effort to strengthen international protections, the situation of the rights of Indigenous Peoples’—including those living in voluntary isolation and initial contact— was addressed during the 24^th session of the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, in the context of critical mineral extraction. On that occasion, the Forum recommended “prohibiting any economic activity, particularly exploration, research, extraction, and processing of critical minerals for the energy transition, in territories known to be inhabited by peoples in voluntary isolation.”

Far from implementing this recommendation, national authorities are continuing to expand prospecting activities into regions with a confirmed presence of Indigenous Peoples in voluntary isolation and initial contact.

Absence of Prior Consultation and Environmental Information

Although the Constitution states an obligation to conduct Free, Prior and Informed Consultation (FPIC) with Indigenous Peoples before any activity that may affect their lives or rights, the national policy promoting the so-called “new non-traditional mining” — particularly the exploitation of rare earth elements and critical minerals — has not been put out to consultation with the Indigenous communities in the Chiquitanía or Pantanal TCOs.

The Pico Suto, Cerro Manomó, and Rincón del Tigre projects were not previously discussed with the Guarayo, Chiquitano, or Ayoreo Indigenous authorities. The exclusion of Indigenous communities from consultation processes is rooted in Mining and Metallurgy Law No. 535, enacted in May 2014, which exempts prospecting activities from the requirement for consultation. This provision is openly unconstitutional, as it contradicts both the national Constitution and international instruments on Indigenous rights.

The application of this law exacerbates the vulnerability of Indigenous Peoples, particularly the Ayoreo, who include groups living in voluntary isolation in the area targeted by the Rincón del Tigre project. The law allows prospecting activities to proceed without oversight or Indigenous participation, based solely on a simple administrative authorization issued by the mining authorities. This situation is further compounded by the lack of publicly available information on the environmental impacts — both at the prospecting stage and during potential future exploitation.

Conclusion

The energy transition cannot take place at the expense of the rights of Indigenous Peoples, nor through the destruction of their territories and the environment. The experience of Indigenous communities in the Chiquitanía and Pantanal regions reveals that, far from offering a departure from the extractivist model, the implementation of rare earth and critical mineral exploration and exploitation projects is actually entrenching it. This results in increased pressure on Indigenous territories and further violations of their collective rights.

The silent advance of this “new mining” in Bolivia’s lowlands is already producing tangible consequences: exploration and extraction projects are being carried out without the consultation or consent of the affected Indigenous Peoples. These activities have led to significant losses of natural heritage — especially forests — and have worsened climate change impacts, such as water stress.

Bolivia is at a crossroads: it can continue down the path of extractivism or move toward development models that genuinely respect the self-determination of Indigenous Peoples. In this context, it is urgent to restore effective safeguards and ensure that Free, Prior and Informed Consultation processes are carried out at all stages of mining projects — as a minimum condition for advancing toward a truly just energy transition.

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In the 1950s, a team from the New Tribes Evangelical Mission, specializing in contact with nomadic Indigenous groups, began initial efforts to reach the Yukí. This process took several years and culminated on March 11, 1965, after a relationship of trust had been established between the missionaries and the community. This trust led to the relocation of an initial group of 43 people to the New Tribes camp, which would later become an Indigenous settlement. The missionaries then continued searching for more Yukí families along the region’s rivers.

In December 1986, a second group of 23 people was relocated from the Víbora River to Biá Recuaté. Amid an economic crisis, companies had intensified their encroachment on Yukí territory, triggering violent clashes between settlers, loggers, and hunters—conflicts in which the Indigenous population suffered the gravest harm. Finally, in 1989, a third group was relocated to Biá Recuaté, after the group’s leader made several visits and witnessed firsthand the conditions in which his relatives were living.

A Recently Contacted People

In 1990, Indigenous peoples from the Lowlands carried out the first “Great March” to La Paz, the seat of government, to demand dignity and territory. It was the first time they became visible to Bolivian society and the State. In this context, Supreme Decree No. 23.111 granted the Yuquí people a territory of 115,000 hectares, based on an estimated population of 500 people, the density and reproductive rates of local wildlife, the average number of animals hunted per species per year, and the age and sex of the fauna in their hunting area. The resolution made no mention of recognizing other Indigenous groups (such as the Indigenous Council of the Ichilo River).

The determination of the Yuquí territory was carried out by a multidisciplinary team from the New Tribes Evangelical Mission, the Inter-American Development Bank, and the University of Central Florida. To determine the location and size of the land, the project prioritized three key factors for their survival: traditional areas for hunting, gathering wild fruits and honey; the population growth rate; and the cultural determinants of a people in a state of extreme vulnerability.

