Introduction—In the Andes park of Chacarita, there is a monument named after the park that represents three men from different indigenous groups—Selk’nam, Tehuelche and Calchaquí—respectively from the south, center and north of what today many call Argentina. Although the statue was built in 1941 by the Argentinian sculptor Luis Perlotti, it is commonly believed to have been created to commemorate the first malón of peace (malón de la paz), a delegation of indigenous people who, in 1946, walked from the northern province of Jujuy to Buenos Aires to claim titles for their lands to the federal government, then led by Juan Domingo Perón (1946—1955). This is why people often refer to it as “The Malón of Peace” rather than using its real name, “The Andes”. In this way, the statue—originally created to celebrate the romanticized indigenous roots of a whitened country—acquired a new political meaning, standing as an important symbol of indigenous existence, resistance and political action in a country that, heir to the Spanish colonial invasion[1], since the late 19th century, has been building its national identity on aspirations of whiteness and Europeanness.

At the beginning of December 2023, the statue was vandalized, and the arm of the Selk’nam man holding a bow was mutilated. To provide some context, Javier Milei had been elected as the new President of Argentina on November 19 and was set to assume office on December 10, a date that also marked the 40th anniversary of the return to democracy after the last dictatorship (1976 – 1983). A few months later, while I was in Buenos Aires conducting my initial fieldwork, Sisasmedio—an indigenous platform dedicated to “anti-racist communication for indigenous voices to gain political power”—shared the message of indigenous people living in the city, who were calling a gathering in “The Andes Park” on the occasion of the American Indian Day to discuss the possible reasons for the vandalization of the statue and explore potential strategies to respond to it.

Part of the people gathered there argued that the mutilation was the latest demonstration of long-standing racist practices against indigenous people, whereas others contended that racism had nothing to do with this specific event, or at least was not the primary factor behind it. Instead, they pointed to the tremendous economic crisis the country is experiencing[2], suggesting that the mutilated arm could have provided a considerable amount of copper to sell for money. Both sides agreed that one reason did not necessarily exclude the other and that, regardless of real causes, it was necessary to elaborate strategies to challenge racist and colonial practices in Buenos Aires, which a Mapuche attendee[3], born and raised in the capital, defined as “the epicenter of colonization” and its perpetuation.

Far from being isolated instances of daily encounters with “the state”, the main points raised in the discussion—racism, the economic crisis, and colonialism—are integral parts or byproducts of the “development” project pursued by the ruling class since the early days of the Argentine nation-state, founded in 1816. Indeed, the initial vision of a liberal order based on freedom and equality[4]was soon replaced by the narrative of a war between “civilization” and “barbarism” (Lenton 2010). The 1837 Generation, an intellectual movement primarily centered in Buenos Aires, played a significant role in celebrating—and romanticizing—this struggle, which served as the foundation for the mission of bringing “civilization” to an alleged “desert” (Lenton 2010). The civilizing project carried out by the European elites was to be achieved by replacing the indigenous population with European immigrants and the “desert” with cultivated lands to satisfy the growing demands of the European market upon which the national economy was heavily dependent. 

The vandalized monument, its political resignification as a tribute to the first malón of peace, and the resignification of the malón itself, all occurred over time, are expressions of this contested story, materializations of hegemonic narratives and counter-narratives about the role of indigenous people and the Argentine nation-state in this disputed “desert”. This article focuses on the state’s multiple attempts to frame, shape, and contain the “indigenous question”, outlining the laws, practices, and discourses through which indigenous claims have been addressed, voiced, and silenced by the Argentine nation-state. Therefore, it primarily focuses on the construction of one version of the story—the state’s version—while indigenous voices will feature more prominently in future posts. This first piece aims to provide non-expert readers with general knowledge about the federal legal and political framework within which this political dispute, which is also epistemological and existential, has developed over time. 

Civilization vs. barbarism: the rise of a white national project —The term “malón”—which in Mapuzugun refers to the idea of going and coming back[5]— makes its appearance in Argentine history to describe the indigenous raids carried out against European settlers throughout the 19th century, in response to the border war initiated by the Argentine government to control and expand the borders of the nascent nation-state. These expeditions—funded by landowners who received thousands of hectares as a reward for their financial support (Gordillo 2020; Radovich 2014)—culminated in the misnamed "Conquest of the Desert" (1879) and "Conquest of the Chaco" (1884). Both campaigns were led by Julio Roca, still celebrated today as one of the founding fathers of Argentina. Between 1879 and 1911, the military campaigns in Patagonia and the Chaco resulted in the annexation of over 60 million hectares to the territory of the Argentine nation-state (Ruiz Díaz 2024).

