“There Is No Poverty Here”

“There is no poverty here”

Community natural resource management, autonomy and self-development in Kuna Yala

Oliver Cem Ayyildiz 10861289 MSc International Development Studies Graduate School of Social Sciences University of Amsterdam June 24, 2015

Supervisor: Enrique Gomez Llata Second reader: Arij Ouweneel

ABSTRACT

The relationship between Indigenous Peoples and natural resources has emerged as an important focus of debates on self-determination. This has grown under the rise of post-development theory, though it remains a politically loaded and evolving topic. This thesis presents the findings of a nine-week study in Ustupu in the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, Panama. Framed around a postcolonial approach, the aim was to unearth knowledge and tactics of self-development based on nature and participation in order to understand how the community sets alternative development strategies. The research found that the main strand of discourse on Indigenous Peoples as guardians of nature who resist Western governmentality and anti-modernity only partly coincides with the experiences for the Kuna in Ustupu. Through an actor-oriented approach, the role of farmers, community representatives and knowledge brokers was analysed in relation to experiences with the land and political agency. The methods of data gathering included in-depth interviews, participant observations, transect walks and secondary quantitative information. Political speeches and rallies in both Ustupu and Panama City also lent themselves to building a more systemic view of Kuna self- determination and relative to the situation of other indigenous groups in Panama and globally. Autonomy is hybridised and driven by territorialisation of the land and unstable relations with Panama. Knowledge formation and community mobilisation take place through access to the tropical forest and marine resources. Natural resource users, especially farmers, are important actors in this process and must negotiate a social contract and cultural traditions set by the community. In these efforts, nature, community participation and food production are positioned at the core of the Kuna cosmovision, and are driven by community representatives who harness networks and ties at multiple scales. The research implies that self-determination is dependent on territorialisation over the land. This interdependent relationship helps to support knowledge formation, food production and a globalised struggle, which subsequently encourages adaptive capacity and anti-modernity strategies.

Keywords: Indigenous Peoples, Kuna, post-development, self-determination, autonomy, natural resource management, community participation, Latin America

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract i Table of contents ii List of figures, table and maps iv List of abbreviations and acronyms v Acknowledgments vi Preliminary remarks on use of Kuna language vii

1 Introducing the debate 1.1 An historical perspective: From ‘natives’ to ‘Peoples’ 1 1.2 Indigenous Peoples in development discourses 2 1.3 Research rationale and contribution to existing field of knowledge 3 1.4 Thesis outline 4 2 Empirical focus 2.1 Colonialism and the Latin American project 5 2.2 Framing Panama’s development agenda 6 2.3 Indigenous Peoples in Panama: Invisible peoples or an emerging force? 8 2.3 Kuna Yala: Resistance to cultural imperialism 10 2.4 Case study: Ustupu 12 3 Moving into the new paradigm 3.1 The emergence of post-development theory 14 3.2 Autonomous rural communities as agents of change 16 3.3 Rethinking nature 18 3.4 Natural resource management as a platform for resistance 19 3.5 Feeding self-development 21 4 Articulating meaning from Ustupu 4.1 Research question and subquestions 24 4.2 Epistemological and ontological perspectives 24 4.3 Conceptual scheme 26 4.4 Units of analysis 27 4.5 Sampling 28 4.6 Research methods 28 4.7 Methods of analysis and data analysis 31 4.8 Ethical considerations and limitations 32 5 Self-organisation, knowledge and food production 5.1 The ‘community’ and forms of participation 34 5.2 Attitudes and practices toward nature 38 5.3 Harnessing local knowledge 42 5.4 Mobilisation through food production 45

6 Scales and networks of power 6.1 Local governance and intra-island cooperation 51 6.2 Externalised structures and ties 53 6.3 Rescaling to build adaptive capacity 56 6.4 International solidarity and alliances 58 7 Conclusion 7.1 Main findings: A hybrid model 62 7.2 Theoretical reflection 65 7.3 Methodological limitations 66 7.4 Agenda for further research: A shift in consciousness 66 Bibliography 68 Appendices A. List of interview respondents 76 B. Operationalisation of main concepts 77 C. Glossary of Kuna words 78 D. Pictures of transect walk (s) to tropical forest 80 E. Pictures of the 90-Year anniversary of the Kuna Revolution 81

