Following a similar approach adopted by previous governments, the current administration has extended the constitutional state of emergency in the region. During his State of the Nation Address, President Kast stated: “Araucanía is one of Chile’s most beautiful and promising regions. Its people deserve to live in peace, work in tranquility and see their land flourish. In this region, as throughout Chile, we need increased tourism, a return on investment, and recovery of development. To achieve this, these measures will be accompanied by a coherent Indigenous policy, which we have been developing.”

In this context, it is hardly surprising that the ownership and exploitation of Indigenous lands have become the centrepiece of the government’s Indigenous policy. As Kast announced: “A reform of the Indigenous Law will grant greater freedoms and tools for development, removing restrictions on the use of Indigenous lands and allowing them to lease and mortgage on equal terms with the rest of Chilean citizens.” To this end, the consultation process for the new land system will be redesigned, while the land acquisition system will be restructured by introducing market-value appraisals and full traceability for each purchase.

Indigenous Lands and the Institutionalisation of Dispossession

The Indigenous Peoples Law (Law No. 19,253) was enacted in 1993 under the government of Patricio Aylwin, following Chile’s restoration of democracy. While the law has received criticism for its definition of Indigenous lands, any attempt to amend the legislation has been regarded as a potential threat, particularly in a context where Indigenous Peoples lack constitutional recognition and political representation within the Chilean nation-state. This law created the National Corporation for Indigenous Development (CONADI) and established regulations for the protection, advancement, and development of Indigenous Peoples. It defines Indigenous lands as those held under land grants (títulos de merced), commissioner’s titles (títulos de comisario) and the other forms of title listed in Article 12, as well as lands recognised on the basis of historical occupation.

Against this backdrop, the proposal to amend the law to allow Indigenous lands to be leased and mortgaged is framed in the language of individual freedom and equality before the market. However, the current law already permits individually owned Indigenous lands to be leased for up to five years and allows liens to be created with CONADI’s authorisation. It also prohibits the leasing of collectively-owned Indigenous lands and protects both individual and communal lands against alienation, seizure and acquisition by third parties. History offers a clear warning. When legal restrictions on Indigenous lands were lifted in Chile, particularly between 1943 and 1947, almost one-fifth of those lands were alienated. Later, under the military dictatorship, 99-year leases deprived Indigenous families and communities of the use of their lands.

The current government seeks not only to reduce territorial demands to a market issue, but does so without considering the Commission’s 21 recommendations on territorial reparations, institutional framework, participation and development.

The current government seeks to reduce territorial demands to a market issue, without considering recommendations on territorial reparations, institutional framework, participation, and development.

To implement this reform, the Executive Branch has announced that it will reformulate the consultation process on the new land system. According to the Executive Branch, Gabriel Boric’s administration “abandoned [this reform] without producing any results”, referring to the proposals put forward by the Commission for Peace and Understanding (CPPyE). Established by Supreme Decree No. 14, the Commission’s primary mandate was “to conduct an assessment of the Mapuche people’s land demands, the lands already granted by the Chilean State, and the remaining gaps in this area, with the aim of quantifying that demand.”

To fulfil this mandate, the CPPyE carried out a comprehensive assessment of Mapuche land demands, existing gaps in this area, and the limitations of the current mechanism. The assessment found that this mechanism had been used “almost in its entirety” by Mapuche communities in the four designated regions, accounting for 99.59% of all land purchases completed up to 2024, while more than 1,100 applications remain pending. Under these circumstances, the Commission recommended moving towards a new land system that harmonizes the Indigenous Peoples Law  with ILO Convention No. 169, incorporating mechanisms for territorial reparations, prioritisation criteria, institutional reforms, and tools to strengthen relations between the State and the Mapuche people.

Because these measures would directly affect Mapuche communities and organisations, they were deemed likely to have a direct impact on Indigenous Peoples, triggering the State’s obligation to carry out a consultation process. However, the process was widely rejected by Mapuche communities and was ultimately discontinued. The current government seeks not only to reduce the issue of territorial demands to a market problem, but also to do so while disregarding the Commission’s 21 recommendations on territorial reparations, institutional arrangements, participation and development.

Indigenous Marine and Coastal Areas under Pressure

However, the policies of José Antonio Kast’s government go beyond the proposed reform to the Indigenous Peoples Law. Rather, its emphasis on land and property should be understood as part of a broader strategy aimed at limiting the rights of Indigenous Peoples and their communities’ decision-making authority over natural resources. From a neoliberal perspective, these resources should be exploited by private capital, while land ownership is linked to a security agenda. Alongside the proposed reform of the Indigenous Peoples Law, the Executive Branch has also promoted amendments to the so-called Lafkenche Law.

Law No. 20.249 (2008), known as the Lafkenche Law, created Indigenous Marine and Coastal Areas (Espacios Costeros Marinos de Pueblos Originarios, ECMPOs) to safeguard customary uses of coastal areas and entrust their management to the Indigenous communities that have ancestrally inhabited them. Although ECMPOs do not confer ownership of these territories, they must operate under a management plan designed to enable the coexistence of the different users of the coastal zone, including industrial and artisanal fisheries, tourism, and navigation. This plan must receive final approval from the Regional Commission for the Use of the Coastal Zone (CRUBC). In practice, however, Indigenous communities have faced opposition from fishing companies—particularly salmon farming companies—as well as from the State authorities responsible for approving these plans. In this regard, a narrative has emerged questioning the capacity of Indigenous communities to manage these areas, portraying their applications as excessive, accusing them of holding up investment and claiming that they seek exclusive control over the coastline.

Indigenous organisations have defended the law as a means of preserving historical memory, ensuring food sovereignty and protecting future generations.

What is at stake is how Chile chooses to relate to the sea, its territories, and its communities.