The military advance resulted in the massacre of thousands of indigenous people. Those who survived the genocide were sent to concentration camps, such as Martín García Island. The deportations were massive, with people displaced over long distances, mainly on foot (Delrio 2018). Many died from hunger or disease, and those who survived were either forced into semi-slave labor in the sugar harvest in the north or in the extraction of stone and sand in the case of Martín García Island; given as domestic servants to wealthy families in urban areas; or, incorporated into the national army or navy, in the case of men (Delrio 2018; Papazian y Nagy 2018; Ruiz Díaz 2024).

The artistic production of that period reinforced the dichotomy between civilization and barbarism, echoing political discourses that demonized indigenous people and reduced them to "vanishing savages", while glorifying military expeditions as civilizing missions. Numerous paintings from this era depict indigenous people as fierce armed men galloping on horseback, killing white men, and abducting “their” women. In stark contrast, Argentine soldiers are portrayed standing statically and orderly in rows, set against an ideologically constructed desert landscape. This narrative relegated indigenous peoples to the past, denying them a place in the present and future of the nascent nation-state (Lenton 2010).

 Adhering to the Alberdian motto “to govern is to populate”, the federal constitution of 1853 reflected the national project of whiteness. It promoted the immigration of Europeans willing to “cultivating the land, enhancing industries and teaching the sciences and the arts”(art. 25), while assigning Congress the responsibility to maintain peaceful relations with indigenous people and promote their conversion to Catholicism (art. 64.15). Viewed as obstacles to this national project—conceptualized by Gordillo (2020) as “White Argentina”[6]—indigenous people were to be erased through extermination or assimilation. For this purpose, they were simultaneously treated as the object of sociological inquiries and museological displays, preaching  the myth of their definitive extinction[7], and as subjects of indigenist policies aimed at assimilating them through work and religion (Lenton 2010). 

State attempts of assimilation through labor and “reparation”—In the early 20th century, the centenary of Argentina's independence prompted reflections on national identity. The role of indigenous people in contemporary Argentina became part of the debate. Once again, they were relegated to the past, with Argentines’ indigenous roots recognized only in biological terms, while contemporary indigenous groups were depicted as populations on the verge of extinction (Lenton 1997). Their alleged backwardness was framed as a threat to the progress of Argentine society and was to be eradicated through their integration into the labor market (Lenton 1997). 

In the national territories of Chaco and Formosa, this political project materialized in the creation of a system of state-run reductions (reducciones) that operated between 1911 and 1955, aimed to sedentarize, discipline, and control the Qom, Moqoit, Pilagá, and Wichí peoples (Ruiz Díaz 2024). Through these reductions, indigenous populations were relocated to designated areas, facilitating the annexation of supposedly abandoned territories, which were converted into public lands of the nation-state (Apaza 2007). In this regard, Musante (2018) notes that the reduction system "cannot be analyzed without considering its contemporaneity with the military campaigns in the region, the privatization of territories through the allocation of land to large landowners, and the economic boom of sugar plantations, and the consequent need for cheap labor."

The Unión Cívica Radical, in power from 1916 to 1930, adhered to the project of assimilation through work that had been pursued since the early 20th century. As Radovich (2014) points out, indigenous people’s cultural difference was confused with and reduced to “inequality” in the progressive line of “development,” and the national government brought further the idea that suppressing differences would lead to overcoming social inequalities. We witness a shift in state policies, which began to approach indigenous people as subjects of state protection (Lenton 2010). Within this framework, the federal government introduced the concept of a debt towards indigenous people that required historical and cultural reparation (Lenton 1997). The former was to be achieved through the fight against latifundios, which implied land redistribution and a more equitable application of constitutional guarantees and labor rights, while cultural reparation was aimed at extending state educational services to groups that had not received them until then (Lenton1997). 