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LIST OF FIGURES, TABLES AND MAPS

1 Contested power in Latin America 5 2 Population figures: Indigenous groups in Panama 9 3 Map of Kuna Yala 10 4 Map of tropical forest cover in Panama 12 5 Map of fieldwork site: Ustupu 12 6 Conceptual scheme 27 7 Métis Holistic Lifelong Learning Model 43 8 Vulnerability matrix linking nature, knowledge and food production 49 9 Multi-scalar power relations 50 10 Interface between community priorities 51 11 Self-development matrix 64

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND ACRONYMS

CAC Campesino-a-Campesino CNRM Community natural resource management IITC International Indian Treaty Council ILO International Labour Organisation KNC Kuna National Congress KYGC Kuna Yala General Congress MNC Multinational corporation NGO Non-governmental organisation OAS Organisation of American States PDT Post-development theory UN United Nations UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNEP United Nations Environment Programme UNDRIP United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples UNPFII United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues UNREDD United Nations Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation Programme UNWGIP United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to a number of people both in Panama and the Netherlands, whose support and enthusiasm helped me immensely during the different phases of fieldwork and thesis writing. I would first like to thank my supervisor Enrique Gomez Llata for both his encouragement and critical analysis. Likewise, I also want to thank Arij Ouweneel as my second reader. I must also extend my gratitude to Quetzal Tzab and the Indigenous Movement in Amsterdam for providing logistical support in making this thesis possible. Dad Neba and Andres de Leon Kantule also deserve a special mention for hosting me in Panama City and Ustupu, respectively, and translating numerous stories from Kuna to Spanish. A mention should also go to Yulissa Boeren Cerna, Arvid van Maaren and Clara Martinez Gines for their much-appreciated translation assistance. Most of all, however, I would like to say “nue gambi” to those people I met in Ustupu who let me into their world and shared experiences from the land.

PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON USE OF THE KUNA LANGUAGE

I have chosen to use Kuna terminology where referencing specific locations, institutions and roles, and food names. As a predominantly oral language I want to make clear concepts and ideas which I believe carry added meaning in the local tongue and the Kuna approach. Though I am not a Kuna speaker I have adapted the words and concepts laid out under Appendix C through what was taught to me by participants and individuals I met during my fieldwork. These are also presented in a bilingual Kuna- Spanish dictionary given to me and published by the Saila Dummagan, or the Kuna National Congress (KNC), through collaboration between several Kuna development agencies and the Panamanian Government.

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1. INTRODUCING THE DEBATE

At the time of my fieldwork in early April 2015 the Organisation of American States (OAS) – the 35 independent states of the Americas – convened in Panama City to discuss, among other issues, land appropriation and conflict over natural resources affecting Indigenous Peoples of the Americas (Graef, 2015). While negotiations to endorse the American Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples remain in limbo, and look set to collapse, the indigenous question has undoubtedly emerged as a pressing theme in politics, not least for development studies. This rise is evident from the 14th Session of the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues (UNPFII) after it met in New York in April 2015. By reiterating the need for the post-2015 development agenda to be in line with the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), as well as a commitment from states themselves, in its Draft Report from the 14th Session, the UNPFII outlined:

We affirm that indigenous peoples have the right to determine and develop priorities and strategies for exercising their right to development, based on their security, of their lands, territories and resources (UN, 2015).

1.1 An historical perspective: From ‘natives’ to ‘Peoples’

The political awakening of Indigenous Peoples has manifested through several key milestones, including adoption of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention 169 in 1992 and the UNDRIP in 2007. A number of working groups with a specific focus on legal redress and rights have also been created1, namely the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights, the UN Working Group on Indigenous Populations (UNWGIP) and the UNPFII, among others. It is important to mention, however, that as yet no working definition of Indigenous Peoples has been implemented.2 States themselves remain wary of the potential for financial retribution, land claims and threats to their sovereignty (Meyer, 2012, p. 331). Contemporary discussion on Indigenous Peoples can be traced to the rights laid out under the UNDRIP. Of these, there are several pertinent to this study, in particular that stipulated under Article Three, “Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely

