19 “¡Guardia, Guardia!” Autonomies and Territorial Defense in the Context of Colombia’s Post Peace-Accord

Viviane Weitzner

Opening: Finding Breath

November 4, 2019: “Ya no aguantamos tanto dolor” (we can no longer deal with so much pain)

It’s hard to think past the blood-letting taking place in Black and Indigenous communities in Colombia, especially just prior to and around the October 2019 regional elections. My WhatsApp group with my Colombian Indigenous and Afro-Descendant collaborators overflows with stories of bloody murder. And targeted bloody murder: murder of the Indigenous guards that defend Indigenous territories; murder of women mayoral candidates, and Indigenous governors; murder of social leaders daring to try to assert their rights and their autonomy in post-Accord Colombia; and death threats against those who have managed to survive until now. As I sit down to write this chapter on Indigenous and Afro-Descendant autonomy in the context of post-Peace Accord Colombia—and to consider particularly the role of Indigenous and Afro-Descendant autonomous guards as a key mechanism for territorial defense—pain and a sense of powerlessness wash over me as I figure out how to open up space in my mind and heart to begin to make sense out of this chaos, and to write about it. “Ya no aguantamos tanto dolor,” we can no longer deal with so much pain, one of my closest Indigenous collaborators, Héctor Jaime Vinasco, former governor of the Resguardo Indígena Cañamomo Lomaprieta, wrote after the news of yet another assassination. How to carve out an analytic route to speak about autonomy in the midst of the hunting that the peoples I work with in Colombia are experiencing? How to find the analytical breadth—and breath—to write and speak about the desangre, the blood-letting, taking place? And while I struggle to find breath to lend testimony and theoretical reflexivity to the onslaught that my Indigenous and Afro-Descendant partners are experiencing day-to-day, the ultimate key challenge we all face is: How to hold on to—and how to hold up—autonomy in the midst of extreme, violent internal armed conflict?

This chapter places front and centre the deadly challenge of exercising autonomy in the context of post-Peace Accord Colombia.¹ A country that, in 2019—and since then—has garnered international recognition for being the most dangerous place in the world for environmental and human rights defenders (Frontline Defenders, 2020, 2022; Human Rights Watch, 2021; Global Witness, 2021).² The chapter lends testimony to the extraordinary efforts of Colombia’s Indigenous and Afro-Descendant peoples to counter the onslaught of violence that affects their day-to-day lives and their ancestral territories. Specifically, it examines the ever more important role of Indigenous and Afro-Descendant guards in defending ancestral territories and exercising autonomy; and the difficult co-ordination and encounters they experience with State agencies and representatives, and with other legal and outlawed armed actors seeking to exert control over their resource-rich lands. Driven by the ever-sharper violent realities and territorial disputes taking place in their territories, I propose that Indigenous and Afro-Descendant Peoples’ thinking and praxis towards strengthening their self-protection mechanisms can be seen as “a turn”: a turn towards self-protection that also implies closer inter-ethnic collaborations in an effort to maintain autonomy.³

I draw particularly on key ethnographic moments, workshops and interviews⁴ from a decade of engaged research (Kirsch, 2018) with the 32 Embera Chamí Indigenous communities that comprise the Resguardo Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta located in the municipalities of Riosucio and Supía, Caldas; and with Black Communities of the Palenke Alto Cauca, a regional governance body that is part of the national organization, Proceso de Comunidades Negras, and that provides support and accompaniment to 43 Consejos Comunitarios located in 11 municipalities of northern Cauca (see map).⁵ These communities came together in 2009 to join forces and weave strategies around territorial defense in light of large-scale extractive interests in their gold-rich ancestral territories. They have also been forced to address the actions of outlaw armed actors interested both in their gold and in the strategic placement of these ancestral territories along corridors for narco-trafficking.

This joining of forces and weaving of strategies has resulted in a wide spectrum of autonomous and joint actions, ranging from developing internal laws and protocols on free, prior and informed consent; to engaging in legal actions that have led to cutting-edge constitutional court decisions; to taking to the streets in protest when these are not implemented, or when State obligations upholding Indigenous and Afro-Descendant rights are not respected (Herrera & García, 2012; Machado et al., 2017; Weitzner, 2017a, 2019). But in recent years—and in light of growing pressures threatening territorial integrity and renewed violence and threats to Indigenous and Afro-Descendant leaders speaking up for their rights—a key strategy that the Resguardo and Palenke peoples have engaged in is a concerted effort to strengthen their autonomous, unarmed Indigenous and Cimarrona guards.

I begin this article with a brief discussion of the concept of autonomy and its importance from the perspectives of Embera Chami and Afro-Descendant leaders from the Resguardo Cañamomo and the Palenke, drawing also on community documents. Next, I introduce the institutions of the Guardia Indígena and the Guardia Cimarrona, their history and articulation with the exercise of autonomy. I examine how they operate in practice, drawing on key ethnographic moments that highlight inter-ethnic collaborations, with a focus on intergenerational and gender aspects, as well as challenges in encountering and coordinating with the State. And I show how this challenge is exacerbated by the discriminatory State treatment of the Guardia Cimarrona, which does not have the same constitutional guarantees upholding the Indigenous Guard. In dialogue with theoretical literature at the crossroads of autonomies, racisms, fragmented sovereignties and legal pluralities, my analysis advances grounded thinking from the very particular, complex reality of the Colombian armed conflict.

Ultimately, this chapter contributes unique perspectives on notions of autonomy, providing concrete and distinct examples to the growing literature on community protection efforts in the face of State ‘abandonment’ (e.g., Comaroffs, 2016; Sierra, 2018; Goldstein, 2012). It also breaks new analytical ground by examining Afro-Descendant and Indigenous institutions alongside each other, making visible Black autonomies that are more often than not invisible in theoretical debates (Restrepo & Rojas, 2004; Hooker, 2005, 2020; Rodriguez-Garavito & Baquero, 2015; Wade, 2017).⁶ It also contributes to the growing anthropology on fragmented sovereignties and i/legalities (Sieder, 2019), showing exercises of territorial defense grounded, legitimized and legalized by self-government and ancestral law, albeit in liminal spaces between legality and illegality from a State law perspective.

Weaving the Concept of Autonomy

As the Plan de Vida (Plan of Life) of the Resguardo Cañamomo Lomaprieta notes, the term “autonomy” is controversial and takes on different meanings in different contexts (RICL 2009, pp. 158-59). In this section I present a synthesis of perspectives on the meaning and importance of autonomy from members of the Palenke and the Resguardo, and as put forward by their representative national level organizations – Proceso de Comunidades Negras (Black Communities’ Process–PCN) and the National Indigenous Organization of Colombia (ONIC), respectively. This conceptual grounding is a necessary first step in examining how these perspectives fit with, or diverge from, the perspectives and approaches espoused by the Colombian State. And it is also fundamental for analysing the challenges in exercising autonomy day-to-day.