It is important to note that, on July 19, 1924, under this very government, the Gendarmerie Regiment and the police executed more than 700 Qom and Moqoit people who were demanding better working conditions at the Napalpí reduction, established in 1911 in the National Territory of Chaco. As Musante mentions, “the Napalpí massacre was a consequence of the characteristics of the disciplining system imposed by the state and private sectors of the region on indigenous peoples. The massacre continued in the following days with the police pursuing people through the forest. Accounts of survivors are filled with horror and cruelty—murders of children, rapes, mutilations, and bodies burned in mass graves” (Agencia Tierra Viva 2024).

During the Infamous Decade (1930–1946), inaugurated by the military coup of 1930 led by José Félix Uriburu, the indigenous question was relegated to the margins of the governmental agenda, reappearing only in the creation of monuments to “the Indian” and other forms of tribute to the glorious past of indigenous people. They were celebrated as defenders of their territory against Spanish conquerors, but once again excluded from the national present (Lenton 1997). Luis Perlotti’s sculpture “The Andes” (1941) dates back to this period. Before becoming a symbol of indigenous resistance in contemporary Argentina, the statue aligned with the government's efforts to shape a national history that distanced Argentina from its colonial ties to Spain by celebrating the romanticized indigenous roots of what was believed to have become a white country. 

It is worth mentioning that, through Law 12.636 of 1940, the federal government established the National Agrarian Council (which was dissolved by Peron’s government in 1948) to optimize the use of the nation’s cultivable land. The law included, amongst other measures, the distribution of land titles to “the Indigenous of the country” (Art. 66), while the decree that operationalized it—Decree 10.1063 of 1943—specified that land parcels, referred to as “colonies”, would be distributed based on the characteristics of each indigenous group, with the ultimate purpose of facilitating their final incorporation into “civilized life”. According to the decree, selected groups would receive basic education and Catholic instruction, and land allocations would become permanent after a trial period of 10 years, provided the grantees demonstrated adequate technical skills and moral qualities ( Direction of Parliamentary Information 1991). Finally, the decree established that the council would be responsible for the civil registration of indigenous individuals, a significant step in state policy considering that most indigenous people had been undocumented until then (Lenton 1997; Direction of Parliamentary Information 1991). While their inclusion in civil registers contributed to making them visible in a society that continued to deny their difference, it also meant a new form of state control. Overall, they were treated as children to be educated and citizens to be improved through the paternalistic action of the Argentine state.  

Labor reforms and politics of (in)visibility in the Argentine melting pot—Perón, who came to power in 1946, continued framing the indigenous question as a matter of social inequality that needed to be addressed through labor reforms. While presenting the indigenous question as a class struggle, the government downplayed the racist dimension of indigenous people’s segregation, marginalization, and dispossession. Although Peronism distanced itself from the image of a white Argentina, pursuing that of a “melting pot”,  this shift in narrative has been interpreted in contrasting ways. On the one hand, some argue that the celebration of diversity remained confined to the rhetorical vindication of the indigenous roots of the Argentine people, whose destiny was to achieve homogenization through labor (Gordillo 2020; Lenton 2010). On the other hand, other view the first Peronism as a driver of significant advances in state indigenist policies, reflected in the recognition and valorization of indigenous cultures, as well as in the inclusion of indigenous people in the national political forum (Vizia 2023). 

To support the first interpretation, two key events are frequently invoked that highlight contradictions in Peron’s discourse and practices. The first event is the malón of peace, which occurred in 1946 when a group of nearly 200 indigenous delegates, led by an army officer sympathetic to their cause, walked from the northern provinces of Salta and Jujuy, to Buenos Aires to demand the issuance of land titles to the federal government. Though briefly welcomed by Perón and some Congress members, the delegates were soon transferred to the reception center for European immigrants. A few weeks later, the police escorted them to the train station, using teargas and violence to coerce them to return to their provinces. The second event is the Rincón Bomba massacre, which occurred on October 10, 1947. The national gendarmerie executed more than 500 Pilagá people, leaving around 200 missing (ENDEPA 2024). As reported by Pagina12 (Aranda 2019), "the repression lasted over 20 days, with gendarmes pursuing indigenous people into the forest, shooting them and committing sexual abuses against women. There were hundreds of arrests, and people were taken as slaves to the Bartolomé de las Casas and Francisco Muñiz colonies," both of which had been functioning as state-run reductions since 1914 and 1934, respectively.