1 ‘Rights’ is a problematic concept in indigenous discourses as it is rooted in a Western focus on the ‘individual’ rather than the collective. 2 While I have chosen to capitalise the term Indigenous Peoples throughout this research to highlight where the UN and other international institutions have not yet done so, let it be said that no working definition exists at the global level. Doing so has historically been problematic as it would mean that to be indigenous is ‘either-or’ and warrants a particular behaviour, worldview or set of cultural norms.

determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development” (UNDRIP, p. 4). Self-determination for many indigenous communities has centred on natural resource management, particularly moves to secure autonomy3 over a given territory. According to the ILO Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention 169:

The peoples concerned shall have the right to decide their own priorities for the process of development as it affects their lives, beliefs, institutions and spiritual well-being, and the lands they occupy or otherwise use, and to exercise control, to the extent possible, over their own economic, social and cultural development (Stavenhagen, 2013a, p.87).

This is outlined further under Article 23 of the UNDRIP, which makes explicitly clear that Indigenous Peoples hold, “The right to determine and develop priorities and strategies for exercising their right to development” (United Nations, 2008, p. 9).

1.2 Indigenous Peoples and development discourses

These political advances imply new spaces opening up for indigenous issues within development studies. Yet, discourse continues to be guided by an undertone of governmentality. The UN Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation Programme (UNREDD), for example, stands out as one initiative relevant to discuss here. Designed to combat the effects of Climate Change through carbon trading and reforestation, the scheme commenced in 2008 and integrates the objectives of the Food and Agriculture Organisation of the UN, the UN Development Programme and the UN Environment Programme into a single framework. Despite the emphasis on engagement from Indigenous Peoples and other stakeholders, the project has lent itself to creating a narrative of indigenous communities solely as ‘custodians of nature’, whereby they protect manage natural resources and base their well-being, livelihood and production of knowledge solely upon environmental principles (Lindroth and Sinevaara- Niskanen, p. 275). Discourse assumes a certain behaviour and places specific responsibilities upon Indigenous Peoples as articulated through approaches by international institutions and nation-states. This has implications for how indigenous communities challenge threats to their land, negotiate power and authority, and ultimately define their own idea of development.

3 Autonomy is context specific and often viewed as a structure guiding local communities in the management and control over specific functions or resources (Vergara-Camus, 2014, p. 156). For the intents and purposes of this study it is a question of power.

In many ways there is a dichotomy. On the one hand, Indigenous Peoples are confined to a colonial relationship with Western institutions who frame such groups as defenders of nature and are given a certain set of environmental responsibilities. On the other hand, the knowledge that indigenous communities command, as evident in the rich biodiversity among the land where many indigenous groups are living in, is a strong platform to increase voice and legitimise the territorialisation of natural resources. Through this, indigenous groups are increasingly able to conceptualise and operationalise nature on their terms. This agency has also covered international policy, as apparent from the Convention on Biological Diversity and the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, where indigenous groups are sharing their knowledge on ecology and biodiversity in the global arena. Anti-modernity impulses, in terms of the resistance to monetisation and commodification of the environment carried out under the name of ‘development’, runs deep in indigenous discourses. Social and environmental justice continues to drive a number of indigenous social movements in Latin America. The Zapatista Army of National Liberation (Zapatistas), for example, have been an important architect in carving out alternative power structures beyond the state, in the process lending weight to Indigenous Peoples as agents of socio-political change. Other prominent examples can be mentioned from Bolivia, Peru and Chile, where indigenous groups have been at the forefront of confrontation over natural resources with the government and large mining companies. These acts of civil disobedience continue to elevate Indigenous Peoples onto the global stage as an actor that can affect power structures in development paradigms.