In 2024 alone, 80 percent of the applications submitted by Indigenous communities or Indigenous community associations were rejected by the Regional Coastal Zone Management Commission (CRUBC), where the state bodies represented on the Commission have been the main opponents of the creation of new Indigenous Marine and Coastal Areas (ECMPOs). As a result, these rejections have been based primarily on political grounds rather than technical considerations, since the CRUBC intervenes before communities submit their management plans. In fact, the available evidence refutes the claim that ECMPOs have brought the salmon farming industry to a standstill, as the sector has continued to expand both its production and its exports.

Indigenous organisations, such as the Network of Indigenous Women for the Defence of the Sea, have challenged this reversal of responsibility and defended the law as an instrument that preserves historical memory, ensures food sovereignty and protects future generations. They argue that it disproves the myth that community management cannot coexist with productive activities. Rather, they argue that what is at stake is how Chile chooses to relate to the sea, its territories, and its communities.

Indigenous Policy and the Market: Two Sides of the Same Coin

After just four months in office, the commodification of Indigenous lands and of the resources valued by private companies has emerged as the central focus of Indigenous policymaking. In the case of lands, collective protection must be justified against the principle of freedom of contract. In the case of marine and coastal areas, customary use must justify its extent in the face of investment. In both cases, the burden of proof falls on Indigenous Peoples to demonstrate that these are not “idle resources”. Therefore, these are not two separate policies, but two sides of the same coin.

In Chile, the market is presented as synonymous with development, while collective rights are portrayed as constraints that must be corrected. As a result, land ceases to be understood as the material basis for the historical and cultural continuity of Indigenous Peoples. At the same time, the maritorio—the Indigenous conception of the interconnected marine and coastal territory—ceases to be recognised as a space of memory, food sovereignty, and intergenerational stewardship. The issue is not whether mechanisms should be developed to improve the living conditions of Indigenous families and communities. Rather, the critical point is that these needs cannot be used to weaken collective rights or to prevent communities from making decisions about their territories under the guise of development.

Therefore, the first months of this new government not only open a legislative debate on the Indigenous Law and the Lafkenche Law, but also raise a deeper question about respect for Indigenous policy in Chile and the implementation of rights guaranteed to Indigenous Peoples under international law. If the starting point is security, investment and legal certainty for private actors, Indigenous rights are relegated to the sidelines through the lens of a colonial state. Consequently, what is at stake is not only land ownership or the coastline, but the possibility of imagining a different relationship between the State, the market and Indigenous Peoples—one in which their rights are not treated as a bargaining chip. For now, however, everything suggests that this horizon remains a distant prospect.

The post The Laws of the Market? Indigenous Policy under the Kast Government appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

Husbands, fathers, sons and friends are remembered through the voices of the women who have guarded these absences, spoken about them, carried them across generations and, above all, learned to live and negotiate with them. The work highlights these acts of resistance —of finding ways to carry on, to confront memories and manage absences— even to take on roles their loved ones once fulfilled within the community.

The book is carefully illustrated by Niña Pudú, recreating photographic memories and personal recollections in a way that is especially moving because it speaks across generations. Pudù’s images represent the passing of these memories on to those who come next.

The Axes of Memory

Each testimony is structured around three fundamental axes: the enforced disappearance of a relative, the grieving process (or the absence of socially recognised mourning), and collective resistance —both individual and community-based— carried out by the authors. The enforced disappearances of Mapuche people are framed as acts of State violence, occurring during the Chilean dictatorship but also embedded in a longer historical continuum of colonisation and repression of the Mapuche people.

Within this context, mourning does not follow its usual course —burial, legal acknowledgement, reparation— but is instead interrupted. Without a body to lay to rest, no possibility of a proper farewell and no access to justice, absence becomes a lingering symbolic wound that affects the entire community. The individual memories of the women authors therefore take on a political dimension: reclaiming silenced history, naming the disappeared, preserving their dignity and challenging the ongoing erasure of Mapuche people from official narratives.

The enforced disappearance of Mapuche people is also framed within the “continuum of colonial violence”: not as an isolated episode of the dictatorship, but as part of a broader historical pattern of subordination and denial of the Mapuche people.

The enforced disappearance of Mapuche people is also framed within the “continuum of colonial violence”.

The bilingual nature of the work, in Spanish and Mapuzugun, reflects a deliberate act of linguistic reclamation. Many of the authors are speakers of their mother tongue, and their voices cannot be reduced to Spanish alone. The enforced disappearance of Mapuche people is also framed within the “continuum of colonial violence”: not as an isolated episode of the dictatorship, but as part of a broader historical pattern of subordination and denial of the Mapuche people.

The resistance that emerges in the authors’ accounts is therefore not only individual —the search for each missing relative— but also collective: creating alternative memory, strengthening social fabric and affirming cultural rights. The authors recount not only the pain of loss, but also their persistence in seeking truth and justice. They form an active political subject who organises, speaks out and challenges the Chilean State, the courts and society as a whole.

The Stories: Uncertainty, Truth and Reparation

The book brings together the testimonies of seven Mapuche women: Lorenza Cheuquepán Levimilla, Mercedes Huaiquilao Ancatén, Cecilia Huenante Huilitraro, Eliana Huenante Huilitraro, Elena Huina Llancumil, Débora Ramos Astudillo and Zoila Lincoqueo Huenumán.

Lorenza Cheuquepán emphasises the prolonged uncertainty caused by absence, the lack of a body to grieve, and the persistent demand for truth and reparation. Through her voice, the dual condition of being a woman and Mapuche emerges: on the one hand, as a victim of State violence; on the other, as a custodian of memory and resistance within her community. Without a body to bury and no proper ritual farewell, the wound remains open, and Lorenza’s testimony invites us to consider how mourning becomes a political act.

Secondly, the account of Mercedes Huaiquilao Ancatén, a speaker of Mapuzugun, offers a story in which her mother tongue becomes essential to understanding the depth of her experience. Her testimony highlights the uprooting caused by disappearance, the sense of displacement within the community, and the activist role she assumes as the relative of a disappeared person.