In contrast, proponents of the second interpretation argue that Perón’s mestizo roots—he had Tehuelche ancestors on his mother’s side—influenced his concern for the indigenous cause. His 1934 work “Toponimia Patagónica de Etimología Araucana”, compiled while he was a lieutenant colonel in the army, is cited as evidence of his personal interest in indigenous cultures. Furthermore, the transformation of the Honorary Commission of Indian Reductions into the National Directorate for the Protection of the Aboriginal through decree 1594/46 is seen as  a significant step in state indigenist policies towards a formal recognition of indigenous rights, although still maintaining a paternalistic attitude. This shift was also reflected in the appointment of the Mapuche Jerónimo Maliqueo as the head of the Directorate in 1953. Additionally, the government’s adhesion to the Inter-American Indigenous Institute in 1947, and the 1949 constitutional reform—which eliminated the reference to peaceful relations with the "Indians" and their conversion to Catholicism in art. 67.15—are also viewed as part of this political trajectory.  However, while the constitutional amendment might suggest progress in the state's perception of indigenous peoples, it is important to note that the cultural difference previously marked in the text—by othering indigenous people and implying their necessary assimilation—were not addressed but simply omitted.

The 1949 Constitution was repealed by the government of General Pedro Eugenio Aramburu (1955–1958), who assumed power after the "Revolución Libertadora," the coup that overthrew Perón in 1955. Aramburu's regime sought to "de-Peronize" society by erasing all traces of the recent past. As part of this process, the Peronist Party was dissolved, its members were barred from holding public office, and the use of Perón's name, along with any symbols or terms associated with Peronism, was banned. Figures like sociologist Gino Germani "scientifically" backed some of the prejudices against Peronism, such as the idea that Perón was supported mainly by "the poor and culturally 'backward' people from the interior" (Adamovsky 2020: 211). During these years, Peronists began to identify with the figure of the "cabecita negra," reappropriating their opponents' criticisms and starting to "openly attack the middle sectors for their racism, their European fantasies, and their misunderstanding of national problems" (Adamovsky 2020: 214).

Meanwhile, the indigenous question began to gain visibility at the international level, leading the International Labor Organization (ILO) to address the subject for the first time through Convention n.107 on “the protection and integration of indigenous population in independent countries”, which Argentina ratified in 1959, under Frondizi’s presidency (1958–1962). Both Frondizi and Illía (1963-1966) followed the paternalist direction adopted by their predecessors. However, it is worth mentioning that in 1966, the federal government conducted the first national indigenous census, which, although flawed from the start, marked the political recognition of the contemporary existence of populations culturally different from the hegemonic one (Lenton 1997).

From the military repression of “subversive” forces to the legal recognition of diversity—During the military dictatorships of Onganía, Levingston, and Lanusse (1966—1973), the government implemented community development projects directed at indigenous groups,  with the underlying purpose of securing national borders (Lenton 1997). These policies, developed in the context of the Cold War, reflected the National Security Doctrine, formulated in the Unites States and publicly adopted by Onganía in 1964. This doctrine introduced the idea of a simultaneously territorial and ideological frontier that needed to be defended against both the communist threat and the “internal enemy” that embodied it (Miguez 2013). The working class—which most of the indigenous population was part of—was seen as the main representative of this subversive threat that needed to be disciplined and eradicated (Lenton 2013).

The brief return to Peronism (1973—1976) did not represent a break with the repressive policies of previous years. On the contrary, during Peron’s government, the penal code was amended to criminalize strikes and any worker actions undertaken without union support. Law 20.480 was enacted , imposing imprisonment for spreading ideas considered subversive. Furthermore, extreme right-wing paramilitary groups were established with the support of the administrative authorities, later becoming part of the repressive apparatus of the last military dictatorship (1976—1983). 

Following the 1976 military coup , the military juntas that ruled the country until 1983 perpetrated the systematic disappearance of thousands of people, who were imprisoned, tortured, and killed on mere suspicion of “subversion”. Amongst the many clandestine detention centers was “El Vesubio”, located in the south of the capital, on the banks of the Matanza river, and which was later transformed into a space of memory. It is worth noting that “matanza” translates to “massacre” and while the origin of the river’s name remains uncertain, it is widely believed that it was named after the Spanish expedition led by Pedro de Mendoza in the 16th century, which resulted in the massacre of the Querandí people inhabiting the area. Today, the river stands as a witness to multiple experiences of violence and the enduring struggle between “civilization” and its others.  The continuity of this struggle was underscored by the same military regime that, in 1979, celebrated the centenary of the “Conquest of the Desert” with military parades and publications glorifying General Roca, explicitly linking the 19th-century expeditions against indigenous nations and the contemporary fight against “Marxist subversion” (Gordillo 2020).