The Yukí people are currently undergoing a transition from a nomadic lifestyle of hunting and gathering to a sedentary way of life. This shift involves learning new skills to generate income and meet the emerging consumption needs brought on by acculturation. However, this transition has made the Yukí highly vulnerable, as they are being overwhelmed by multiple overlapping forces in their social environment such as colonization, drug trafficking, and the encroachment of their lands by Yuracaré communities from the Chapare River and other Indigenous groups from the Ichilo River.

This vulnerability is further compounded by the Yukí’s unique sociocultural characteristics in the fragility of their internal organization, lack of established leadership, and absence of horticultural traditions. These factors place them at a serious disadvantage compared to other Indigenous groups in Bolivia when it comes to asserting their rights and articulating their demands to the State. This precarious situation is routinely exploited by settlers, loggers, other Indigenous groups, and the State itself, all of whom engage with the Yukí through interactions that are often deceitful and exploitative—socially, economically, and politically.

The Betrayal of the Yukí People

Although the Yukí Indigenous Territory has been formally recognized, the Bolivian State continues to enable the systematic encroachment of coca-growing settlers, illegal loggers, drug traffickers, and other Indigenous groups. This ongoing invasion has led to the progressive fragmentation of the territory, threatening both the ecological biodiversity of the region and the Yukí people’s means of subsistence. By 2024, the Bolivian government had invested approximately 20 million bolivianos (around 2.87 million U.S. dollars) in housing, sanitation, electricity, and telecommunications projects for other Indigenous groups who had been permitted by the Yukí to settle within their Original Communal Territory (TCO).

When the State officially recognized the Yukí TCO in 1992, the Yukí Council made the decision not to expel those already living in their territory. Instead, they required them to respect all of their norms and regulations related to the access, use, and control of natural resources. At that time, there were only five encampments of non-Yukí settlers and Indigenous families—Tres Islas, Capernaum, Santa Isabel, Las Flores, and Tres Bocas. These settlements were originally itinerant, primarily established for illegal logging, and their inhabitants lived in Puerto Villarroel, a mestizo town located outside the TCO. When the National Institute of Agrarian Reform (INRA) carried out the land titling process in 2000, the Yukí formally recognized these five settlements as official communities.

Nonetheless, these Indigenous groups—more deeply acculturated into national society—took advantage of the political moment to organize themselves under the Indigenous Council of the Ichilo River (CIRI), composed of Yuracaré, Moxeño, and Trinitario peoples. With weak and technically unsubstantiated arguments, they requested that the National Institute of Agrarian Reform (INRA) add the CIRI acronym to the official land title of the Yukí TCO. This marked the institutionalization of their betrayal: an attempt to dispossess the Yukí of their entire territory by creating five new communities, none of which were authorized or consented to by the rightful owners of the land.

Today, CIRI controls over half of the Yukí TCO. They have established ten communities populated by people from other regions to give the impression of a growing population in need of more land. Meanwhile, government investment in projects for the Yukí remains minimal and only materializes in response to public complaints about complicity in land invasions. International agreements and Bolivian laws are not enforced—they are merely used to attract funding from the international community. All ongoing projects are being implemented without free, prior, and informed consent.

A Latent Ethnocide

The Yukí people live under constant threat of losing their geographical space, which is essential for their social and cultural continuity. This situation is leading to the gradual disappearance of their people, as they are being assimilated into the mestizo population as a result of the Bolivian State’s deliberate actions—or its failure to act. Public officials routinely discriminate against them. In the 2014 elections, for example, the Supreme Electoral Tribunal validated the usurpation of a National Deputy seat by the Yuracaré people at the expense of the Yukí, within the special constituency of Cochabamba Department, justifying the decision by claiming that the Yukí are “ignorant and contribute nothing.”

The violation of Indigenous peoples’ rights in the Lowlands has only intensified since the Movement for Socialism (MAS) came to power in 2006. Paradoxically, despite the fact that most of the government’s leadership and officials come from the Altiplano, discrimination, racism, and ethnocidal practices against Lowland Indigenous peoples have become institutionalized. In this process of internal colonialism, their territories are being overrun by settlers from the highlands with authorization from the national government. Efforts to defend Native Community Lands (TCOs) are met with legal persecution, aimed at silencing any form of resistance or protest.

In this context, Indigenous Peoples, like the Yukí, without strong and stable organizational structures are the most vulnerable, as they lack leaders with the capacity to defend their Native Community Lands (TCOs). Although the national government has enacted legislation in support of Indigenous peoples, these laws are not enforced, and Indigenous communities continue to be pushed into the margins of their own territories by settler encroachment. Consequently, ethnocide takes shape through the expansion of the agricultural frontier, road construction, mining operations, oil exploration, and land invasions by campesino settlers.