My intent is not to provide an exhaustive analysis, but instead to underscore the complexities and particularities in perspectives on autonomy – or, better said, autonomies, in the plural – within the current Colombian context. I focus here on two specific cases, acknowledging the importance of opening analytical space for discussing both Black and Indigenous autonomies, and importantly, joint efforts towards exercising autonomies in practice.⁷ But also, I am cognizant that the perspectives I share are shaped by distinct, complicated and multifaceted experiences of history – and rooted in relations with specific territories that have been documented elsewhere⁸, and that I will only be able to scratch the surface of here.

A Brief Historical Sketch

Very briefly, in the case of the Palenke, Afro-Descendant peoples were brought to northern Cauca in the 1600s to work gold mines for the Spaniards, bringing their ancestral mining know-how from Africa. Over time, they bought their freedom, and many bought gold mines from the Spaniards, living from these as a key livelihood activity along with agriculture and fishing. Yet, many of these ancestral mines and the fertile lands along the Cauca River have been flooded to make way for hydroelectric schemes and monoculture agriculture, namely sugar cane and oil palm, that has pushed out most traditional farms.⁹ Meanwhile, large-scale gold mining – and more recently, mining by criminal armed actors¹⁰ – has also led to land grabs. The levels of contamination from monoculture, criminal mining using cyanide and mercury, combined with a lack of collective land titling, are just some among a myriad of factors that have led to a situation where subsistence livelihoods are severely threatened. These factors combined with lack of access to viable economic alternatives – and the violences and confinement generated from armed conflict – are fueling poverty in the region.

Yet even if Colombia has made important advances in the recognition of the fundamental and territorial rights of Afro-Descendant peoples on paper – and especially with the incorporation of artículo transitorio (transitory article) 55 of the Colombian Constitution that recognized Black communities as rights holders, with further details fleshed out when Law 70 was passed in 1993 – there is still a long way to go. Indeed, Law 70 remains largely unregulated, and there is a bias towards Black Communities in the Pacific without specific provisions for areas beyond. This has resulted in the current situation, in which 11 of 38 requests for collective titling of community councils in municipalities within the Department of Cauca that are outside the Pacific basin have been recognized. Of these 11, 10 are in northern Cauca and one in southern Cauca (Hernández Palomino, pers. comm., 2023).

In the case of Cañamomo, this Resguardo was established in the 1500s by the Spanish Crown, following an invasion by Spanish colonizers who took over the rich ancestral gold mines that date back to the Quimbaya people from which the Embera Chamí descend.¹¹ The Indigenous peoples were used as slave labour and decimated through inhumane labour conditions. Enslaved Africans were brought to the Resguardo to continue the gold mining for the Spaniards, many settling in the community of Guamal. Today, the Resguardo continues its ancestral gold mining, and its rich gold deposits are coveted by multinational and national mining companies – as well as by criminal armed actors. Community members also engage in agricultural livelihood activities, with panela (cane sugar) and coffee production being mainstays. Like in the Palenke, the Resguardos’ rivers are also of interest to energy producers, although to date the Resguardo has staved off these projects.

Yet, day-to-day life is increasingly difficult for the almost 25,000 people living on a small land base of only 4,827 hectares, where there is very little land to engage in subsistence activities, and where, despite progress in securing recognition of the colonial origin of the Resguardos’ legal title through the Constitutional Court’s Decision T530 issued September 2016 that orders its delimitation and demarcation,¹² implementation of these orders remains elusive and fraught. This is due primarily to the powerful interests of landowners who hold private property rights within the Resguardos’ land base, and who have been supported by conservative uribista (followers of President Alvaro Uribe) politicians.¹³ The effects of the armed conflict run deep also in the Resguardo, where several massacres have taken place (CRIDEC & MOVICE, 2020). Its leaders are among the 40 Embera Chamí leaders that are beneficiaries of precautionary measures issued by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights in 2002 (CIDH, 2002).

In short, what these histories witness is a story of “racialized geographies” (Hernández Castillo, 2019), where centuries of “plunder” (Mattei & Nader, 2008) and “accumulation by dispossession” (Harvey, 2003) have pillaged the homelands of ancestral peoples, resulting in “racial discounts” (Mbembe, 2012) where peoples have been rendered disposable or waste as they stand in the way of “development”. But these territories have also been ravaged by the underbelly of mainstream development; namely, the actors involved in the shadow or “raw economy” (Mbembe, 2012) of illicit activities. Cauca is a well-known hot spot for all the various armed actors of Colombia’s conflict, and the illicit activities that finance them, earning the moniker of “the murder epicenter” in a recent analysis (Navarette & Alonso, 2020). The Resguardo has lost hundreds of community members to the violent war, with early warning reports currently in place by Colombia’s Ombudsperson (2020) alerting to ongoing risks from armed outlawed actors. These brief historical sketches provide some background to help frame the following synthesis of perspectives on autonomies.

Perspectives from the Palenke: “Autonomía en entredicho”; “Autonomía en peligro de extinción” (“Autonomy in Question”; “Autonomy in Danger of Extinction”)

Perspectives from the Palenke reveal the multidimensional aspects of what comprises autonomy. Autonomy is often defined in terms of what constrains it, and it spans ontological, political, economic and ecological aspects and their interrelations. Because it is so illustrative, I quote at some length an excerpt from an interview with Lisifrey Ararat, one of the Palenke’s most respected mayores, or Elders:

Autonomy, we had it maybe some fifteen, twenty years ago ... Today our autonomy is in question [“entredicho”]. Because there are many factors that have shattered our autonomy. One definitely has to do with the conflict. I believe that, living under threat, one does not have autonomy. Two, that autonomy, or those things that one did ... one did what one wanted, and one moved around. That territorial control that they are doing to us today, is doing us a lot of harm. And the other thing too, how they have been impoverishing us. So, what we believed to be our strength, what we believed to be our father and our mother, such as the river, today is now in question. Because when you see your father so sick, almost in agony, as we see the river at this moment, there is no autonomy here, it is in question. And for me, autonomy is ... to have one’s own economic movement, to have control of the territory, to have where we work, where we plant, what we eat. And we had that before. I used to say, on a Saturday, ‘I’m going to eat a bocachico’. I would take my fishing line, and I would go to La Ovejas. For me that was autonomy. But today, here in La Toma, the situation is very, very difficult. (Ararat, 2015, emphasis added)

Elder Lisifrey’s comments underscore how loss of autonomy is associated with loss of freedom of movement and with the sickness of the Ovejas River, which is humanized here as father and mother – this particular world’s creators, its life force and also the source of this world’s richness or wealth. This sickness, and subsequent loss of being able to take food and feed oneself, is compounded by the confinement due to the “control” that others are asserting on this land. Lisifrey states clearly that autonomy is simply not possible if one is at risk of losing one’s life; it is a deeply questionable proposition. Autonomy is constrained further through structural discrimination and racism, as poverty takes hold (“they have been impoverishing us”) in a place where with a destroyed land there is little recourse for day-to-day survival. Exercising autonomy is “entredicho”, in question, because it is constrained by its relationality with structures of domination.