Cecilia Huenante examines how social silence and the stigmatisation of disappeared Mapuche individuals exacerbate both the pain and the invisibility surrounding their cases.

Cecilia Huenante examines how social silence and the stigmatisation of disappeared Mapuche individuals exacerbate both the pain and the invisibility surrounding their cases.

The testimony of Cecilia Huenante reconstructs the story of her young son who disappeared in 2005, revealing the persistence of violence well into the democratic period —that is, beyond the dictatorship. Her narrative examines how social silence and the stigmatisation of disappeared Mapuche individuals exacerbate both the pain and the invisibility surrounding their cases. Cecilia reflects on how the “body of memory” is reconfigured, how to rebuild the image of a missing relative, and how to safeguard their dignity when official accounts reduce them to numbers or erase them altogether.

Eliana Huenante’s story, in turn, provides a complementary voice to her sister Cecilia’s testimony, showing how family memory is collectively constructed. Her account underscores the central role of Mapuche women as keepers of remembrance and guardians of historical narrative: they recover the memory of the disappeared, weave networks of mutual support and resist the silence imposed upon them.

A Colonial Order That Endures to This Day

Elena Huina Llancumil explains how the disappearance of her relative ruptured both her personal identity and her sense of collective belonging. Her account addresses the vulnerability of Mapuche communities in the face of repressive state structures, but also the emergence of strategies of resistance. She examines how memory becomes a space of reconstruction: through naming, narrating, and accompanying other families, a truth is forged that has no place within the official protocols of oblivion. Her testimony shows how mourning is also transformed into mobilisation, demands for justice, and contributions to a public narrative that acknowledges these wounds.

Débora Ramos’s testimony highlights the generational impact of enforced disappearance. As she reflects on her own life marked by absence, she shows how family history is interwoven with the history of the Mapuche people. In these recollections, she asserts that remembering becomes a bridge towards the future: memory is not merely an archive of the past, but a resource for preserving identity, language and culture, and for demanding structural change. As a Mapuche woman, Débora weaves together personal grief with collective memory and the struggle to make a silenced history visible.

Finally, Zoila Lincoqueo Huenumán’s account reveals the persistence of the struggle even when the bodies of the disappeared never surface and justice remains elusive. Her testimony calls for  living memory to be sustained by those who continue searching, resisting, and naming what others attempt to erase. She stresses that the enforced disappearance of Mapuche people cannot be understood as a simple historical episode, but as part of a colonial structure that endures to this day. Her testimony challenges resignation and affirms that the memory of those who are absent is also the memory of a people’s dignity.

Counter-Hegemonic Mapuche Memories

This moving, urgent, and necessary book invites readers to reflect on the connections between memory, cultural identity, state violence and gender. By placing the narrative in the voices of Mapuche women, it highlights the ways in which gender and ethnicity intersect in the lived experience of enforced disappearance. As relatives and as members of their people, they occupy a dual position. They are both victims of disappearance and active agents of memory and resistance. Reconstructing their stories requires acknowledging that the forced absence of a loved one is a collective wound that affects the social fabric, culture, language and the broader process of reckoning with the past.

At the same time, the reclamation of Mapuzugun foregrounds the linguistic dimension of resistance. The fact that the term “detenido-desaparecido” (detained-disappeared person) has no direct equivalent in Mapuzugun reveals the impossibility of grasping this violence without taking Mapuche culture into account. Ultimately, the text functions as both as  political and ethical act, in naming what was concealed, giving voice to those who were silenced, and sustaining memory so that the wound cannot be repeated. In this sense, the book speaks not only to the past, but also to the present and future of struggles for justice, human rights and cultural recognition.

The testimonies highlight the usefulness of these alternative forms of memory, where narratives emerge as a response to the brutality of authoritarian regimes and are often transmitted orally or through marginal writings.  

In terms of content, format and reach, it is likely that the impact of this book will not be limited; through its circulation, a previously concealed part of Mapuche history will become known.

This particular book is not an exception, nor should it be read or understood as a rarity within the field of memory studies, recent Chilean history, or other approaches that seek to account for the narratives of those who have been excluded. It should be regarded on an equal footing with the value of what Steve Stern would call loose or scattered memories, or what Marianne Hirsch refers to as postmemories or conflicting memories, which challenge the very foundations of national projects.

As such, these memories unsettle— they expand—critical reflection. This is why the testimonies highlight the usefulness of these alternative forms of memory, where narratives emerge as a response to the brutality of authoritarian regimes and are often transmitted orally or through marginal writings whose impact, in many cases, is limited. In terms of content, format and reach, it is likely that the impact of this book will not be limited; through its circulation, a previously concealed part of Mapuche history will become known.

The post Ñamnagün Mew Ta Pünon: Memories of Mapuche Women Relatives of the Detained-Disappeared appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

After the ceremony led by the machi (spiritual authority) came the nutxam (conversation) in a large circle. This space brought to mind how the Txawün emerged in 2018, in the context of an Indigenous consultation that sought to amend Articles 12 and 13 of Indigenous Law No. 19,253. These two articles address the issue of Indigenous lands and territories and establish the conditions for accessing them. We also recalled how the communities had organized and coordinated to defend their territorial rights in the face of attempted dispossession.

Since then, the road has been a long and complex one. In 2015, the urban boundary defined in the Temuco Communal Regulatory Plan added a new threat to the communities, that of urban expansion without community consultation. To date, this redefinition has resulted in the loss of more than 2,000 hectares of Mapuche territory that had previously been recognized through Merced Titles (a concept that emerged in the late 19^th century as a form of State recognition of Mapuche land after the “pacification” of Araucanía). Today, the process of urban expansion continues apace, together with the debate over how much more cities can grow, and how our ancestral territory and its common assets can be protected.