According to the State, the deaths of Yukí individuals are the result of “tuberculosis.” However, laboratory analyses conducted in the United States have identified the presence of the Aspergillus fungus or mold spores in the lungs of Yukí patients. Misdiagnosed by national health professionals, this condition continues to claim lives. The treatments prescribed by the doctors assigned to monitor Yukí health are not eliminating the fungus; instead, they are strengthening it within the bodies of those affected.

What Can Be Done to Prevent the Disappearance of the Yukí People?

In the 21st century, this issue is highly complex and will not be resolved easily or quickly. However, a series of basic and urgent measures could serve as a starting point.

First, the State must draft a law that systematizes the various factors threatening the survival of the Yukí people, with the aim of ensuring their genuine protection. Furthermore, violations of this law should be met with severe penalties for offenders.

Second, the Ministry of Health must carry out a serious and in-depth study on the health conditions of the Yukí population, with the goal of eradicating the Aspergillus fungus and improving their overall well-being.

Third, the Ministry of Education must closely review and adapt the primary and secondary school curricula, as they currently fail to reflect the cultural identity of the Yukí people. In addition, the poor quality of education limits the skills of Yukí youth and their opportunities to pursue further education in technical institutes or universities.

Fourth, the State must prioritize funding for diverse development projects to ensure sustainable income for the Yukí population, thereby meeting their most basic survival needs.

Fifth, the Ministry of Justice should implement a leadership training program for Yukí representatives, enabling them to defend their people and culture against the many injustices they currently face.

Only through the implementation of these urgent initial measures by the Bolivian State can we begin the essential work of preventing the disappearance of the Yukí people.

The post The Ethnocide Committed by the Bolivian State against the Yukí Indigenous People appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

To this day, EIB has exposed poverty, land scarcity, discrimination, and racism perpetuated by the traditional education system. It has even uncovered situations of near-slavery experienced by some Indigenous communities, such as those in the Guarani region. By connecting with sociocultural realities, it has helped reclaim historical memory, revive Indigenous languages, and achieve their recognition as official State languages — a significant victory for those involved at the time.

With the passing of Educational Reform Law 1565 in 1994, the Bilingual Intercultural Education Program, initially developed in Aymara, Guarani, and Quechua regions, became State policy. Indigenous peoples and their organizations played a decisive role in its implementation through the Educational Councils of Indigenous Peoples (CEPOs). Although their initial intentions were good, the quality gradually faded, reverting to traditional method of teaching, much like today’s system. The most notable achievement was the recognition of Indigenous languages within schools — though this was mostly limited to the primary level.

Intracultural, Intercultural, and Multilingual

In 2010, Law 070 “Avelino Siñani and Elizardo Pérez” was enacted, stating: “Education shall be intracultural, intercultural, and multilingual throughout the education system.” The bilingual model was replaced by a multilingual one, meaning that, in addition to an Indigenous language and Spanish, a foreign language — English — would also be taught. However, in curriculum planning, the Indigenous and foreign languages were merged into a single “Language and Communication” subject area.

In many cases, teachers do not speak the native language, let alone English. One teacher explains: “I am a Guarani speaker, so I have no problem teaching this language. However, I don’t speak English, so I ask a colleague who knows a little for help.” Similarly, another teacher shares: “I don’t speak the native language, so I teach crafts — that’s how I manage. I know a bit of English; I have no other choice because I need to keep my subject and class hours.” As a result, multilingual education is failing to develop properly.

Strictly speaking, schools are failing in their role to support the recovery, learning, and revitalization of native languages. This affects students, who show more interest and attention in learning English.

Strictly speaking, schools are failing in their role to support the recovery, learning, and revitalization of native languages.

In Article 7, Education Law 070 states that “the teaching of a foreign language begins gradually and mandatorily from the early years of schooling, with appropriate methodology and specialized personnel, continuing across all levels of the Plurinational Education System.” This requirement does not apply equally to the teaching of native languages, as their mandatory inclusion is not established across all levels of the system.

In practice, the time they are allocated is insufficient, contributing to their deprioritization — especially when teachers neither speak nor use the language in the learning process. Strictly speaking, schools are failing in their role to support the recovery, learning, and revitalization of native languages. This affects students, who show more interest and attention in learning English. There is also a risk that students may start to believe native languages are less valuable than Spanish or English, especially since there are no bilingual teachers dedicated exclusively to teaching indigenous languages. This stems from the forced unification of three languages into one “Language and Communication” subject area, which ultimately undermines native languages and their cultural elements.