This relationship to territory and ability to decide what takes place within it were key elements that ran throughout conversations on autonomy in the Palenke. One leader of the Association of Community Councils of Northern Cauca (ACONC) braided the concept of autonomy with self-determination and natural law. Yet this “ancestral” natural law, that by its very nature is autonomous and pre-exists any State normative framework, is not something that underpins only individuals, it is a concept that is tied to the communal, and inextricably related to stewarding the territory guided by worldview:

This natural law should not only be reflected in the rights of the individual as a person, but also in all that has been developing and forming and preserving the community in its territory without being regulated. All those things that are part of the community ... that the community has done by instinct, on its own, following its own cosmovision, by its own action ... to sustain itself in time in its territory, for me that is the ancestral natural law. (Anonymous, 2015)

At its heart then, autonomy is not simply a political proposition, it goes hand in hand with a cosmovision, a lifeworld, where autonomous stewardship of the territory enables survival over time in a homeland. But the leader insisted that this in turn requires economic and food autonomy in order to be self-sufficient and feed not only the people, but also, to feed and strengthen the political and organizational processes, whether this be funding street protests, community radio stations, educational studies by Palenke members or, importantly, the work of the Guardia Cimarrona. There is a plan here for “autonomous design” as Escobar (2018) calls it, that weaves in self-sufficiency, sustainability and political engagement towards collective sustenance over time.

But an interesting twist to the discussions was the theme and tension between ‘ours’ and ‘the other’ and protecting autonomy from outside interference at all levels. As articulated by one young woman member of the Palenke who emphasized the importance of collectivity in autonomy, this means having the power to make decisions, organizing and undertaking what the collective wants to undertake “without the other, without the government, without outside, governmental entities, influencing the forms of organization, the culture.” She noted also that the government is trying by all means possible to extirpate autonomy, so much so that in her view “the autonomy of peoples and ethnic groups is at stake and, it could be said, in danger of extinction.” She added that today’s struggle is very much to strengthen the “little autonomy that’s left” (Lucumi Paz, 2015). This idea of freedom to exercise self-governance in ancestral territories where “we have the possibility to do what we want because it is our way of recreating ourselves” was another cross-cutting theme, with the end goal, as one woman from the Palenke stated, being “the preservation of life in the territory” (Mina, 2015). Autonomy towards recreation, towards sustaining life in the territory – and a territory that is living. This recalls Mora’s (2017, p.23) analysis of Zapatista autonomy, and the aspects which she argues infuse the concept of autonomy held by Afro-Descendant and Indigenous peoples across the continent, where “the very act of living as part of a dignified commitment to the reproduction of social life directly confronts the dehumanizing conditions of racialized colonial states of being.”

These conceptual offerings from members of the Palenke dovetail the key principles that underpin the PCN’s nationally articulated framework for action, which are rooted in affirming and enabling “being” Black Communities with distinct cultural identities and ties to ancestral territory. All of these principles are geared towards autonomy in its multifaceted aspects, including autonomous participation in decisions that affect Black Communities; defending options of development aligned with the cultural aspirations of Black Communities and in tune with cultural and environmental sustainability; and linking in solidarity with other sectors towards “a more just world.” In short, while defending the right to political-organizational autonomy of the Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal and Palenquero people of Colombia, the PCN’s key principles point to a far more integral and holistic sense of autonomy.

Perspectives from the Resguardo: “With interference from no-one in decision-making,” “Small states”

Conceptions around autonomy in the Resguardo Cañamomo Lomaprieta go straight to the idea of self-government. Yet beyond this, they embrace the concept of statehood, of sovereignty. Former Chief Héctor Jaime Vinasco described autonomy as the Cabildo (local council) having the power “to define its own laws, to exercise its own rights, to make decisions, to exercise an autonomous landscape, without interruption from anyone else saying ‘it’s this way, it’s that way’.” Indigenous communities are autonomous because “there is interference from no-one in decision-making” (Vinasco, 2015). In fact, he added, “people have thought they are like small states, because they have their own autonomy.” This vision of autonomy where Resguardos are “small states” sustains Sieder’s (2019) argument that in Latin America it is most useful to examine legal pluralities – and perhaps by extension autonomies – through the lens of fragmented sovereignties, a concept I will come back to later.

The Resguardos’ Plan de Vida (Plan of Life) sets out the Embera Chami’s “law on the books” or official perspective on autonomy as:

The basis for our political-organizational structure is also the historical claim to return to our practices and customs. Autonomy is the essence of our Derecho Mayor [Higher Law] developed by our ancestors, who created their own ways of regulating social, economic, cultural and spiritual life in pre-Hispanic times. Reconquering autonomy is a challenge for the Cañamomo Lomaprieta Indigenous Reservation, it is a historical struggle. (RICL, 2009, pp.158-59, emphasis added)

What comes through in this definition are the ancestrality or prehispanic roots of the practice of autonomy, and its linkages across regulating all aspects of life, including the spiritual.¹⁴ Yet the challenge that the Plan de Vida sets out to “reconquer autonomy” is a tall order in the context of armed conflict and multiple overlapping interests over the Resguardos’ lands. In this context, exercising gobierno propio (self-government) ¹⁵ and customary decision-making is undermined by meetings cut short as darkness approaches; community members feeling afraid to join the political organization or even to attend assemblies for fear of reprisals and threats from outlawed armed actors; and conventional politics intruding on, and pulling apart, the Resguardos’ social fabric, delegitimizing its institutions and creating even more insecurity for comuneros and comuneras (community members) who are part of the Resguardos’ political organization.

Indeed, the Resguardo suffers what the Palenke and all other ancestral territories rich with natural resources suffer in Colombia: the dispute over access to the riches by powerful outlawed armed actors on the one hand; and by the state on the other, leading to a situation of “social minefields” (Rodriguez-Garavito, 2011).¹⁶ This dispute between overlapping fragmented sovereignties and legalities – including what I call the “raw law” of outlawed armed actors acting in connivance with state actors (Weitzner, 2017a, 2018, 2019) – is at the heart of the violences that the Resguardo leaders experience today, as I discuss further below.

But perhaps the most powerful force intruding on the possibility to “reconquer autonomy” is the “ontological intrusion” of Western ideas of capitalism that are undermining Indigenous ways of being and worldviews. This comes to the fore most in examining shifting ideas around gold mining, a practice that pre-exists the formation of the Colombian State. Over time, the spiritual and ceremonial use of gold has shifted towards economic sustenance; for some today, the profit motive and accumulation – individual autonomy perhaps – is by far the primary interest. Some have put this profit-motive first even at the expense of carving up collective territorial rights and renouncing indigeneity. There is, in short, a rising “ontological territorial occupation” that puts at stake the possibility of “ontological autonomy” (Escobar, 2018, p.167).

Looking to the national level, autonomy is a central principle upheld by the national Indigenous movement in Colombia, alongside the principles of unity, territory and culture. These four principles are inextricably interrelated, with autonomy defined as:

… an exercise of power based on Indigenous peoples’ and their authorities’ own, legitimate and legal indigenous law. From their own governments that impart justice, generate wellbeing, and administer and exercise authority over territories and resources. To solve our problems and assume our own visions of the future. To relate with the state and individuals, without breaking our unity of struggle. From the collective conscience to value our cultural identity and ethnic belonging. As a guiding principle of our political mandates for the defense of life and the rights of ndigenous peoples. Organizational, to establish and administer our own instances of power. (ONIC, 2020, emphasis added)

This is a far-reaching, all-encompassing definition of autonomy that is a starting point for relations with the State and other outsiders. In other words, importantly, while there is an explicit mandate to exercise territorial authority over all aspects of ancestral lands in defense of life and Indigenous peoples’ rights, this does not exclude relations with the State or other outsiders.