The fall of the last military regime in 1983 and the trial against the high-ranking officials of the military juntas marked a significant transformation of the national political landscape, steering the political debate on human rights protection and the recognition of minority rights. During this period, neoliberal multiculturalism, originating in the U.S., began to permeate political discourses both nationally and internationally, as exemplified by the 1992 UN Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities. Paraphrasing Segato (1998), modernity—understood as an ideological construction rather than a historical period—shifted from earlier aspirations of homogeneity to the celebration of diversity. As a product of this wind of change, in 1985 the federal government enacted Law 23.302 on “Indigenous Politics and Support to Aboriginal Communities”. The law targeted communities rather than individuals, aligning with an increasing trend—observed and questioned by Lenton (2010)—of adopting the concept of “community” as epitome of indigeneity. Lenton (2010) argues that this approach imposes a pre-formulated idea of collectiveness on different peoples, overlooking the multiple possibilities within indigenous categories.

Law 23.302 recognized the legal status of indigenous communities, defining them as family groups self-identifying as “indigenous communities” based on their descent from populations that inhabited the territory during the conquest and colonial period (Art.2). To acquire legal personhood, these communities were required to register in the National Registry of Indigenous Communities (RE.NA.C.I.) established under the law (art.2). The law also created the National Institute of Indigenous Affairs (Art.5), responsible for maintaining this registry (art.6), issuing land titles to registered communities (art.7-9), and providing them with essential support through technical (Art.10), educational, and cultural services (Art.14). These services were aimed to ensure the integration of indigenous communities into national society while simultaneously preserving and enhancing their unique historical and cultural identities (Art.14). These measures reveal a tension between the state’s aspiration of “de-tribalizing” indigenous people—in order to facilitate their complete integration in the national society—and its need to spatialize and tribalize their difference in order to contain and control it (Lenton 2010). 

Shifting narratives and policies under Menem—In 1992, under Carlos Menem’s presidency (1989–1999), the commemoration of the 500th anniversary of European settlers’ arrival in Abya Yala (the pre-colonial name for the Americas)[8] sparked a debate about the rights of indigenous peoples  in Argentina and the broader region. The discussion implied the questioning of the hegemonic narrative built on the notion of the “discovery” of a “New World” and the idea of the “vanishing” of its first peoples. New counter-narratives challenging the dominant version of history emerged together with new claims for both the recognition of indigenous rights and the self-determination of indigenous nations. In response to this political ferment, in 1992, the federal government enacted Law 24.071, ratifying the ILO Convention No. 169 on indigenous and tribal peoples. Unlike its predecessor, which had been criticized for its paternalistic approach, Convention n.169 recognized indigenous people as active political actors and introduced measures implicitly aimed at ensuring their self-determination, including the recognition of their right to free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC). Two years later, in 1994, the national Congress amended the 1853 federal constitution, replacing Art. 64.15—which regulated the government’s relationship with indigenous people—with Art. 75.17, which stated that: 

“the national Congress must recognize the ethnic and cultural pre-existence of Argentina's indigenous peoples; ensure respect for their identity and their right to bilingual and intercultural education; acknowledge the legal personhood of their communities, as well as their communal possession and ownership of the lands they traditionally occupy; regulate the distribution of additional lands that are suitable and sufficient for human development, none of which shall be alienable, transferable, or subject to liens or seizures. Congress must ensure the participation of indigenous communities in the management of their natural resources and other matters that affect them. Provinces may concurrently exercise these responsibilities.”

The Constitutional Convention unanimously approved Art.75.17, but records from the session reveal concerns about the use of the term “pre-existence”, as members feared it might encourage separatist aspirations among indigenous groups. The word was accepted with the understanding that it would refer to their cultural and historical pre-existence, without compromising or questioning their status as Argentine citizens. Art.75.17 reflects this political intent by defining the group at stake as “indigenous people of Argentina.” In this sense, although most of the speeches attached to the records framed Argentina as a pluricultural and pluri-ethnic nation, recognizing and even celebrating diversity, what distinguished indigenous people had to comply with the limits and conditions dictated by the nation-state.[9]