In Theory, but Not in Practice

Local and national education authorities often emphasize that all languages spoken in the country are official languages of the Plurinational State. However, this is not reflected in practice. Law 269 on Linguistic Rights and Policies is also not being upheld, as there is no specific body providing technical support and follow-up for the development of native languages at different levels of the education system.

Moreover, the country’s legislative advancements — promoting the use, protection, and revitalization of indigenous languages — find little support? within the institutional and academic structure of Teacher Training Colleges. These institutions do not prioritize methodologies for teaching native languages, whether as a first or second language, nor do they focus on teaching Spanish. In short, improving teacher training is urgently needed.

Similarly, the Ministry of Education’s structures pay little attention to the need for native language teachers. Public hiring calls for teaching positions do not consider proficiency in native languages, ignoring their constitutional recognition and official status, as well as the principle of territoriality outlined in Law 269.

Regionalized Curricula and Productive Education

The “Avelino Siñani and Elizardo Pérez” Law seeks to promote intracultural education through the implementation of regionalized curricula, “in coordination with Indigenous Native Peasant nations and peoples, maintaining harmony and complementarity with the core curriculum of the Plurinational Education System.” Currently, 21 regionalized curricula have been approved by ministerial resolution. However, some Indigenous leaders argue that concrete results are still lacking in educational institutions.

The failure to implement these curricula stems from a lack of methodological training for teachers and the absence of an alignment with the national core curriculum. The problem is particularly evident in the Lowlands, where there is a shortage of local teachers who speak the native language and understand the region’s sociocultural context. Most teachers come from Aymara- or Quechua-speaking communities and are unfamiliar with local cultures. It’s paradoxical that Andean cultures are being imposed in these territories, sidelining the development of local cultures.

Interculturality is still largely addressed through folkloric activities. In this context, non-Indigenous teachers justify promoting interculturality by enabling students to learn about other cultures.

Education Law 070 also aims to connect theory with productive practice. In line with this initiative, the Socio-Community Productive Educational Model was established, proposing that education and production should not be learned in isolation. Instead, one learns by doing and does by learning. There is a skewed perception of productive education wherein some schools make efforts to establish school gardens while there is a simultaneous lack of technical support to implement the planned productive activities effectively.

Some teachers claim that productive projects help foster interculturality by introducing students to other cultures through gastronomy, dance, music, or in the making of traditional clothing. However, as is evident, interculturality is still largely addressed through folkloric activities. In this context, non-Indigenous teachers justify promoting interculturality by enabling students to learn about other cultures. The problem arises when they end up imposing their own, typically Andean, cultures on students from the Lowlands.

Dialogue, Participation, and Educational Materials

Teacher Training Colleges do not engage in meaningful dialogue with Indigenous organizations regarding the relevance, quality, and suitability of their training programs. Institutional management is strictly controlled by the Ministry of Education and the Teachers’ Union, through teacher confederations and student representation, thereby excluding Indigenous representatives who are the direct beneficiaries of intercultural education. These organizations lack presence and organizational power in decision-making processes and are excluded from both administrative and academic discussions.

The implementation of Intercultural Bilingual Education actively involved communities, parents, and Indigenous elders. Based on these experiences, Indigenous Peoples’ Educational Councils (CEPO) were established and later legally recognized by Education Reform Law 1565. The first CEPO councils officially recognized to participate in the formulation and oversight of education policies were: The Aymara Council, The Quechua Council, The Multiethnic Amazonian Council and The Guarani Council.

The implementation of EIB became nearly non-existent in many communities, and the efforts that were being made became entangled in institutional and regulatory issues. As a result, the demands and proposals were taken on by the government of the time and the Bolivian teachers’ union.

The implementation of EIB became nearly non-existent in many communities, and the efforts that were being made became entangled in institutional and regulatory issues.

These organizations were involved in the formation of parent-school boards, the support of teacher training, classroom monitoring, material production, and the organization of evaluation meetings with authorities. Meanwhile, international cooperation focused its efforts on strengthening the institutions of the educational councils by providing them with statutes, technical teams, and logistical conditions. However, the implementation of Intercultural Bilingual Education (EIB) became nearly non-existent in many communities, and the efforts that were being made became entangled in institutional and regulatory issues. As a result, the demands and proposals were taken on by the government of the time and the Bolivian teachers’ union, sidelining Indigenous representation.