In other words, there is an explicit recognition that Indigenous territories exist in what Moore (1973) calls semi-autonomy, in that these exist within and maintain relations with other political spheres, jurisdictions and sovereignties. Perhaps semi-autonomy is another way to think about “the small states” referred to by the Indigenous leader quoted above in speaking about Resguardos and their autonomy.

This reality of a semi-autonomous sphere is evident in the importance that the Resguardo, and also the Palenke, place in ensuring members of their own communities accede to positions within the municipal, regional and national governments. Much energy is placed to get candidates into positions of power so they can use their influence favorably, including towards making territorial autonomy more of a reality. A reality that took on new possibilities in the 2022 presidential elections, as highlighted further in the postscript.

Colombian State Conceptions of Autonomy: “Ni si quiera se asemeja” (“Not even close”)

So how do conceptions of autonomy espoused by the Colombian State fit with those held up by Indigenous and Afro-Descendant peoples? As Linares (2016. p. 23) puts it for the case of Indigenous peoples,“ni si quiera se asemeja,” it doesn’t even come close.

Indeed, it was only after several mobilizations by Indigenous peoples – and more than 20 years after the 1991 Colombian Constitution embraced the establishment of Indigenous Territorial Entities in its article 329¹⁷ – that in 2014 Decree 1953 was issued to regulate Indigenous peoples’ autonomy (Mininterior, 2014).¹⁸ This Decree delegated a series of powers, ranging from management of health services to potable water, and strengthened the Special Indigenous Jurisdiction enjoyed by Indigenous Peoples, managed now directly by Indigenous authorities themselves rather than through mayors.

These are all important steps forward in administrative autonomy for Indigenous peoples. But they fall very far short of Indigenous conceptions of autonomy, leaving out fundamental aspects related to spirituality, identity and culture, and instead are more similar to what former UN Special Rapporteur on Indigenous Peoples Rights Victoria Tauli Corpuz has called “fragmented autonomy” (2019, par. 20). There is, in short, only partial delegation of autonomy as defined by the State, through a top-down process.¹⁹ Importantly, whatever advances this Decree might represent on the books, from the get-go there was push back from powerful political actors with territorial interests in Indigenous territories, raising questions of political will to implement the Decree at all (Rodriguez Garavito & Baquero, 2014).

With regards to Black Communities, Law 70 of 1993 is one of the key domestic legal tools for upholding Black communities’ rights. As a result of transitory article 55 of Colombia’s Political Constitution, which recognized Afro-Colombian communities as rights holders after a long struggle of the Afro-Colombian movement, its normativity is developed with Law 70 (Katerí, 2019). While the law does not establish any definition of autonomy per se, it does hold up this concept in Chapter II (Article 3.3), which outlines as one of the key principles underpinning the law: “The participation of Black communities and their organizations without detriment to their autonomy, in decisions that affect them and those of the entire nation on an equal footing, in accordance with the law.” Yet, Law 70 has a reduced scope covering the Pacific Basin only, and not the Black Communities in the Inter-Andean Valley, where the Palenke is located. In addition, regulations to enact Law 70 have a long way to go, stalled by lack of political will and resources (Rodriguez Garavito & Baquero, 2014). This has sparked a cycle of ongoing protests and negotiations towards implementation, with progress to date only on 29 of its 67 articles, according to official accounts,²⁰ with current efforts focussing on negotiating Chapter 4 (land use and protection of natural resources and the environment) and Chapter 5 (mining resources).

Putting aside the shortcomings in the substance and reach of domestic policies and law, however, autonomy is a key concept enshrined in international human rights conventions and instruments that Colombia has ratified or approved, including, ILO Convention 169 on the Rights of Indigenous and Tribal Peoples (1989); the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007); the Convention for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (1969), and the Inter-American Convention (1969), among others. Indigenous and Black Communities increasingly appeal to these instruments and related mechanisms in their efforts to make autonomy, as they define it, a reality in their homelands. This includes through actions that have made it to Colombia’s Constitutional Court, to the inter-American system, and beyond, and that have yielded precedent-setting decisions.

In the case of the Palenke and the Resguardo, both have obtained precedent-setting Constitutional Court decisions suspending mining activities from taking place on their territories without their consultation leading to consent and recognizing their ancestral territories. Importantly, in the case of the Resguardo, Decision T-530/16 recognizes the cabildo’s (local council’s) jurisdiction over managing gold mining in its territory in accordance with its own laws and in coordination with the State; and also the cabildo’s protocol and law over free, prior and informed consent. These decisions set precedent towards greater recognition of autonomy, as conceived by the Resguardo and the Palenke, and more in line with international standards.

Yet, as pointed out above, “law on the books,” constitutional court orders and even pressure from international instruments such as CERD’s concluding observations, rarely translates into implementation in Colombia, a reality echoed in the rest of Latin America as well (Sieder et al., 2019). If it does, it is partial implementation at best, filtered through the lens of the politics of the day and constrained by the perspectives of ‘implementing’ State representatives, who are often ignorant of international rights frameworks. This is evidence of what Garcia Villegas (2019) calls “a culture of disobeying the law” that runs deep in Colombia, where the State is a prime culprit in disobedience, de facto operating in a “purely symbolic reality” (2019, p. 74).

As one Afro-Descendant leader emphasized, the upshot of these realities and culture of disobedience is a perception of State abandonment and neglect of its obligations. This neglect leaves communities in extremely precarious positions to defend their territories, especially from the onslaught of criminal armed actors interested in gold mining. In his words:

The community should not have to reach these circumstances. The community should not have to be the one to confront those who are undertaking development activities, body-to-body, assuming all the risks … to defend its territory and exercise autonomy and self-determination when there is a State that has the legal tools to prevent this from happening, yet fails to do that.

In this context where territorial defense means literally coming face-to-face or body-to-body with dangerous intruders who disrespect Indigenous and Afro-Descendant authority and autonomy, the Guardia Cimarrona and the Guardia Indígena play critical roles for implementing territorial defense towards autonomy. In the next section, I examine these institutions and how they work in practice, through ethnographic vignettes.

Autonomy in Action, Autonomy in Practice: Indigenous and Cimarrona Guards in the Context of Neoliberal Extractivism

In the context of territories caught in the crossfire of warring factions over their strategic use and gold riches – and where there is ample evidence not only of “State abandonment” but of a State entangled in corruption and linked to the shadow economy – day-to-day survival is a difficult proposition, let alone achieving autonomy in the broad sense aspired to by the Resguardo and the Palenke. Yet it is this very condition that ignites creativity, that fuels potential solutions, where Indigenous and Afro-Descendant authorities mobilize all resources available, including revitalizing and strengthening their ancestral institutions. In the words of former Chief Governor of Cañamomo Lomaprieta, Héctor Jaime Vinasco: “In order to exercise autonomy, it’s necessary to strengthen the Guardia – it’s fundamental” (Vinasco, 2019).