Finally, during both of Menem’s administrations, the state gradually withdrew from shaping indigenous policies, while NGOs and international cooperation funds took on an increasingly significant role in this task. As Castelnuovo and Boivin (2014) write, since the 1980s, NGOs have become prominent political actors throughout the Latin American region, both due to their greater knowledge and proximity to grassroots organizations and because of the shift in the policies of funding agencies, which stopped seeing states as the primary responsible parties for development. More generally, under Menem's governments, a series of neoliberal reforms were implemented through the Convertibility Plan and Structural Adjustment Programs, aimed at privatizing previously public sectors, favoring the import of foreign products, and increasing the flexibilization of the labor market. These reforms led to a growing deindustrialization, the devaluation of the Argentine peso, and worse living conditions for the population, triggering widespread social protests that culminated in the December 2001 riots, ultimately leading to the resignation of President De la Rúa (1999–2001).

Recognition and struggles under the Kirchners—Finally, Néstor Kirchner (2003–2007) and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner (2007–2015) finally assumed leadership, maintaining it for over a decade. Drawing on the Peronist legacy, they embraced a pro-Latin-America discourse, once again replacing the project of a homogenous white country with that of a melting pot resulting from different cultural and ethnic traditions. Specifically, regarding the government’s stance towards indigenous people, the Kirchners took some symbolic steps towards the recognition of indigenous claims. In this sense, in 2006, Congress enacted Law 26.160, which declared a state of emergency concerning lands traditionally occupied by indigenous communities with legal personhood granted by the RE.NA.CI. The law, initially valid for four years, suspended any legal actions aimed at evicting indigenous communities from their traditional lands and created a special fund of 30.000 million pesos for technical, legal, and cadastral surveys of indigenous lands. For this purpose, in 2007, the National Institute of Indigenous Affairs created the National Program for the Territorial Survey of Indigenous Communities (RE.TE.CI). That same year, the government ratified the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People (UNDRIP), which for the first time expressly recognized indigenous people’s right to self-determination (Art.3). Additionally, the Kirchners strongly supported the “Túpac Amaru Neighborhood Association” initiated by Milagro Sala in Jujuy. Although the work carried on by the association was framed as a class struggle, a great part of its members and beneficiaries were indigenous. 

In this political scenario, the second malón of peace blocked national roads  in 2006, paralyzing much of Jujuy province and compelling the provincial government to begin distributing over a million hectares of land to indigenous communities. As a matter of fact, while kirchnerism adopted discourses and practices more favorable compared to the previous governments it simultaneously supported intensive soybean production in Salta, where millions of hectares of forests were cleared and thousands of indigenous families were displaced, especially in the Chaco region (Gordillo 2020). Moreover, after nationalizing the oil company YPF in 2012, the government of Cristina Fernández de Kirchner reached an agreement between YPF and Chevron, a company infamously known for its environmental and social damage in Ecuador’s Amazon. The agreement opened the door to fracking in Vaca Muerta, Neuquén, Northern Patagonia. These decisions contradicted the purpose of Law 26.160, which, although extended four times, has failed to provide any structural, long-term solution to indigenous land claims due to its temporary and emergency nature.

The return of White Argentina and the criminalization of indigenous struggles—Indigenous people’s situation got worse when Mauricio Macri succeeded Cristina Fernández de Kirchner as president (2015–2019). After promising during his campaign, to finally find a solution to indigenous claims, Macri presented himself as the heir of the civilizing mission initiated in the late 19th century, as demonstrated by the neoliberal policies implemented and the political narrative imposed by his government. Macri explicitly linked his administration to this legacy, stating that “the collaboration between Mercosur and Europe is natural because in South America we are all descendants of Europeans” (Pagina12 2018), and referring to his infrastructures and industrialization program in the northern provinces as “the conquest of the north”. As Gordillo (2020) points out, for Macri, “developing” the more indigenous-mestizo regions of the country implied conquering them, reflecting his attachment to the foundational violence of White Argentina and his admiration for General Roca. These discursive and economic whitening operations were accompanied by the criminalization of indigenous people, who were increasingly depicted and treated as terrorists—a new trend in Argentina’s history (CELS 2021; Defensoría del Público 2022). In this political atmosphere, the Jujuy criminal court condemned Milagro Sala in 2016 for participating in a demonstration. Since then, new charges related to her management of Tupac Amaru’s funds have been brought against her. As of now, she remains under house arrest. The criminalization of indigenous people led to the increasing militarization of their territories. The killing of Raphael Nahuel, a member of the Mapuche settlement Lof Lafken Winkul Mapu, Río Negro, who was assassinated by the police in 2017, tragically exemplifies this trend.
     