1.3 Research rationale and contribution to existing field of knowledge

Self-determination brings attention to what forms of organisation, agency and mobilisation are taking place that affect voice, participation and strategies among Indigenous Peoples. This includes access to knowledge and resources, and the networks and scales navigated by Indigenous Peoples in resisting dominant development paradigms. It is my aim to make explicit that the indigenous question needs to be better understood in development studies. While much has been written on justice and inclusion, there is a gap on the topic of power and the multi-scalar movement of organised resistance. This thesis therefore downgrades the idea of development as one based on ‘modernity’, and explores indigenous conceptualisations rooted in nature and self-determination. More than anything, however, accepting ‘other’ knowledge systems will help carry development studies beyond poverty and growth debates to one that can strengthen the role of nature in socio-cultural relations.

The fieldwork location of Ustupu in Kuna Yala, Panama, is a valid case study for understanding the natural resource base relative to self-determination and Indigenous Peoples. This study contributes to a larger body of literature and research on the territoriality of land and the implications for self- development, and, assesses whether the strategies devised by the Kuna are relevant for understanding mobilisation by other rural indigenous societies in Latin America seeking alternative models of development beyond the power structures of the state.

1.4 Thesis outline

This study is organised according to seven chapters. It begins by presenting the main theoretical arguments of Latin America as a colonial project. I attempt to show Panama to be a territorialised space of neoliberal development, taking a historical and geopolitical stand in highlighting the territory’s subservient role to Spanish and US hegemony. Following a brief description of the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, the case of Ustupu is put forward as a decolonised space aspiring for an alternative development model centred on nature, local knowledge and collective action. Chapter three unpacks this study’s decolonial position further by situating it within post- development theory (PDT). I trace the latter’s emergence within development studies to consider the power shifts taking place and Indigenous Peoples as actors in this process. In this analysis, I present community natural resource management (CNRM) and food sovereignty as drivers of self-determination and, importantly, anti-modernity undercurrents in PDT. Chapter four introduces the epistemological and ontological perspectives shaping the research design. I will outline the methodology used to collect data from the fieldwork site, as well as the ethical and practical limitations I faced. Chapter five focuses on empirical experiences in Ustupu. This takes into account how participation, knowledge and food production intersect to allow the community to build a platform for self-determination and territorialise the land. Chapter six addresses the power relations, networks and scales linking the natural resource base and self-determination. In doing so, this study focuses on contested spaces of power and how Ustupu adapts to these threats and vulnerabilities. Chapter seven brings together the main findings and revisits the main research question and subquestions. I will take into account the methodological and theoretical limitations of this study, and outline future priorities related to Indigenous Peoples and development studies.

2. EMPIRICAL FOCUS

This chapter situates the case of Ustupu in Kuna Yala within a narrative of coloniality in Latin America. The purpose is to shed light on power structures shaping development discourses on Latin America and to consider Kuna Yala as a decolonised space resisting Panama’s neoliberal (development) model.

Latin America

Panama

Kuna Yala

Ustupu

Figure 1 – Contested power in Latin America

2.1 Coloniality and the ‘Latin’ America project

The Americas exist today only as a consequence of European colonial expansion and the narrative of that expansion from the European perspective, the perspective of modernity (Mignolo, 2005, p. xi).

Though Latin America represents a physical space it is also an abstract idea based upon a trajectory of modernity. The very term ‘Latin’ America carries connotations of European dominance: a land that was ‘discovered’ in 1492 and which continues to be labelled as ‘emerging’ by development institutions based upon economic indicators of GDP growth, infrastructure development and connectivity to international markets, among other things. To all intents and purposes, development has been articulated according to European and North American norms and experiences. In short, Latin America is a territory in which just one world exists (Quijano, 2010, p. 25).