Indeed, as the wave of violence post-Peace Accord continues washing over Indigenous and Afro-Descendent lands – as a result, among other things, of lack of implementation and new criminal actors filling the vacuum left behind by demobilized FARC – turning to self-protection mechanisms is fundamental to defending ancestral territory against invasion by outsiders intent on plundering resources. But it is also fundamental in light of the deficient official protection schemes offered by the National Protection Unit for at-risk leaders that paradoxically often place leaders at even more risk.

In this section I sketch out briefly the roots of the Resguardo Cañamomo’s Guardia Indígena and the Palenke’s Guardia Cimarrona. I show how they function in practice, focussing specifically on joint actions around mining, and teasing out gender-specific analysis related to the growing and central role of women in these institutions. I examine differing notions of ‘protection’ held by Indigenous and Afro-Descendant peoples compared to those espoused by the State. I also consider some key challenges that these institutions face in the context of armed conflict, and in coordination with the State.

Who are the Guardias (Guards)?

As outlined in a jointly written document:

The Guardias at both sites are in fact voluntary custodians, guardians and defenders of the ancestral territories, who monitor the ancestral territories on behalf of their traditional authorities, ensuring that ancestral law is implemented, and alerting the traditional authorities of foreign incursions – all without resorting to violence and without carrying weapons. (PAC, RICL, FPP, 2018, emphasis added)

According to the Resguardos’ Plan de Vida (RICL, 2009), the Resguardos’ Guardia has been in place since 2001, and is considered a critical component of the Resguardos’ Indigenous justice system, recognized in the Colombian Constitution (Articles 70, 246 and 330). With its guiding motto “ojos abiertos y oídos despiertos” (eyes open and ears awake), the Guardia monitors the Resguardos’ territory to detect any situation that could put at risk the community and its leaders. It has a “Guardia Estudiantil” (Student Guard), to ensure early education about the Guardia’s importance, and to enable inter-generational relay. It is part of the regional Guardia and represented nationally by a “mando nacional” (national coordinator). Importantly, it is inspired by older and more organizationally advanced Guardias established by other Indigenous peoples, such as the Nasa in Cauca. While the numbers shift fairly regularly, currently there are some 150 members of the Indigenous Guardia in Cañamomo, which has a population of some 24,000 Embera Chami people (PAC, RICL, FPP, 2018).

The Palenke’s Guardia Cimarrona was established in 2000 according to official versions of their story recounted by political leaders. It functioned first as a Committee for Human Rights, expanding its scope of action in the mid 2000s when it began functioning as the Guardia Cimarrona. Currently, there are some 229 members of the Guardia Cimarrona caring for the Community Councils of northern Cauca. The Palenke’s Guardia draws inspiration from the millenary institution of the Guardia Cimarrona established in the 1600s by the Palenke San Basilio, Colombia’s oldest, self-governing community of escaped slaves or cimarrones.

Yet, obtaining official State legal recognition of the Guardia Cimarrona has been an uphill battle – the subject of ongoing discrimination – and was finally achieved through the Inter-Ethnic Chapter of the 2016 FARC-EP-Santos Government Peace Accords. However, this legal backing does not have the same weight as the Constitutional recognition that the Indigenous Guardia enjoy. Indeed, while the Indigenous Guardia is integral to the Special Indigenous Jurisdiction and is constitutionally recognized, the law-making ability of Afro-Descendant peoples is still the subject of ongoing debate as regulations for Law 70 are negotiated.

In recounting this historical snapshot, I am purposely making a distinction between official versions and others, because community workshops reveal different timeframes and scopes for analysis that find both the Resguardo Cañamomo and the Palenke’s Guardia’s roots go back to far earlier times. Times when they may not have been called ‘Guardias’ or have the current organizational structure, but when very specific territorial defense mechanisms were in place that have been re-signified today.

Yet, the timing of the emergence of these protection mechanisms more formally as “Guardias” in the 2000s has everything to do with political context, and the spike of violence that Colombia was experiencing. The Resguardo Cañamomo’s leaders fell victim to bloody massacres and selective assassinations, giving rise to precautionary measures issued by the Inter-American Commission in 2002 (CRIDEC & MOVICE, 2020). The Palenke and its neighboring Indigenous communities experienced similar atrocities, with the Masacre de la Naya, the Naya Massacre in 2001, reaching new levels of horror.²¹

But it was in response to an onslaught of new threats from actors wanting to extract ancestral gold in the mid to late 2000s – when gold skyrocketed in price due to the global financial downturn (OECD, 2017; Weitzner, 2018) – that the Guardias in both places began an important phase in the further strengthening of their organizations and actions towards territorial defense and autonomy. I describe next some pivotal moments and key actions undertaken by the Palenke’s Guardia Cimarrona and Cañamomo’s Indigenous Guardia to defend their ancestral territories from unwanted mining, emphasizing their important role in upholding ancestral law towards self-government, self-determination and, ultimately, autonomy.

Guardias in Action – Emblematic moments

Guardia Cimarrona: Women on the Frontlines

The Palenke’s women and youth have a lot to do with the consolidation of the Guardia Cimarrona as it stands today, and the essence of its modus operandi. Indeed, Armando Caracas, the Palenke’s Guardia’s current Coordinator, recounts with pride the moments he considers the Guardia first began its process of formal establishment. Because the spirit and intent of these first moments infuses the logic of protection underpinning the Guardia’s subsequent actions, I retell his story using excerpts in Armando’s voice, just as he told it in a Guardia workshop held in Quinamayó in June 2019.

Moment 1: Quibdó, 2013. To set the stage, the year is 2013, when Black, Afro-Colombian, Palenquero and Raizal community members travelled from across Colombia to Quibdó, Chocó, from the 23 to the 27 of August to celebrate their First National Autonomous Congress. The broad objective was to consolidate the Afro-Colombian movement, establishing a very clear political vision and action plan, spurred by the fact that 20 years after Law 70 had been issued, there was still no regulation in place to enable implementation (ANAFRO, 2014). Much work had been done to prepare for this national gathering at the territorial level, and the Afro-Colombian movement had managed to convene some high-level discussion tables with the government. Yet, for some actors – and especially companies enriching themselves from natural resources and ancestral territories of the Afro People—this historic gathering towards organizational consolidation represented a threat. Some had the intention to sabotage the Congress.