The political persecution of indigenous people continued under the presidency of Alberto Fernández (2019–2023) with Cristina Fernández de Kirchner as vice-president. Alberto Fernández did not break with the whitening discourse reintroduced by Macri. In line with his predecessor, Fernández declared in 2021 that “unlike Mexicans who descend from ‘indios’ or Brazilians who came from the forest, Argentines are the direct descendants of the Europeans who reached the American shores by boat”[10]. Indigenous land claims continued to be silenced and violently repressed, as demonstrated by the events of October 2022, when a special unit of the federal police broke into the Mapuche lof Lafken Winkul Mapu—the same lof that Rafael Nahuel was defending—shooting and using teargas against women and children, arbitrary arresting seven women, and transferring them to Buenos Aires, far from their families. The event prompted Elizabeth Gómez Alcorta to resign as Minister for Women, Genders and Diversity as a sign of protest for what had occurred. In June 2023, protests erupted in Jujuy to oppose the reform of the provincial constitution, which granted the provincial executive branch discretionary power to appropriate indigenous lands, violating indigenous people’s right to free, prior, and informed consent. Although protests in Jujuy were violently repressed, they continued and culminated in the third malón of peace, which reached Buenos Aires in August 2023 and remained there until December, leaving just a few days after Milei assumed the presidency. 

The election of Milei as new president of Argentina marks the most recent chapter in the evolving relationship between the Argentine nation-state and indigenous people. In less than a year, his administration has already enacted several measures that severely impacted indigenous people and Argentine society as a whole. Just to mention a few, the government dissolved the National Institute Against Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Racism (INADI); introduced a new promotional regime called RIGI to attract foreign investments in key sectors such as raw material extraction and agribusiness; and dissolved the National Register of Indigenous Communities (RE.NA.CI). The political direction and discourse adopted by Milei, along with the implications of these recent measures affecting indigenous people, will be analyzed in future posts. 

What is the place of indigenous people in contemporary Argentina?—The figure of the malón appears repeatedly in this article, tracing the evolution of Argentina’s indigenist policies since their early days. Initially, it was used to refer to the indigenous raids against European settlements and to depict indigenous people as savages to be defeated for the sake of civilization. From 1946 onward, the term assumed a new meaning, shifting from waging war to an external enemy to negotiate participation in the national political terrain. In his analysis of the use the term “malón” through time, Gordillo (2020) also speaks of the “white malón” [el malón blanco], an allegory of the expropriating expansion of the Argentine nation-state over indigenous territories. This allegory reappears over time under different narratives, presidencies, and names. Like the malón, the statue in the Andes park also assumes new names and meanings, suspended between its original function of honoring the past presence of an allegedly vanished people and the celebration of the contemporary struggle of indigenous people who, in fact, never disappear and always resisted silencing and whitening attempts.

These resignifications and recontextualizations suggest a condition of multiplicity and ambivalence, which we also find in the way indigenous people have been depicted and treated by the federal government over time: as savages to be defeated, tamed and assimilated; as workers to be educated, assisted and protected; as terrorists and criminals to be punished and stopped by all means. Finally, the federal government itself is caught in ambivalence, simultaneously assuming the role of protector of indigenous peoples’ rights and oftentimes operating against them. This uncertain terrain of shifting meanings and roles can bring further violence and destruction, but it  also holds the promise of an unfinished story that may lead us to find other meanings, and new ways of existing together.

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* I adopt Lenton’s (2010; 2013) distinction between the terms “indigenist”, “indianist”, and “indigenous”. According to the author, “indigenist politics” refer to strategies, practices, and discourses adopted by non-indigenous actors with the stated aim of benefiting indigenous people. Lenton explains that the term “indianist” emerged in the 1980s to refer to those indigenist politics elaborated and formulated by indigenous people themselves, while “indigenous politics” as defined as the forms of representation and strategies for participation or autonomy specifically pursued by indigenous organizations.

** In the middle of the wall: “Only the Indian will free the Indian from Macri”. To the right: “Tinelli hands over Mapuche lands”.