Nutxam, Txawum and Community Surveys

It was against this backdrop that the Indigenous Navigator initiative, a data platform developed by and for the world’s Indigenous Peoples, was implemented for the first time in Chile in 2024 with the Mapuche people. The project was implemented in the Araucanía Region, with the 25 communities that form part of the Txawun of Temuco Commune. This initiative was conducted with the support of the Observatorio Ciudadano, a Chilean civil society organization that promotes, documents and defends human rights.

The community surveys were thus implemented from the start of 2024, through nutxam and txawum (Mapuche forms of dialogue that gather contributions from all participants), during extensive days of reflection and collective debate on the situation of their rights and their implementation by the State. Community representatives participated in these meetings: women and men of different ages, community authorities, and ancestral authorities such as the lonko (Mapuche authority) and the machi (spiritual authority). The children also accompanied the entire process and a professional from the communities themselves facilitated the conversation and application of the instrument, as well as the systematization of the experience.

The process of urban expansion has had an extensive impact on the good living and well-being of the communities, including repression of those leaders who question the neoliberal economic model.

The process of urban expansion has had an extensive impact on the well-being of the communities.

The results of the survey were clear in relation to the effects the communities are now suffering as a result of urban sprawl. Not only is the territory being lost but also the knowledge associated with its management and its spaces of cultural and spiritual significance, all of which goes hand in hand with a decline in the use of Mapuzugun (the Mapuche language). The process of urban expansion has had an extensive impact on the good living and well-being of the communities, even including repression of those leaders who question the neoliberal economic model, a model that fails to take Mapuche ontologies of self-determined development into account.

The need to strengthen Mapuche food sovereignty and recover native seeds for good living and the protection of biocultural heritage was also raised. The communities reported a decline in the consumption of traditional Mapuche foods, particularly due to the loss of land and territory on which to grow them. They also felt the loss of native seeds was an issue due to the introduction of foreign or transgenic seeds and the use of pesticides. In the long run, these practices result in a loss of Mapuche knowledge associated with the care and protection of native seeds and diseases related to malnutrition, mainly, in older adults.

The Survey as a Tool for Making Land Loss more Visible

Based on the results of the community survey, the Txawün communities of Temuco have reflected on the use of different strategies, both internal and external, by which to make progress towards guaranteeing their rights. The main one of these has been advocacy with the local, regional and national authorities. The Txawün communities decided to take the data collected in the survey to the Land Roundtable that they hold with the National Indigenous Development Corporation (CONADI). In this institutional space, the communities seek solutions to and compensation for land lost due to private, corporate, and State interference in their recognized Merced titled land.

This advocacy work could be seen during the Wiñoy Txipantu event, where CONADI awarded a Resolution of Applicability to the Pedro Curiqueo community: the ngen ruka (owner) community who were claiming the land where the activity was taking place. This document enshrines the State’s official recognition of the loss of land. It determines whether a piece of land can be acquired by an Indigenous community and is a crucial step in initiating the process of land purchase by Indigenous communities. This process was supported by Senator Francisco Huenchumilla, who also participated in the activity.

The young people do not have land on which to build their homes or work, and have to rent in the city, a situation that is complicated by the high cost of living.

The young people do not have land on which to build their homes or work, and have to rent in the city, a situation that is complicated by the high cost of living.

Of the approximately 30 communities that today make up the Txawün, at least half already enjoy recognition of their Resolution of Applicability granted by CONADI. Many others, however, still do not have this, despite having between 30 and 99 percent of their land loss recognized by the State. This is extremely important because young people do not have land on which to build their homes or work, and they have to rent in the city, a situation that is complicated by the high cost of living in Chile.

It is precisely this context and reality that is reflected in the Indigenous Navigator community survey that was conducted with the Txawün. The survey, by providing much more detail and hard data, has served as an important input for the leaders so that they have better tools with which to defend their territories.

A Mapuche Cultural Encounter

Based on the results of the community survey, representatives of 25 communities of the Txawün of Mapuche Communities of Temuko are implementing the community project “Towards food sovereignty for Mapuche communities in Temuco through the safeguarding of territory, biodiversity and the revival of traditional knowledge”. This workshop has been designed and implemented in a participatory manner through nütram (Mapuche conversation that opens a participatory dialogue) and focuses on reviving traditional knowledge and practices related to food production, seeds and cultivation methods.

The meetings and exchanges likewise ensure the well-being of families, strengthening intergenerational ties between young people, adults and children. The project has generated a great deal of enthusiasm among the communities and is being developed through practical modules imparted by Mapuche individuals; meetings with traditional, local and regional authorities; and documentation of the experience through a documentary and a trafkintu (exchange of products, knowledge and seeds between communities, based on reciprocity and strengthening of social and cultural ties).

The workshops on the care and protection of seeds, medicinal plants, Mapuche gastronomy and the production of natural fertilizers and compost are over-subscribed. Women and men of all ages participate, many young people share with the papay y chachay (older adults), children listen to the stories and eat healthy and nutritious food. Memory lives and flourishes during the meetings: participants recall the teachings of their grandmothers and grandfathers; describe the vegetable gardens they tended in their childhood; and narrate the meals they shared at celebrations.

Through this encounter, the demand for territory thus takes on greater nuance and a new urgency: to keep Mapuche identity and culture alive.

The post Self-Managed Data that Supports Advocacy: the Experience of the Txawun of Temuco appeared first on Debates Indígenas.

What remains is not just degrading the ecology but also damaging Mapuche culture. The disruption affects other species as well as the life and care of the Mapuche people for all living beings and all life in küme mongen. This paper is part of an ongoing conversation about how participatory mapping is used in Wallmapu. The authors have worked with Williche communities for more than 10 years and have recently carried out a similar mapping process in the Araucanía region.