In approaches of language maintenance and development, there is also a noticeable lack of bilingual materials aimed at strengthening oral and written use of Indigenous languages at the primary education level. Educational authorities fail to provide timely and appropriate follow-up and support to schools, and thus hinder their effective implementation. This has occurred despite guidelines established in Ministerial Resolution 001 and issued by the Ministry of Education at the beginning of each school year.

Pending Issues in Intercultural Education 

Indigenous languages are increasingly taught and spoken less because they do not receive the attention necessary for their development. Educational institutions that should provide the necessary pedagogical and technical conditions are not doing so, mainly because they lack bilingual teachers who are exclusively dedicated to teaching Indigenous languages and ensuring their relevance in education. Moreover, the forced unification of the three languages within the Language and Communication area has led to the invisibility of Indigenous languages, which harms both the languages and their cultural elements.

The implementation of intracultural, intercultural, and plurilingual education is still in its infancy, despite the creation of regionalized curricula, which are also not being effectively implemented due to the lack of teacher training and technical support. Furthermore, most teachers are Spanish-speaking and do not come from the region. In schools located in the Lowlands, there are teachers who are unfamiliar with Amazonian, Chaco, or Eastern languages and cultures, as most are of Aymara or Quechua origin.

Indigenous organizations and the Educational Councils of Indigenous Peoples have lost control over the implementation of EIB, allowing the historical demands and proposals from Indigenous peoples to be taken over and controlled by the government in power.

Indigenous organizations and the Educational Councils of Indigenous Peoples have lost control over the implementation of EIB.

It is assumed that Intercultural Bilingual Education (EIB) has gained a higher status or has become more radicalized under the term Intracultural, Intercultural, and Plurilingual Education at all levels of the education system. However, in practice, interculturality, and even plurilingualism are not being developed due to the lack of material conditions and human resources trained in this approach. Regarding plurilingualism, children and young people are increasingly speaking less of their native languages, neither writing nor learning English. As a result, Spanish continues to establish itself as the only prestigious language.

Due to the bureaucratization of the Ministry of Education’s structures and the transformation of Intercultural Bilingual Education into a state educational policy, Indigenous organizations and the Educational Councils of Indigenous Peoples have lost control over the implementation of EIB, allowing the historical demands and proposals from Indigenous peoples to be taken over and controlled by the government in power. This is undoubtedly bad news.

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TIPNIS holds a dual status as both a National Park and an Indigenous Territory. It has been home to three Indigenous ethnic groups—the Yuracaré, Mojeño-Trinitario, and Tsimane—who are distributed across 74 communities. Their livelihoods depend on the sustainable use of natural resources, including hunting, fishing, gathering, timber extraction, agriculture, and livestock farming. Covering an area of 1,236,296 hectares (approximately 12,363 square kilometers), TIPNIS is renowned for its rich biodiversity and protects  857 animal species and around 3,500 plant species.

Throughout its history, TIPNIS has been—and remains—a contested territory. Satellite-based territorial monitoring has uncovered alarming evidence of the various threats and rights violations faced by the Indigenous communities in this vast region. Park rangers and Indigenous territorial guardians work tirelessly to defend and protect TIPNIS, despite a severe shortage of financial resources, equipment, and logistical support, which hinders their ability to combat land invasions, illegal logging, deforestation, poaching, and turtle egg trafficking.

Pressures on TIPNIS

Despite the legal protections of its dual status, TIPNIS remains a highly coveted and constantly threatened territory, targeted by external actors such as intercultural settlers (colonizers), loggers, poachers, and large-scale infrastructure projects. These actors seek to exploit its natural resources, often taking advantage of public policies that promote an extractivist development model.

In 2011, during the VIII Great Indigenous March in Defense of TIPNIS, Territories, Life, Dignity, and Indigenous Peoples’ Rights, the Yuracaré, Mojeño-Trinitario, and Tsimane communities strongly opposed the construction of a road from Villa Tunari to San Ignacio de Moxos, planned to cut through the core zone of their territory.

The public sector, specifically the governments of Beni and Cochabamba, continues to insist on reactivating the Villa Tunari – San Ignacio de Moxos highway megaproject, which was rejected for the second time during the Corregidores’ Assembly in March 2023. The highway is a subject that is consistently used for political leverage by both subnational and national public authorities. This is reflected in the constraints CONISUR-TIPNIS communities face in the implementation of projects and the provision of services such as education and healthcare.