[1] Following the teaching of some of my indigenous collaborators in Buenos Aires, I choose not to adopt the image of the conquest often used to refer to Spanish colonization, instead using the term “invasion”. As my collaborators emphasize, the term “conquest” evokes the idea of a conflict that occurred in the past, resulting in a definitive victory and a final defeat, which implied the submission of both the vanquished and the territory they inhabit to the power and control of the victors. In contrast, the concept of “invasion” implies a critical stance towards the colonial act, stressing its violent and unfinished nature.

[2] According to the data released by INDEC in 2024, 52,9% of the national population is below the poverty line.

[3] According to the 2022 census conducted by INDEC, 1,306,730 people identify as indigenous, representing 2.9% of the national population. The census identifies 58 indigenous peoples within the borders of the Argentine nation-state. The most numerous groups are: Mapuche, Guaraní, Diaguita, Qom, Kolla, Wichí, Quechua, Comechingón, Huarpe, Mapuche-Tehuelche, Aymara, Moqoit, Tehuelche, Ranquel, Mbyá Guaraní, Tonokoté, Omaguaca, Charrúa, Atacama, Pilagá, Chané, and Chorote. 

[4] As highlighted in the publication La Palabra Indígena (Ruiz Díaz et al. 2024), the provisional governments of the emerging nations on both sides of the Andes sought to involve the indigenous population in the fight against the royalist troops: “The idea of an Argentine nation that included the plurality of Indigenous nations was even present in the failed project by Manuel Belgrano to establish a constitutional monarchy in America, based in Cuzco, in an attempt to build a South American empire that would include the Viceroyalty of Peru and its vast indigenous population. The Inca king Belgrano sought to propose was Juan Bautista Túpac Amaru, half-brother of José Gabriel Condorcanqui—Túpac Amaru II—the Inca leader executed by the Spanish in 1781 after leading the Indigenous uprisings in Peru” (17) (my translation).

[5] Mapuzugun—also known as Mapudungun—is the language spoken by the Mapuche people. According to the data released by INDEC, 29.3% of the indigenous population in Argentina speaks or understands their people's language (INDEC 2024).

[6] Gordillo (2020) defines “White Argentina” as “a territorial and class project that manifests itself in daily life through the often unconscious desire to perceive the national geography as predominantly European” (10). He characterizes the hegemonic perception of Argentine whiteness as an “unfinished project” (12) that denies racial diversity within Argentine society and reflects what Ann Stoler describes as “an affective condition of disregard” toward certain characteristics of reality (11).

[7] At the end of the 19th century, Argentine anthropologists, like their European counterparts, treated indigenous people as objects to study—both dead and alive—under the pretext of preserving biological and cultural data about peoples deemed on the brink of extinction. In 1884, Francisco Moreno—who assisted General Roca during the Conquest of the "Desert" by providing crucial information to facilitate military control over indigenous lands—funded the Museum of Natural Sciences in La Plata. The museum housed thousands of human remains from indigenous people killed in military campaigns. Moreno also brought the cacique Inacayal and his family to the museum, where they were forced to live and work, eventually dying there. In 2001, Argentina passed Law 25.517, which required national museums to return indigenous remains to their communities. The Museum of La Plata removed its last human remains from display in 2006 (!).

[8] “Abya Yala” is the term used by the Kuna people of Colombia and Panama to refer to the American continent. It translates to “living land” or “land that flourishes.” The use of “Abya Yala” instead of “America” is part of a broader decolonial struggle through which Indigenous peoples challenge the colonial legacy established by European settlers and perpetuated to this day across discursive, physical, and existential domains.

[9] As Segato (1998) points out, the benefit of introducing new political identities lies in the possibility, for the members of the defined group, to claim access to resources and guarantees of rights. However, what can be claimed or desired is also determined, as an imposed goal. In this way, complex social identities, local forms of 'being other,' are reduced to virtual categories produced at the national and international level.

[10] During fieldwork, one of my collaborators argued that Fernández's statement hides a kernel of truth: namely, that all Argentines are European, since Argentina is a settler state that continues to occupy indigenous lands. His view differs from that of other indigenous people, who were outraged by Fernández's statement, seeing it as the expression of the invisibilization of indigenous peoples in the name of the hegemonic whitening project. These differing reactions reveal divergent ways of relating to the state and, consequently, different political aspirations: one side rejecting the state as a whole, the other aiming to reform it from within.


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