Systematizing territorial invasions and mapping hope

The loss of water, forests, and community is not accidental. It is part of the state’s extractive policies that benefit corporations and the elite. By mapping these territorial invasions, communities can document damage, share their history, and strengthen strategies for defending their territories. Maps allow people to communicate more rapidly in order to respond to Western colonial processes. It also supports Mapuche efforts to protect the rivers and halt development projects in their territories.

This process of countermapping official maps is a helpful tool to recover histories and memories. Mapuche communities have used these maps as part of their resistance. Maps help support legal actions and protect cultural uses of territory and their geographies. Maps help tell people about their territory when this is not easy to understand. These defense strategies are technical and also communicational.

The very process of creating the maps has been a fundamental part of these efforts, as can be seen in the map submitted to the Environmental Court of Chile.

Mapping Dispossession: History of Displacement

Mapping can also help communities remember and understand past violence. In 2016, a meeting was held with community members and ancestral authorities in Caunahue during a trawün (“Mapuche assembly”). Previous maps showing local threats highlighted the need to explore the deeper history of land and water appropriation.

We brought three key materials to the trawün: enlarged maps from a 1990 book by Molina et al.; a timeline of historical laws related to land loss; and excerpts from a 1996 historical study by Vergara et al., based on archival documents and oral testimonies about dispossession in the region. At that same trawun, elders looked at arrows drawn on the maps and remembered how families were forcibly relocated. These maps helped them recall how certain places become cultural and spiritual resguardos.

Later that day, while sharing mate, one elder said, “Religion came with the forts.” This comment showed that mapping was more than just a technical task, as the elder understood the arrival of the Catholic Church as part of a colonial history. They also used books to date the stories of dispossession and violence passed down through families. This helped to confirm oral histories for future education and legal processes.

Mapping Threats: Ongoing Colonization

In Wallmapu territory, there are ongoing threats that can be located using GPS, drones, and satellite imagery. Investment or extractive projects strategically use these technologies and maps to appropriate land and water, dispossessing communities, often without their agents having lived in or visited the territories. By creating their own maps, communities can take ownership and identify what might be taken from afar. This is an important tool to understand how the outsider looking to profit from their territory makes decisions.

Mapping work with Mapuche communities helped resist major projects, such as hydroelectric plants and high-voltage power lines. These efforts brought together the Mapuche alliance, Alianza Territorial Puelwillimapu, and the Chilean civil society movement, Futrono Sin Torres.

Another emblematic case was the resistance to the Norwegian company SN Power’s hydroelectric mega-project, which the Mapuche communities managed to halt thanks to the maps produced collectively. The use of maps enabled communities to organize support, gather signatures, and coordinate actions between groups. After meeting nearly monthly for a year, they had produced nine versions of the same map with all the forms of invasion.

All the mapped economic development projects were situated on fundo land —lands granted to Chilean and German settlers from the 1850s to the early 20^th century.

These maps helped leaders explain and analyze how these projects were affecting their land and to depict the cumulative impacts of this model.

One of the printed maps, produced collectively, depicts two “horseshoe”-shaped zones related to land and water use. The outer horseshoe comprises conservation areas that still permit hydroelectric and aquaculture projects (the farming of aquatic species, plants, and animals). The inner horseshoe contains the actual hydroelectric and aquaculture projects, located downstream within the outer zone. While the outer area protects water through native forests, it also supports the internal economic development of aquaculture and hydroelectric power. These maps helped leaders explain and analyze how these projects were affecting their land and to depict the cumulative impacts of this model.

The Mapuche people also developed a map showing títulos de merced (granted land), formally registered Indigenous communities, bodies of water, and non-consumptive water rights (hot spots), alongside the layers mentioned previously. This initial “threats” map was used to visualize all the projects (see the map on the defense of the transmission line and Florín). All the mapped economic development projects were situated on fundo land —lands granted to Chilean and German settlers from the 1850s to the early 20^th century.

Geographies of Protection: Maps of Hope and Defense

Mapuche geography and territorial resistance can be mapped, and these maps can support Indigenous rights. Maps bridge epistemic divisions: judges, policy makers and international audiences need to better understand how Indigenous rights are being violated to support justice. Mapping hope also involves mapping rivers. They worked with artists and ancestral communities to interpret Mapuche geography and revise these maps with communities. Rivers, which both divide and unite territories, must remain free in order to live.

The map produced by Sergio Iacobelli was developed during the 2019 mapping of the Pilmaiquén territory. For 15 years, these communities have been in conflict with a hydroelectric project being carried out by Statkraft, a company owned by the Norwegian state. The consent process was opaque and misleading, and some families were bribed, fostering a distrust that persists to this day. Consequently, three maps were created to support their case before the Environmental Court of Chile. In addition, three extensive unstructured interviews were conducted with ancestral leaders of the territory to draft a report for the Second Environmental Court of Chile.

For this case, two maps were created, one of them produced together with the ancestral authorities of Pilmaiken, showing the healing relationships with the Ngen Kintuantee (the spiritual guardian). The map was produced in order to argue that the ‘area of influence’ determined by the consultancy company for the hydropower project was incorrect. The case of Pilmaiken territory reached the Chilean Supreme Court and sought international mediation via the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). Today, the Los Lagos hydropower project is near completion, although water has still not been allowed to enter the project due to ongoing administrative processes connected to the Indigenous consultation.

How methodological perspectives travel

In 2025, together with members of Mapuche communities, work began on counter-mapping and conducting interviews focused on the connection between body and territory (what they refer to as “from body and territory”) in the Araucanía. Jointly, they used countermapping to document not only the environmental damage but also the lived histories of how territories have changed, stories of resistance, and the politics of what is made visible or invisible.

Each territory teaches us something. Each one is different, with its own history, politics, and geography. In every place, communities shared their knowledge by drawing their symbols and stories onto the maps. They mapped grief and displacement but also care and resilience.