There were going to be 7,000 people convened, and we knew we had to put in place our own mechanisms for self-protection, because there were forces trying to dismantle our Congress. What we did, and it was women and youth for the most part, was that symbolically – without weapons, but with courage – we gathered hand-in-hand, and we made a big circle around the gathering. We knew we needed to make sure that the thoughts of Black Peoples could flow. (Caracas, 2019)

But on the first day of proceedings, a break-off group had formed in a side room where people were trying to figure out how to sabotage the Congress. When Armando entered the room and tried to take the microphone to object to this conversation, a rush of people came towards him. One of the youngest women leaders of the Palenke put herself between the Coordinator and those trying to grab him, and managed to stave them off: “I held her up from behind,” said Armando, “and she kicked with her feet, and we managed to make clear that this conversation was over!” he said. “And we succeeded. And it was the Guardia – that slender and slight woman with great intellectual and physical power – and she succeeded.” Now he refers to “our Guardia Leidy” as one of the first Guardia Cimarronas. After this incident, the side gathering – that had included a woman from a mining company and six of her bodyguards carrying weapons – was asked to leave and escorted out of the building.

The retelling of these moments is important, because they reveal the essence of the type of protection to which the Guardia aspires: non-violent, forging unity and community, and enabling courageous and symbolic actions. But they also show the key leadership that women play in actions towards collective self-protection. Which takes us to a second emblematic moment for the Guardia Cimarrona, to confront criminal mining.

Moment 2: “Marcha de mujeres Afrodescendientes por el cuidado de la vida y los territorios ancestrales,” (Afro-Descendant women’s march for the care of life and ancestral territories). In 2014, the Black women of northern Cauca made international headlines when some 60 women marched from the Black Community Council of La Toma to Bogota to protest the invasion of their ancestral territory by criminal armed actors operating bulldozers and using harmful substances to extract gold.

The Community Council’s lands were protected by Constitutional Court Decision T-1045A of 2010. This Decision stopped the forced relocation of the La Toma community by a third party which had obtained a mining title on the ancestral territory of La Toma without due process of free, prior and informed consultation and consent. Further, it ordered the government to suspend all mining activities by third parties in this ancestral homeland until consultation leading to consent had been undertaken. Yet, these orders were not being upheld, and instead an invasion of bulldozers had taken place.

The women’s march eventually led to the occupation of the Ministry of the Interior in Bogota and spurred important negotiations. The women became national and international environmental and human rights defender heroes for these actions, with one of the leads – Francia Márquez – garnering the prestigious Goldman Environmental Award in 2018.

But what remains less told is the important role of the Guardia Cimarrona in accompanying these actions. Indeed, this march was pivotal for consolidating the Guardia Cimarrona, who marched 60-strong side-by-side the women. The motto of the march – “La tierra no se vende, se ama y se defiende” (the land is not for sale, it is for loving and defending) – has now become the motto that is used by the Palenke’s Guardia Cimarrona. Importantly, then, we see women taking the frontlines of territorial defense in the Palenke with this march, side-by-side with the Guardia Cimarrona who were offering them protection.

Moment 3: Joint actions to confront criminal mining. During the invasion of heavy machinery from criminal mining that peaked in 2014 and 2015, the Guardia Cimarrona worked arduously together with neighboring Indigenous Guards on joint actions to detain criminal mining. A series of steps and protocols were outlined for these actions, including obtaining the consent of the authorities of the affected Indigenous and Afro-Descendant communities where the joint actions would take place.

These autonomous actions were deemed critical in light of the failure of State actions to detain criminal mining, with many community members suspecting that corrupt State representatives alerted criminal miners to State plans to detain and destroy their machinery. As Afro-Descendant lawyer Gabino Hernández-Palomino declared at a November 2019 Resguardo-Palenke workshop, today the criminal mining invasion has largely been detained in the Palenke Alto Cauca on account of the successes of the actions of the Guardia Cimarrona, working often hand-in-hand with the Indigenous Guardia of neighboring Resguardos (Hernández, 2019).

Indigenous Guardia Resguardo Cañamomo – Upholding Indigenous Law and Government

In the Resguardo Cañamomo, the Indigenous Guardia are a critical part of upholding self-government and Indigenous Justice, and of ensuring that there are no ‘uninvited guests’ (Weitzner, 2019) trespassing on Resguardo territory. But the types of threats the Resguardo has experienced with regard to mining are slightly different to Cauca. While both territories are of great interest to multinational mining companies and the State, as well as outlawed armed actors, the Resguardo has not experienced an invasion of heavy machinery and criminal armed actors using mercury and cyanide to extract gold. Instead, the threats are potential infiltration of foreign investors wanting to make profits from the ancestral mines, including outlawed armed actors.²² But also, a handful of Indigenous miners have rebelled against Resguardo authority – with one even renouncing his indigeneity to shuck Resguardo law – with the hope of attracting, or maintaining, outside investments despite prohibitions by the Cabildo.

In short, in this context rife with conflict, one of the Indigenous Guardia’s key roles is to monitor the mines and verify implementation of Resguardo law. This can be a risky business. Simply monitoring the mines led to one Indigenous leader, Fernando Salazar Calvo, being assassinated in 2015 for his role. But attempting to enforce Resguardo law, particularly around mine closures, has also led to violent situations, with miners taking out guns or even machetes.

Importantly, the Constitutional Court’s T530/16 ordered that all mines in the Resguardo that neither comply with Resguardo law nor State law be closed. Some 18 in total have been identified. Yet to date the attempts by the police to close the ‘State’ mines have been unsuccessful, with miners continuing operations. While fear of violent reprisals permeates the failure to close the mines, there is speculation also that the non-action by the police may have to do with the “grey zones” and “clandestine connections” (Auyero, 2010) that may exist between State representatives and mine owners. In other words, the territorial dispute over regulating resources is so heightened that it seems impossible to even implement an order from the Constitutional Court. The evidence shows a State that not only lacks political will to implement the orders of the land’s highest court, but that is permeated by corruption and infiltrated by other interests. And it is in this context that an innovative proposal is now being considered.

Moment 4: Joint Indigenous-Cimarrona Guardia action towards mine closures. During the celebration of 10 years of inter-ethnic alliance between the Resguardo Cañamomo and the Palenke in November 2019, an innovative cross-regional action was proposed for the Guardia Cimarrona and the Indigenous Guardia to collaborate in the Resguardo’s mine closures. This would have to be very well prepared, and it would involve careful coordination also with the Sate to avoid criminalization and judicialization. This is still only a plan but shows the innovations that can be forged across regions and ethnicities towards autonomy.

Autonomous protection mechanisms: Mismatches in concepts of protection

While the Indigenous Guardia and Guardia Cimarrona are key institutions for upholding Indigenous and Afro-Descendant law and justice, they also play a fundamental role in territorial protection and security. If State policies and actions have left exposed ancestral territories to dispossession, violence and the global COVID-19 pandemic that we face today – including through non-action to uphold constitutionally guaranteed rights and court orders – current State protection schemes have also arguably further exposed at-risk leaders. Indeed, there is a fundamental mismatch when comparing State protection schemes with autonomous protection mechanisms offered through the Guardias, in that the concepts of protection underpinning them are almost diametrically opposed.