Knowledge is a key arena in the struggle between the occidental and the ‘other’ (Mignolo, 2005, p. 115). As outlined in the following chapter, resistance to the “epistemology of colonial difference”, which has created lasting inequality in the distribution of power in the Americas, especially among Indigenous Peoples, has taken root in a number of ways. The Zapatistas, for example, have been a prominent actor in reinterpreting the ontological and epistemological borders of Latin America. This is captured in their slogan, “A world in which many worlds fit”, put forward by sub-commander Marcos4 (Escobar, 2010, p. 42). However, one of the main sticking points to achieving a ‘paradigm of coexistence’ – that is to integrate different ontologies, histories and constructs – is an inconsistency in the very notion of ‘Latin’ America. On the one hand, to reinvent ‘Latin’ America and delink the territory from the structures of power institutionalised through development agencies and national governments, is a struggle for Latinos. The ‘Pink Tide’, which has seen a number of governments across the Americas, from Venezuela and Brazil to Argentina and Nicaragua, root themselves in a discourse of populist socialism is an obvious, if general, example. For Indigenous Peoples, this ‘struggle’ is anchored in the idea of Abya Yala5, an altogether separate cosmology with different historical motivations and, importantly, injustices. Ecuador and Bolivia are noteworthy examples here. Afro-Latin communities, meanwhile, are less anchored to territory and more to notions of slavery, which represents a third dimension to the ontological differences of paradigms of coexistence (Mignolo, 2005, pp. 129-130). I do not want to get mired in debates on race and identity, rather I want to attest that national governments in Latin America and international institutions alike have presented the project as a marginalising and narrow idea. As such, the effort to redefine history, knowledge and ideas beyond ‘Latin’ America is part of a move to create multiple ontologies and epistemologies, such that each world can have its own “dignity” and is able to “maintain the autonomy of local, non-dependent histories” (Mignolo, 2005, p. 144).

2.2 Framing Panama’s development agenda

Panama is an important space in the ‘Latin’ America project. Founded as a republic in 1903 after gaining independence from Colombia, it is a sovereign territory that bridges Central and South America – bordering Costa Rica to the west and Colombia to the east – and provides access to the Caribbean Sea

4 I have chosen ‘sub-commander’ to highlight the horizontal and communitarian structure of the Zapatistas. 5 ‘Abya Yala’ is a Kuna term and relates to the land mass of the Americas, from Canada to Chile, and the Caribbean. It has recently been accepted by a number of indigenous communities as a preferred term to ‘Latin America’ which was coined after the conquest of Christopher Columbus in 1492. Aymara and Quechua communities have also coined their own term for Latin America.

and the Pacific Ocean. This geostrategic location as an isthmus, or natural bridge, connecting two large land masses and two oceans has dictated, or darkened, its fortunes, both under Spanish domination and also under US global hegemony. Owing to the construction of the Panama Canal, the country’s social, political and economic history has been influenced by US efforts to anchor Panama in the West – geopolitical concerns and economic policy have gone hand-in-hand – with the Cold War setting the scene for an economic agenda driven by neoliberal policies and trade liberalisation (Ropp, 2014, p. 432). In many ways the country’s relationship with the US has been one of dependency and control. In recent years, Panama has experienced rapid economic growth, with national GDP increasing by an average of 6.8 percent annually from 2000 to 2012 (World Bank, 2014). Central to this shift in the country’s economic outlook has been the planned expansion of the canal as laid out under the National Development Plan. At a cost of $5.25 billion, the Panama Canal expansion project is expected to be ready by 2016 and will see the capacity of the waterway almost double, in the process enabling much larger cargo ships to reach the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and thereby boosting global trade6 (Oxford Business Group, 2014, p.36). The canal already contributes significantly to national GDP, with $8.6 billion going to the national treasury in 2013 alone (ibid). While in 2012, the canal’s $2.41 billion accounted for 26.6 percent of total government revenues of $9.06 billion and 6.6 percent of national GDP, as per data from the World Bank, the Panama Canal Authority and the Ministry of Finance. The country’s pro-poor growth discourse, which is framed around large-scale infrastructure construction, expanding the service sector and curtailing abject poverty has been lauded by a number of development agencies in recent years, “Between 2007 and 2012 […] Panama managed to reduce poverty (using the national poverty line) from 39.9 percent to 26.2 percent, and extreme poverty from 15.6 percent to 11.3 percent” (World Bank, 2015, p. 1). According to the most available figures, life expectancy at birth is 77 years, with a GNI per capita of $10,700 and GDP growth of 8 percent for 2013 (World Bank, 2014). The country scored 0.7807 on the UN’s most recent Human Development Report in 2014, placing it 65th among 187 states included in the study. The country’s growth story, however, remains blemished with vast disparities in income