Through this work, they came to see mapping not as a tool for controlling land but as a relational method rooted in memory and guided by the living territory, the Mapuche people themselves.

It was through this approach and practice that the work became a source of guidance and support. Their collaborative and horizontal research in Puelwillimapu, conducted alongside Mapuche-Williche communities, has inspired a rethinking of research practices and intellectual work at a time when approaches that genuinely respect Indigenous knowledge and ethics are increasingly sought. Moreover, the geographies explored and the analyses proposed provide a framework for better understanding both systems of violence and the ways in which communities resist.

Participatory mapping as living testimony

Mapping is more than a representation; it is a political, cultural and spiritual practice. In Wallmapu, mapping shows dispossession but also what lives and what resists. Mapping remains a double-edged sword depending on who wields it: a tool for territorial dispossession or a tool for exercising Indigenous rights. It must be done carefully, in trust with collaborators.

Through participatory mapping, maps can become spaces of memory, collective analysis and strategic planning. We learned together that mapping is remembering, imagining and defending past, present and future. Maps can facilitate knowledge passing between generations. Youth are drawn to maps, and elders can share knowledge via maps.

Working with artists and researchers together can be beneficial for the defense and communication of Indigenous rights. This tool can easily be shared with communities as a training method to build capacity with which to confront state institutions and transnationals. People working with this mapping tool must be respectful of territorial and local knowledge.

People working with this tool must also follow territorial protocols about what needs to be seen and what cannot be disclosed. Indigenous communities must revise and decide what is mapped, and how.  Lastly, participatory mapping must be reciprocal. In the face of extractivism, this tool works as a living testimony and a gesture of hope to build better presents and futures.

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Since 2021, they are taught subjects in Language and Culture of the Ancestral Indigenous Peoples programs from 1st to 6th grade, maintaining enrollment conditions for the four previously mentioned Peoples. However, for the peoples that were later added to the program—the Lickanantay, Colla, Diaguita, Kawésqar, and Yagán—no enrollment percentage is required for its implementation. Additionally, the subject can also be taught as part of the Intercultural Study Program, developed alongside specific programs for each Indigenous people.

The EIB experience extends to urban areas in schools that offer the Language and Culture of the Ancestral Indigenous Peoples subject in the city. This will contribute to the revitalization of languages, as the program’s focus on language, oral traditions, iconography, and reading and writing practices allows learning to be adapted to the sociolinguistic context of the school. In this sense, language teaching can be approached through awareness-raising, recovery, revitalization, and the development and strengthening of the Indigenous language.

The Indigenous Population in Chile

According to 2017 Census data, the Indigenous population in Chile represents 12.8% of the national population. This group includes the Aymara, Quechua, Rapa Nui, Likan Antay, Colla, Chango, Diaguita, Mapuche, Yagan, Selknam, and Kawescar peoples. The Mapuche constitute a majority, representing 79.8% of the Indigenous population, with 1,745,147 individuals. While many Indigenous children live in rural areas, an increasing migration to urban centers has diversified their geographical distribution.

In terms of the Indigenous population that speaks its own language, the 2013 National Socioeconomic Characterization Survey shows that only 10.9% of the population speaks an Indigenous language. The 2016 survey by the Center for Public Studies reveals that only 6% of respondents in the regions where data was collected speak Mapuzugun alongside Spanish. The survey also notes an increase in the percentage of people who do not speak the language, rising from 56% in 2006 to 67% in 2016.

Despite undeniable progress in Bilingual Intercultural Education (EIB), significant challenges remain, requiring in-depth analysis and renewed commitment from the Chilean state to Indigenous peoples and their languages. At the same time, persistent limitations date back to the early stages of the program. Below, we highlight some of the problems and challenges of EIB for Indigenous languages.

The Role of the Traditional Educator

Although the General Education Law (LGE) mandates Bilingual Intercultural Education in schools with an Indigenous population exceeding 20% of enrollment, its implementation has remained largely voluntary for families. This is because the 2020 Curriculum Bases Decree No. 97 for the subject of Language and Culture of Ancestral Indigenous Peoples allows parents and guardians to decide whether they want the subject for their children or wards.

Due to the shortage of teachers fluent in Indigenous languages, the system has introduced the role of the traditional educator, who can work alongside a classroom teacher. These educators are members of Indigenous communities with in-depth knowledge of their language, culture, and philosophy, although these qualifications are not always met. Their role includes teaching Indigenous language, transmitting cultural values, and reinforcing Indigenous identity among students.

Despite their importance in the development of EIB, traditional educators often face challenges such as a lack of formal pedagogical training, low salaries, and limited recognition within the school system. Currently, due to Decree No. 301, traditional educators may work solo in the classroom without a pedagogical partner. This is already happening in many cases.

Lack of Training and State Racism

Interculturality is not a transversal principle in the Chilean education system, despite being established by General Education Law. Efforts have been made to include elements of Indigenous Peoples’ cultures in subjects such as History, Geography, and Social Sciences, but this integration is often superficial and depends on the teacher’s interest and training. The Textbooks that have been produced do not always reflect the cultural particularities of local communities and lack follow-up for their implementation.

In some schools, materials are discarded on the grounds that they do not reflect the local territorial variant. It is also true that teachers often lack the methodological skills to apply them effectively. Moreover, the EIB program lacks robust evaluation and monitoring mechanisms to validate these materials or measure the actual impact of the program, such as an increase in the number of Indigenous language speakers or improvements in students’ appreciation of Indigenous culture.

On the other hand, the discourse and practices of EIB schools regarding the revitalization of Indigenous languages and cultures are threatened by state racism and media stigmatization. In Chile, stigmatization and prejudice against Indigenous peoples persist. Children and teachers witness daily mistreatment of the Indigenous condition in the media, which discourages efforts, particularly among younger generations, from valuing, learning or using the languages.