Regarding the presence of foreign actors (particularly Colombians and Peruvians), there is a growing trend of men seeking marriage with Indigenous women as a means to gain legitimacy and establish a foothold in the territory. Meanwhile, mining cooperatives are also encroaching on Indigenous territories and the national park, where some operations are located just a few kilometers from the core zone. A similar situation is occurring across much of the Bolivian Amazon, where cooperatives are invading Indigenous lands, violently seizing riverbanks, violating Indigenous rights.

Territorial Satellite Monitoring

These scenarios of territorial and collective rights violations in Indigenous communities prompted the corregidores of CONISUR-TIPNIS to explore technological tools for effective territorial monitoring. In this context, the original authorities decided to develop a territorial monitoring system based on high-precision satellite imagery, which allowed for: 1. Tracking the territory to gather evidence of potential violations; and 2. Updating territorial zoning with the aim of collaboratively creating a territorial management or life plan.

Satellite monitoring is a tool that provides high-quality information on the use, exploitation, and risks related to the natural resources of the territory. On the one hand, it serves as a preventive measure against potential rights violations, as it reports on both natural events and human activity that requires timely intervention. On the other hand, by facilitating the reporting of harmful acts against the rights of Indigenous Peoples, whether committed by individuals or state authorities, before administrative or judicial bodies, and demanding the restitution and enjoyment of those rights it is restorative.

The satellite monitoring training process involves the participation of Indigenous territorial guardians from CONISUR, community-elected youth, and park rangers from the National Protected Areas Service (SERNAP). One of the primary concerns of the chiefs and corregidores of CONISUR was the reports of land invasions by intercultural settlers who conduct slash-and-burn activities and land clearing for coca cultivation. In this regard, the 2020 Annual Coca Monitoring Report, published by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, revealed the identification of 1,373 hectares of coca crops within Polygon Seven that year. More alarmingly, 27 hectares were found within the Indigenous territory, where coca cultivation is prohibited.

Threats and Vulnerabilities Identified in TIPNIS

Satellite monitoring specifically enabled the identification of forest cover and tree cover loss, the presence of fires or heat sources generated within the territory, as well as data on deforestation, land invasions, and road openings.

During training conducted in 2024, Indigenous monitors enhanced their ability to send coordinates related to human-induced events or irregular natural phenomena in areas deemed vulnerable, based on the level of care and protection needed for each area. Using these events, a criteria-based classification of vulnerable zones was determined: high-risk for those in core zones, medium-risk for those in resource-use zones, and low-risk for those in traditional-use zones. Based on these criteria, the monitors identified and sent coordinates for vulnerable areas, which are considered as threats to the territory.

Among the events threatening which have raised significant concern among communities in the south, in TIPNIS territory, are alluvial mining activities, the expansion of coca producers from the municipality of Cocapata (Ayopaya province) into the TIPNIS core zone, and land invasions by intercultural settlers in Polygon 7 which lead to violations of agreements by the settlers.

Specific Threat Hotspots

Thanks to satellite monitoring and the work of Indigenous monitors, the following conflict hotspots were identified:

1. Alluvial Mining in the Altamachi River

In 2024, land clearing and the construction of roads for heavy machinery were observed just 5 kilometers from TIPNIS, along the Altamachi River, for alluvial mining activities. This threatens to contaminate the downstream communities. The coordinates of this area were sent to the satellite monitoring group, and park rangers from SERNAP successfully verified them.

2. Incursion into the Santo Domingo Zone

in Santo Domingo, in the northern part of the territory, a large area of land clearing was detected just 3 kilometers from the TIPNIS boundary, a direct threat to access to the core zone. The coordinates of this incursion were also sent to the satellite monitoring group.

3. Breach of Agreements: “Red Line of Polygon 7”

Monthly satellite images reveal that some of the plots (chacos) of intercultural settlers have crossed the red line, violating the established protection agreements and worsening the situation in the area.

3.1 Land Invasion in the Sindicato Bustillos Zone

The Bustillos syndicate has repeatedly expanded its coca cultivation near the river, increasing pressure on TIPNIS. According to the monthly satellite monitoring, these illegal activities occur frequently, deteriorating the natural environment and threatening the traditional practices of Indigenous communities that rely on the river for their livelihoods. It has also been confirmed that the Red Line of Polygon 7 has not been respected, with the boundary being exceeded in the past year, further aggravating the situation in the affected area.

3.2 Land Invasion in the Sindicato Primavera Zone

El Sindicato Primavera ha desarrollado cultivos de coca que impactan directamente sobre el TIPNIS. A pesar de los esfuerzos de la comunidad indígena por proteger su territorio, estas actividades siguen generando un impacto negativo, tanto en el entorno natural como en la estructura social de las comunidades. Además de los cultivos, el monitoreo satelital ha revelado una expansión preocupante del territorio cocalero, con la posibilidad de que se excedan los límites del Polígono 7.