When a leader is at risk of death following threats, the State considers offering an individual protection scheme, which could include a cell phone, a bulletproof vest, bodyguards and a car – either bulletproof or not. Measures which often put leaders even more at risk, when the cars issued are substandard and get stuck in the mud on community roads; when the cell phones run out of their plan or break; when the bodyguards contracted by the UNP (National Protection Unit) turn out to be operators for outlawed armed actors; or when State-issued bullet-proof cars become easily identified targets, among other things.²³

Further, this band-aid solution to individual protection counters the collective nature of protection that the Guardia offers, and its fundamental spiritual aspects. In the Resguardo, traditional healers work with both the Guardia and the communal authorities to offer protection, including through the bastones, the sticks they carry. “La protección no solamente es una esquema” (“Protection isn’t only a scheme”), said Oscar Aníbal Largo Calvo, former Governor and traditional healer of the Resguardo, adding: “It must be more focussed on the spiritual aspects. The bastón is fundamental at all times. If you put spiritual strength in that bastón, it’s a protector.” Spirits are fed and ceremonies undertaken regularly in the Resguardo at key sacred sites, prior to community gatherings as a means of providing protection.

In the Palenke, conceptions about the role of the Guardia also refer to the spiritual and cultural aspects of protection and survival, and beyond this to an historical memory of resistance. As Félix Banguero, a Palenke Elder, stressed, being a Guardia today is:

a re-encountering with an historic exercise undertaken by our ancestors to respond 200-300 years back to the vicissitudes that enabled them to exist, recreate, and hold on – in the sense of resisting. It’s a re-encountering with an historical cultural heritage from their arrival until now. (Banguero, 2019)

The current Guardia Coordinator stressed that the word “Guardia” itself orients the institution:

What are we guarding? Our culture, our practice, knowledge and day-to-day life. The Guardia is maintaining the ancestral, the cultural … it’s completing our being and the space in which to be” (Caracas, 2019). Guardia Javier Peña echoed this, adding: “Who better than us, who knows our culture, our people, how we speak, how we appropriate our lives, to protect us? (Peña, 2019).

Indeed, there is a push now for Guardias to be fully recognized as the appropriate protection mechanisms for ancestral territories where they have been organized and are exercising control. The Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca has negotiated far-reaching agreements with the National Protection Unit, whereby the Council administers UNP funds and provides their own autonomous protection. This is an example that others across Colombia are considering, particularly as aspects of the Peace Accords around security (article 3.4) are negotiated regionally. International pressure is also mounting in this regard, with the Committee for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) pointing to strengthening the Indigenous Guardia and the Guardia Cimarrona as fundamental.²⁴

A Messy Reality

While I have described the spirit and intent of the Indigenous and Cimarrona Guardias in their own words and through their actions, I do not want to essentialize or romanticize these institutions (Kennemore & Postero, 2020). Indeed, these autonomous protection mechanisms are riddled with enormous challenges, particularly in the context of armed conflict. Difficulties arise from not having sufficient resources for adequate communications systems and radios, but also, for ensuring security for those communications systems that do exist. As well, some newer members are confused by why the Guardias in both places prohibit the use of weapons in the face of armed conflict, emphasizing the importance of prioritizing ongoing capacity-strengthening around values. Additionally, given the swell in the number of women and men joining the Guardias in both places, developing protocols for action that take into consideration the different vulnerabilities of women compared to men, in the face of violence, as well as psychosocial support for those who witness violence, has become key.

Ultimately, just like with any institution in the context of armed conflict, there is the potential of infiltration by dissidents and outlawed actors wanting to gain control of the Guardia. There have also been accounts of troubling incidents of ‘simulacra’, where Guardia outfits have been donned by outlawed armed actors to block roads and engage in extortion. Armed conflict is, in short, a very messy reality with which to contend in making Indigenous and Afro-Descendant autonomy a reality.

This is particularly true in post-Accord Colombia, where there is a jostling of new armed actors hoping to take over the regulatory space left behind by those FARC who have demobilized. Now community leaders do not know who the armed actors are that are roaming their territories. This is a much more volatile situation, leading to new levels of fear, and new constraints on autonomy.

Indeed, in thinking through semi-autonomous spheres, the intrusion of transnational criminal economies and its actors has degrees of effects on Indigenous and Afro-Descendant autonomies: from the possibility of a ‘co-existence’ – however uncomfortable – in which armed actors and ancestral peoples live side-by-side and open up a certain degree of dialogue and negotiation of autonomous space,²⁵ to situations where there is open conflict, uncertainty and ongoing violences and no negotiated space for autonomy, as in the current context of lethality in both the Palenke and the Resguardo.²⁶ Not losing sight of the connivances that exist between State law and armed actors, or what I call ‘raw law’, I would argue that the autonomies that Indigenous and Afro-Descendant peoples are carving out in the context of lethal armed conflict counter not only State conceptions of autonomy and the legacy of nefarious policies and neoliberal frameworks over time as Mora (2017) argues is the case with Zapatista conceptions, but are constructed, practiced and sometimes negotiated as a result of encounters with outlawed armed actors. They are dynamic autonomies that are in movement, even if “en entredicho” (in question).

Conclusions: “Guardia, Guardia!”

I close this article with an ethnographic note that summarizes the lethality experienced in 2019 that carries through to today, before drawing out some key conclusions and offering a postscript.

November 25, 2019: Community Assembly, Portachuelo, Resguardo Cañamomo

Just days after Colombia rose up on November 21, 2019 in the largest national strike in 50 years to protest the lack of implementation of the Peace Accords and a range of social injustices,²⁷ I sat under a large tent, protected from the baking sun at the General Community Assembly of the Resguardo Cañamomo, in the community of Portachuelo. I watched as Former Chief Governor Carlos Eduardo Gómez Restrepo came on stage to address the community, sweat making a line down the back of his white shirt:

“Guardia, Guardia!” he belted out. “Fuerza, Fuerza” (“Strength, Strength”) came the resounding response from the crowd. Again: “Guardia, Guardia!” Again: “Fuerza, Fuerza.” And again. The Former Chief Governor was paying homage to the Indigenous Guardia, acknowledging its importance, its hymn, before delivering his discourse: “Eighteen years ago today, with the complicity of the State, the paras (paramilitaries) marked our territory with blood and pain, with the Masacre de la Rueda. And it seems that we are back to the same thing.” And then he offered a succinct analysis of the crisis that Colombia and its ancestral peoples are facing post-Peace Accord:

The problem in this country was not the FARC ... but social injustice. The constitutional mandate is not obeyed, but rather the order of capitalism. It is allied with the mafias, with the narco, with outlawed actors. They want to silence our voices with bullets. We cannot remain silent, nor can we remain indifferent ... We cannot rest a single day without demanding our collective rights, our life plan. We are not going to give an inch. We are actors for peace, we have to honour life.

He punctuated his discourse with a chilling line: “As our Guardia’s hymn says, we know we have the strength to stand up for our rights, even if it means dying.” A chilling line, because it rings so true: everyone’s life at this Assembly is at risk.

Carlos Eduardo’s speech summarizes why prospects for autonomy are so deadly in Colombia. It underscores why, as I have argued in this article, there has been a “turn” towards self-protection mechanisms and revitalization of both the Guardia Cimarrona and the Indigenous Guardia in this new era of violence. He highlights the entanglements of the State with outlawed armed actors that have spawned a landscape of warring fragmented sovereignties, where ancestral peoples are caught in the middle. And he places at the centre of this lethal mix a key element that cuts against ancestral peoples’ thirst for life and autonomy: capitalism by accumulation, dispossession, violence and ultimately death.