Demands, Challenges, and Proposals to Strengthen Indigenous Languages

Addressing the problems outlined here requires a perspective rooted in cultural and linguistic rights, social justice, and reparations. It was not the Indigenous peoples who voluntarily abandoned their languages and cultures; it was the Chilean education system that led to this abandonment. The state must strengthen the Bilingual Intercultural Education program and enable the normalization of Indigenous language use in society, so that schools and state institutions no longer participate in cultural dispossession.

In this context, the needs and demands of Indigenous peoples are clear:  to expand coverage and funding for EIB to ensure that all schools with Indigenous students have access to the subject of Language and Culture of Ancestral Indigenous Peoples; to address the needs for the training and recognition of traditional educator and to provide EIB teachers with intercultural and Indigenous language training; to produce relevant materials that not only reflect the cultural and linguistic particularities of Indigenous communities but are also appropriate to the students’ language proficiency levels; and to strengthen community participation in the design, implementation, and evaluation of EIB actions to ensure their relevance and effectiveness.

The power dynamics between languages are unequal. Spanish is the only language with social prestige, and this does not contribute to the recognition of Indigenous peoples or their languages. Society, as a whole, needs to value Indigenous languages.

Spanish is the only language with social prestige, and this does not contribute to the recognition of Indigenous peoples or their languages. Society, as a whole, needs to value Indigenous languages.

An additional program outside of education is necessary to stop the loss of Indigenous languages because the school system alone is insufficient to instill their value in society. Currently, the power dynamics between languages are unequal. Spanish is the only language with social prestige, and this does not contribute to the recognition of Indigenous peoples or their languages. Society, as a whole, needs to value Indigenous languages. A campaign to enhance the prestige and legitimacy of Mapuzugun and other Indigenous languages in society is needed, reaching beyond Indigenous communities, combined with their integration into public spaces and the media.

This involves creating standards in collaboration with the communities, ensuring respect for the linguistic reality of the territories, and making decisions on writing systems, dialectal diversity, and the strengthening of unified, distinctive, and robust languages. These elements would not only improve the impact of Bilingual Intercultural Education (EIB), but would also contribute to the cultural and linguistic empowerment of Indigenous peoples. Furthermore, the full integration of Indigenous languages into both formal and informal spaces of daily life remains an ongoing challenge. In the case of Mapuzugun, which lacks standardization, there have been internal debates within the Mapuche community about which variant should be taught in schools and used in official documents. Therefore, a national literacy campaign would help facilitate these decisions.

Conclusion

Although Bilingual Intercultural Education represents a step forward in the recognition of the educational and linguistic rights of Indigenous peoples in Chile, its implementation still faces numerous challenges including learning to read and write in Indigenous languages, establishing their public use in society to foster intercultural skills among non-Indigenous Chileans, and overcoming the denial and racism that have persisted for centuries through colonialism, hate speech, and the fear generated towards Indigenous peoples.

Consequently, a more comprehensive, intercultural, and collaborative approach to education for all of Chilean society remains necessary. Both the state and civil society must ensure, not only the teaching of Indigenous languages, but also their legitimization as an essential part of the country’s cultural and educational fabric.

Bilingual Intercultural Education offers an opportunity to build a fairer and more inclusive educational system that values the cultural wealth of Indigenous peoples. Through sustained state and social commitment it is possible to transform education into a tool of empowerment for Indigenous communities and their future generations. Indigenous languages are not just forms of communication; they are also vehicles for ancestral knowledge, philosophies, and unique traditions. The loss of each language represents a cultural and spiritual loss for all of humanity.

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It is from the sea that they receive their livelihoods and their primary means of connection. And, of course, the cultural and spiritual bond they hold with the water gives them strength to defend these spaces. However, despite their enduring existence in these regions, their connection to the ocean and their rights over their coastal territories are not recognized. Moreover, they have been, in many cases, dispossessed and displaced, and their relationship with the sea, severed. Likewise, extractive activities that contaminate their territories, climate change, and urban development make the environments they live in even more precarious.

In response to this reality and to the increasing economization of the ocean, encouraged by  fishing laws that do not recognize or respect the inherent rights, practices, and customs of the Indigenous peoples of the sea, the Lafkenche Mapuche people promoted the Law of Coastal Marine Spaces of Indigenous Peoples (Ecmpo) with an aim to seek recognition and protection of their territorial rights over the coastal terrain and the sea.

A law to protect coastal and marine spaces

The need to protect the sea and coastal spaces ancestrally inhabited by Indigenous peoples is powerfully expressed by Pérsida Cheuquenao who is of the Mapuche Lafkenche people and one of the main promoters of the Ecmpo Law: “If the sea is more restricted, we will suffer more, they’ll kill us as Mapuche. If we are already poor because of the land, because they took away our lands, we’ll be moreso if they were going to take the sea away from us, then it will be too much, too much. So, we have the strength, the will, the ability to be able to ensure that this space, in one way or another is not blocked from us.”

Cheuquenao explains that at that time, many people supported the law, from the eighth region southward, and that, now, almost everyone who lives by the seaside is in those same conditions, creating spaces to request ocean access. It is precisely there where women have played a very important role in issues of health issues, spirituality, and Mapuche kimche (Mapuche wisdom).

Web Highlight: The figure of the Coastal Marine Space of Indigenous Peoples (Ecmpo) was established as a mechanism to grant a coastal marine zones to a community or association of communities that has exercised customary use of such areas.

But the purpose of the law went beyond that. Its promoters were visionaries who were in solidarity with other Indigenous peoples and maintained language that was broad enough throughout the text of the law. Through its broad wording, the Kawésqar, Yaganes, Changos, Diaguitas, or Rapa Nui peoples can also request these spaces in their territories at any point, if they deem it appropriate.