3.3 Land Invasions in Polygon 7

The map suggests a rapid growth of settlements and coca cultivation in TIPNIS, driven, according to testimonies, by external actors. This is likely changing the way of life and thought among  ndigenous communities that undermines their traditional practices and alters the social and territorial dynamics of the region.

Monitoring as a Tool for Territorial Protection

This set of threats and violations of the collective and territorial rights of TIPNIS communities clearly reveals economic interests that drive various internal and external actors to the territory.

The information collected through satellite monitoring regarding “vulnerable areas” emphasizes the need to find defense mechanisms to address existing conflicts and to pproach them from a comprehensive perspective based on the collective rights recognized in Articles 2 and 30 of the Political Constitution of the State, as well as the international standards included in the constitutional block, such as economic, social, cultural, and environmental rights (DESCA), that protect Indigenous communities.

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According to GFW, Bolivia consistently ranks among the countries in Latin America with the greatest loss of tree cover due to fire, second only to Brazil, with an average annual loss of 89,700 hectares. In turn, this year has set historic records: fire alerts began to spike dramatically in mid-July, and Bolivia is now among the countries with the highest number of alerts worldwide.

Data on the area affected by the fires has not been updated by the central government to date. At the departmental level, the Santa Cruz authorities have quantified an impact of seven million hectares. Civil society organizations such as Fundación Tierra and the Center for Legal Studies and Social Research (CEJIS) denounce the fact that, thus far, the area in hectares is greater and in excess of the area burned in 2019, when six million hectares were burned nationally. The most affected departments include Santa Cruz and Beni, where the Chiquitano dry forest and the Amazon are in flames, affecting forest reserves, protected areas and Indigenous territories.

A recurring threat to Indigenous life

While this year may be particularly devastating, this is not the first time that local NGOs, Indigenous organizations and the public have sought to draw global attention to the crisis. The frequency of fires has been steadily increasing, profoundly impacting Indigenous communities and endangering their physical integrity, health and livelihoods.

Yirka Mendoza, leader of the volunteer fire brigade in her community within the Monte Verde Indigenous territory, located in the Chiquitano dry forest, comments: “We’re afraid for our lives because La Chiquitania is still burning, and we don’t know what more to do.” In turn, she explains that these fires are a recurring threat, severely affecting the people who live in her territory: “Sadly, every year we face these fires, and I fear that we will continue to be affected. In previous years, the entire forest and our crops burned but, this year, the fires have reached an unprecedented scale, even destroying our homes.” Moreover, she stresses that many in the territory rely on honey and artisanal products, which are dependent on the forest and fauna now being destroyed.

The fires have also taken their toll on the community’s health: the dense smoke has led to a significant deterioration in air quality, making breathing difficult and causing frequent headaches and eye irritation. In addition, there are negative impacts on water sources. For just over a decade, the effects of climate change and deforestation have intensified water stress in the communities of the Chiquitano dry forest. Today, the few remaining water sources are contaminated with ash. These health risks, along with limited access to water and the overall threat to physical integrity, are especially concerning for vulnerable groups such as children and the elderly.

Critical shortages of water and medicines, combined with smoke and fire, are forcing many to leave their homes and territories, generating a phenomenon of forced displacement.

Critical shortages of water and medicines, combined with smoke and fire, are forcing many to leave their homes, generating a phenomenon of forced displacement.

Against this backdrop, Indigenous Peoples in Bolivia often take on the role of firefighters: many of the communities in the Monte Verde Territory have established their own fire brigades. After devastating fires here in 2019, Indigenous community members were trained to combat wildfires more effectively. However, Yirka emphasizes that they lack proper equipment. She and her team of 20 volunteer firefighters are on the front line, risking their lives in regular clothing as they try to protect their communities and crops from ongoing fires. Without the proper tools or protective gear, their efforts are even more dangerous.

According to CEJIS’ Observatory on Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Bolivia (ODPIB), forest fires have led to crop losses and health complications due to air pollution in several Indigenous territories. In turn, critical shortages of water and medicine, along with the dangers of air pollution and the risk of being trapped by fire, are forcing many to abandon their homes and territories, generating a phenomenon of forced displacement that constitutes yet another violation of the fundamental rights of these Indigenous communities.