Indeed, the capitalist economy – both licit and illicit – and its intrusions on ancestral lands shapes and constrains the possibilities of autonomy as defined by the Palenke and the Resguardo. It creates the violent conditions that lead to autonomy being entredicho (in question), to take up Elder Lisifrey’s analysis. Yet just how entredicho depends on the very particular contexts and possibilities of negotiating space, which in the current context of uncertainty regarding which actors are intervening, is almost non-existent.

Returning to the question I asked in the introduction: How can autonomy – as defined by the Resguardo and the Palenke, with its territorial, spiritual, cultural and lifeworld aspirations – even be held up in this lethal context? The answer the ethnographic moments and analysis in this article leads to is with renewed creativity, with alliances once never thought possible, fuelled by undying conviction, hope and strength that draws on “the re-encountering of an historical exercise of our ancestors,” to use Elder Banguero’s words. As Escobar (2018, 167) underscores, paradoxically, it is precisely in conditions of ontological occupation, repression and violence that the idea of autonomy is flourishing towards sustaining lifeworlds where “honouring life” is central.

In this article I have emphasized autonomy in action, rather than on the books, and placed front and centre the perspectives and analysis of my partners in the Palenke and the Resguardo. This is only a preliminary attempt at weaving together analysis from different lifeworlds and lifeprojects around autonomies in Colombia that merits more dialogue with critical race literature, among others. For example, in unpacking the discrimination the Guardia Cimarrona has encountered from the State compared to the Indigenous Guardia. Or examining in more detail the philosophical underpinnings of the lifeworlds that inform the Cimarrona and Indigenous Guardias and their spheres of action. How are they revitalizing these institutions? Beyond providing autonomous protection, what are their links to their autonomous justice systems? These are some questions that will guide future research and ethnography, while supporting the strengthening of these institutions.

Postscript – Prospects for autonomy in 2023

Prospects for autonomy in Colombia have taken a pivotal turn following the 2022 presidential elections ushering-in the country’s first ever left-leaning government. The Palenke’s very own Francia Márquez took the country by storm to become Colombia’s first Black vice-president, making history alongside President Gustavo Petro. Powered forward with slogans such as soy porque somos (I am because we are), vivir sabroso (living tastily), and el Pueblo no se rinde carajo—de la resistencia al poder, (the people don’t give-up – from resistance to power), the Petro/Márquez ticket deeply challenged the conservative status quo and its extractive model of development. Social leaders across the country – including those in the Resguardo and the Palenke – fervently campaigned for a Petro/Márquez win. It would open-up prospects of autonomy from within the State system, and the possibility of furthering collective life projects, life with dignity, and peace. Yet just as in the 2019 regional elections that provided the analytical backdrop for this chapter, the machinery of fear and death was in full swing in the lead-up to the 2022 presidential elections to stamp out this potential radical change. Just like in 2019, during the lead-up my WhatsApp group brimmed with bloody news daily as we witnessed a new wave of violent murders, threatening pamphlets and hate speech, spurring in turn almost non-stop public declarations, letter-writing and further strategizing to try to keep leaders alive. Both Francia Márquez and Gustavo Petro were forced to speak to supporters in public from behind bulletproof shields, having received multiple violent threats. And on the frontlines of territorial protection, the Guardia were prime targets – the number of their killings surged. Yet even in the midst of these killing fields, the hope in the air was palpable. Today, following the historic win, announcements and concrete moves to transform Colombia’s economy towards the potential of degrowth, to implement a vision of ‘total peace’ and to make real changes towards an inclusive and equitable society, continue to be met with pushbacks and violent reprisals, including attempts to assassinate Francia Márquez. With all this complexity, prospects for autonomy will remain entredicho for some time.

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Weitzner, V. (2017a). “Nosotros somos Estado”: Contested legalities in decision-making about extrac- tives affecting ancestral territories in Colombia”. Third World Quarterly, 38(5), 1198-1214. https://doi.org/10.1080/01436597.2017.1302328

(2017b). “Entre la esperanza y la angustia”: Encaminando la paz en Colombia. Documento Síntesis de un proyecto colaborativo financiado por la Embajada de Noruega en Colombia y el Reino de los Países Bajos (2014-2017). Resguardo Indígena Cañamomo Lomaprieta, Palenke Alto Cauca, Forest Peoples Programme.

———. (2018). Economía cruda/derecho crudo: pueblos ancestrales, minería, derecho y violencia en Colombia. (Tesis Doctoral en Antropología Social). Centro de Investigación y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social (CIESAS).

———. (2019). Uninvited ‘guests’: Harnessing free, prior and informed consent in Colombia. In C. Doyle, A Whitmore & H. Tugendhat (Eds), Free, Prior and Informed Consent Protocols as Instruments of Autonomy: Laying Foundations for Rights Based Engagement (pp. 48-65). InFOE, ENIP.

Interviews and citations from members of the Palenke Alto Cauca and Resguardo Indígena Cañamomo Lomaprieta undertaken by Viviane Weitzner:

Anonymous (2015). Leader, Palenke Alto Cauca. Interview, Santander de Quilichao, Cauca.

Ararat, L. (2015). Leader, Palenke Alto Cauca. Interview, La Toma, Suárez, Cauca.

Banguero, F. (2019). Leader, Palenke Alto Cauca. Strengthening the Guardía Cimarrona Workshop, Quinamayó, Cauca.

Caracas Carabalí, A. (2019). Coordinator, Guardia Cimarrona. Strengthening the Guardía Cimarrona Workshop, Quinamayó, Cauca.

Gómez Restrepo, C.E (2019). Former Governor, Resguardo Indígena Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta. General Assembly of the Resguardo Indígena Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta, Portachuelo, Caldas.

Hernández Palomino, G. (2019, 2023). Lawyer, Palenke Alto Cauca. Palenke Alto Cauca-Resguardo Indígena Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta Inter-Ethnic Workshop, Supía, Caldas; follow-up conversations electronically.

Largo Calvo, O. A. (2019). Former Governor, Resguardo Indígena Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta and Traditional Healer. Strengthening the Guardia Indígena Workshop, Casa de las Semillas, Riosucio, Caldas.

Lucumi Paz, Y. V (2015). Leader, Palenke Alto Cauca. Interview, Casa Verde, Vereda Dominguillo, Santander de Quilichao, Cauca.

Mina, L. L. (2015). Leader, Palenke Alto Cauca. Interview, Casa Verde, Vereda Dominguillo, Santander de Quilichao, Cauca.

Peña, J. (2019). Guardia Cimarrona. Strengthening the Guardía Cimarrona Workshop, Quinamayó, Cauca.

Vinasco, H. J. (2015). Former Governor, Resguardo Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta. Interview, Riosucio, Caldas.

Vinasco, H. J. (2019). Former Governor, Resguardo Colonial Cañamomo Lomaprieta. Strengthening the Guardia Indígena Workshop, Casa de las Semillas, Riosucio, Caldas.