Thus, since it came into force in 2008, the ECMoP was established as a mechanism to grant in administration a delimited coastal marine space to a community or association of communities that has exercised customary use of such areas. According to the law, the objective of this request should be to preserve the use of coastal and marine environments, to ensure the conservation of natural resources, and to seek the well-being of communities.

Indigenous women, protectors of the sea

In this scenario, indigenous women have played a fundamental role, both in the elaboration of the law and in the management and processing of these requests. Likewise, it is women who carry out a large part of the customary uses and the  transmission of knowledge about the sea and its environment. From their work as gatherers, educators, artisans, gardeners, caregivers, and spiritual guides, to their role as leaders, fisherwomen, sailors, divers, and shipbuilders. However, their contributions are scarcely visible, their professions are rarely paid, and their participation in the governance of the territories is not adequately represented.

For indigenous women, the sea is their main source of sustenance: there they carry out multiple traditional practices and maintain a spiritual and cultural relationship that has been passed down through generations. Given this close and deep ancestral relationship, they are innate protectors and defenders of these spaces, as they find their good living, that of their families, and their community there. Despite their relevance to the reproduction of life, they face a lack of training and technical education due to the multiple tasks they perform, such as caregiving, domestic work, leadership work, and their work out on the sea.

Women of the sea experience sexism in leadership and family environments, which limits their participation and contributions to the governance of marine and coastal environments.

There are also gaps in the recognition and accreditation of their trades and ocean activities where conditions of inequality persist and they occupy informal or temporary positions with little or no health and safety coverage. Similarly, they also suffer from sexism in leadership and family environments, which limits their participation and contributions to the governance of marine and coastal spaces.

What’s more, Indigenous communities, in general, face delays and administrative obstacles in the processing of requests for Coastal Marine Spaces of Indigenous Peoples before the State, which often responds first to economic and political interests. All this without considering the multiple threats coastal environments face, amongst which, the salmon industry stands out, as endangering their resources, way of life, and ancestral practices.

A network of Indigenous women of the sea

Ingrid Echevarria, from the Mapuche Williche people, explains that although men have demanding jobs and provide for the household, their work is recognized, and they have projects to apply for diving teams, boats, and improvements. “And the women of the ocean, who knows them? Nobody knows them. Women of the sea light the fire early, they leave the children in bed so they don’t wake them up, and we go to collect and head straight to the water at dawn. That sacrifice of getting into the cold water and then carrying all that and drying it, and coming home afterward, and seeing that your children have already woken up and need breakfast, is tremendous,” explains Echevarria.
As if this weren’t enough, many of the women are heads of households and only receive sporadic support from the fathers of their children. These women rely on activities related to the ocean for their livelihood and often leave their communities to sell or work in fisheries and in the city. Otherwise, they have no other means to support their children. Echevarria adds that for single mothers, the situation is even more difficult and unjust: “And for them, where is the healthcare system? There isn’t one. For them, where is the ease of being able to apply for work that allows them to stay at home with their family and not have to go somewhere else? It’s not there.”

Women of the sea are organizing to “weave networks” from familial and community spheres. Raising a voice that is neither heard nor recognized, they aim to recognize each other, listen to each other, and support each other on their path of struggle and resistance.

Faced with this gender gap, indigenous women from various coastal and marine territories, with seemingly “isolated” life trajectories but crossed by similar inequalities and united by the defense of the sea and their culture, have decided to come together. These women are organizing to “weave networks” from the familial and community spheres, raising a voice that is neither heard nor known: they aim to recognize each other, listen to each other, and support each other on their path of struggle and resistance.

Thus, in March 2022, the Network of Indigenous Women for the Defense of the Sea was born. This organization seeks to build and forge alliances among women of various ages, territories, and indigenous peoples who inhabit coastal spaces and who fight for the defense of the sea. Its purpose is to generate mutual learning among the various territories and to harness the knowledge, spiritualities, and traditional knowledge of women of the sea, seeking to highlight and articulate their contributions and proposals for more effective advocacy against decision-makers and stakeholders.

Women of the sea are gaining ground.

Through conversations and gatherings, through territorial meetings and training sessions, women raise their historically undervalued voices. Creating spaces of trust, describing their realities, informing others about the threats facing their territories, and sharing their knowledge and maritime practices allows them to “forget about household chores” and to talk amongst women. This exercise of micropolitics is a transformative practice of empowerment that allows them to build collective actions related to the care of the sea, community, territories, common goods, and their cultural identity.

It was from these meetings that testimonies and stories of their relationship with the sea emerged and were reflected in the book “Women of the Sea: Approaches to Coastal Marine Spaces of Indigenous Peoples.” This message continues to be transmitted through the bimonthly newsletter “Women of the Sea: Voices from the Territories,” in which the women themselves who inhabit coastal and marine borders write. These are personal and deeply political stories, oriented towards the common good and the defense of common goods.

The women of the network have also gained political spaces. Faced with recent attempts to amend the ECMoP Law, they were the first to raise their voices, to defend their rights, and to articulate their defense alongside other indigenous organizations. Faced with the wave of attacks and threats against representatives of coastal marine spaces of indigenous peoples, they have demanded that the government implement the international agreements it has signed, such as the Escazú Agreement, which seeks to ensure safe environments for defenders, recognize their work, and protect their rights.

Indigenous women of the sea are consolidating everyday political action for the defense of the sea from the feminine and from the territories.

Once a year, women of the sea come together at national gatherings, where they bring their children, who also have a space in the network and accompany their mothers’ resistance processes. There, the various peoples articulate and share their struggles, such as the recognition of their coastal marine spaces or the lack of a gender focus in public policies related to the sea. They also project their proposals and contributions for the defense of the sea and community care.

Through their newsletters, conversation gatherings, technical support on the Law of Coastal Marine Spaces of Indigenous Peoples, promotion of productive activities, monitoring and protection of biodiversity in their territories, Indigenous women of the sea are consolidating everyday political action for the defense of the sea from the feminine and from the territories.

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