According to CEJIS, in the Monte Verde Territory, at least 10 Indigenous communities associated with the Indigenous Coordinating Body of Concepción (CICC) and the Indigenous Coordinating Body Paiconeca of San Javier (CIPSJ) were forced to abandon their homes and take refuge in the urban centers of Concepción and San Javier. A report by Apoyo para el Campesino-Indígena del Oriente Boliviano (Support for Indigenous/Peasant Farmers in the East of Bolivia/APCOB) reports that the communities of El Regreso, Sagrado Corazón de Jesús, Puerto San Pedro, Makanaté and Monte Verde were the most affected.

Underlying causes of forest fires

The World Resources Institute reports that the growing trend in wildfires is closely linked to climate change: warmer and drier conditions fuel wildfires, which, in turn, release more carbon into the atmosphere, further intensifying climate change and increasing the likelihood of future fires. In addition, the institute notes that while climate change makes forests more vulnerable, commodity-driven deforestation is also a major factor contributing to the increasing number of forest fires in tropical regions.

In addition, Bolivian NGOs attribute the increase in fires to government policies that promote the expansion of agricultural land. In the last 40 years, agricultural land in the Santa Cruz region has increased more than elevenfold, from 264,800 hectares to more than three million. Large landowners, particularly those dedicated to cattle ranching and soybean production, have made significant profits. This agricultural elite exercises substantial political influence and collaborates with transnational corporations such as Monsanto and Cargill. During Evo Morales’ presidency, concessions were granted to the agricultural elite in order to maintain political stability, with plans to expand the agricultural frontier by one million hectares annually up to 2025.

Alongside established large landowners, peasant settler groups are driving this expansion forward. This segment cultivates the land through monoculture production on small properties and aims to increase the size of their holdings so that they can be classified as medium or large. In this way, they try to access financial resources and enhance their production model, which undermines collective Indigenous land ownership due to the perceived unproductiveness of these lands. This is the main sector responsible for the subjugation of Indigenous territories, protected areas and public lands. Critically, a set of laws known as “incendiary laws” has come into place over the last decade to facilitate the conversion of forests into farmland and incentivize deforestation under the guise of promoting food security.

In the Bolivian lowlands, it is common to use fire to clear land for new pastures or agricultural fields. However, during periods of drought, these intentional fires can easily get out of control and spread rapidly.

The growing trend of wildfires is closely linked to climate change.

According to the National Institute of Agrarian Reform (INRA), in 2023, the areas affected by fires, categorized by the type of property on which burn scars were found, are as follows: 37% corporate and medium properties, 18% communal and small properties, 16% Indigenous Territories, 10% Available State Lands and 17% Unavailable State Lands. In October 2023, the State Attorney General’s Office conducted an investigation into those responsible for the fires generated during this administration, identifying 41 agrarian and livestock entities in the departments of Santa Cruz, La Paz and Beni.

According to monitoring carried out by the Center for Autonomous Territorial Planning (CPTA), which reports to CEJIS, as of 20 September of this year, the area burned had affected Indigenous territories in the department of Santa Cruz as follows: 56% Monte Verde, 41% Zapocó, 41% Guarayos and 70% Pantanal. In turn, research conducted by CEJIS in 2021 showed that, between 2010 and 2020, 42% of the total area titled as Tierras Comunitarias de Origen (Native Community Lands/TCOs) in the lowlands of Bolivia, comprising of 58 TCOs, was affected by fires.

In the Bolivian lowlands, it is common to use fire to clear land for new pastures or agricultural fields. However, during periods of drought, these intentional fires can easily get out of control and spread rapidly. Many NGOs consider this practice to be one of the main reasons for the increase in forest fires in Bolivia. As incentives to clear land grow, fires used for this purpose escape more frequently. Once these areas are burned, the damage caused to the forest is often irreversible.

Climate change and deforestation: a crisis that calls for action

As Indigenous Peoples face the devastating impact of wildfires, it is crucial to broaden our perspective beyond the immediate crisis and consider the role of actors in the soy and livestock supply chains. In Bolivia, the fires are not just a result of climate change; they are also driven by political and economic factors that are rooted in a global demand that extends far beyond the country’s borders. Multinational corporations and importers of soybeans and livestock are significant contributors to this crisis as they continue to incentivize agricultural expansion into forested areas, leading to further deforestation.

While immediate support is urgently needed – such as providing better equipment for volunteer fire departments and ensuring access to water and medication – these measures will only offer temporary relief. The problem will not be solved until the broader issues – climate change and the economic systems that promote deforestation – are addressed.

This crisis is not new. While this year may be particularly severe in Bolivia, the problem has been escalating for years. Without a change in global policies and practices, and genuine efforts to address climate change, deforestation and the forces driving agricultural expansion, forest fires are likely to continue to devastate Bolivia and other tropical regions around the world.

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