6 The Panama Canal is gaining even more economic prominence as planning for the Nicaragua Canal accelerates under negotiations between Managua and the Chinese-backed company financing the project. Panama could potentially lose a significant amount of government revenue if the inter-oceanic canal in Nicaragua is eventually realised (Foreign Policy, 2015). 7 The Human Development Index is a matrix used by the UN Development Programme that combines life expectancy, education and per capita income to create a single score based upon four tiers of human development.

distribution and environmental destruction8. Corruption and limited transparency in national decision- making have been part-and-parcel of environmental degradation in pursuit of infrastructure development and economic growth. This has also hindered democracy and the inclusion of minority voices in national decision-making. Yet, the decision by the Supreme Court of Justice in early 2015 to approve penal proceedings in a major corruption case against former president and business tycoon Ricardo Martinelli has at least marked a turning point (Transparency International, 2015). The inauguration of President Juan Carlos Varela in July 2014 has injected optimism that the country might veer toward a more inclusive agenda that promotes the vision and voices of different actors in Panama, including the country’s Indigenous Peoples.

2.3 Indigenous Peoples in Panama: Invisible peoples or an emerging force?

Panama is a constitutional democracy whereby the president, who is designated both head of state and government, is elected to a five-year term. The unicameral legislature, known as the National Assembly, is a 71-member legislature that is also elected on a five-year basis (Oxford Business Group, 2014, p. 13). Within this model, the comarca indigena, or indigenous region, is the main political and legal tool binding Panama’s Indigenous Peoples to the state – essentially a self-governing territorial entity enshrined under Panamanian law for indigenous communities to govern their own affairs (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 45). The separate indigenous regions and their year of establishment are listed below (Castillo, 2001):

1. Kuna Yala (1938) 2. Emberá-Wounaan (1983) 3. Madungandi (1996) 4. Ngäbe-Buglé (1997) 5. Wargandi (2000)

While Panama may have taken more wide-ranging steps than other countries in the region in granting indigenous communities de facto autonomy9 to govern their own land and natural resources, relations

8 While Panama placed 44th among 152 countries for global biodiversity per capita in the 2014 Worldwide Wildlife Fund’s Living Planet Report, deforestation has accelerated in sync with economic growth; an estimated 276,280 ha of tree cover was lost in the country between 2001 and 2013 (Global Forest Watch, 2015). 9 I have written ‘de facto autonomy’ as the Panamanian State has absolute sovereignty over all indigenous regions in the country and can override local decision-making in the Constitutional Court. This is a particularly thorny issue where confrontation has arisen over mega-projects drawn up by the government in indigenous areas. Moreover, Panama prefers to use the term ‘region’ not ‘territory’ over fears that using the latter could open the way to claims for sovereignty.

with the state remain fraught with differences in the interpretation of ‘development’ and what exactly this represents. The problem statement exists as to whether contrasting ideas of development and culture can coexist, and how effective autonomy is as an instrument to contain this struggle. A number of indigenous settlements remain threatened by large mega-projects and infrastructure construction directed by the state and multinational corporations (MNCs). This fallout has centred upon land grabbing, a lack of free, prior and informed consent10 about environmental initiatives, forced displacement, and the destruction of spiritual sites. Those groups recognised as ‘indigenous’ in Panama include the Ngäbe, Buglé, Kuna, Emberá, Wounaan, Choco, Bribri and Naso, and make up almost 7 percent of the 3.6 million population (World Bank, 2015, p. 1).

Population Amount Percentage

Total indigenous population 232,400 100%

Ngäbe-Buglé 149,898 64.5%

Kuna 58,100 25%

Emberá-Wounaan 20,916 9%

Naso 2324 1%

Bribri 1162 0.5%

Figure 2 – National Population Census (Panama), May 14, 2000 (Castillo, 2001)

Resistance to top-down and growth-driven development has manifested in a variety of forms, from international advocacy and litigation to political violence and kidnapping. In March 2015, close to the western city of David, Chiriquí, Ngäbe protesters staged a roadblock along the Pan-American Highway as part of ongoing opposition to a $78-million hydroelectric project11 being built in the autonomous indigenous region of Ngäbe-Buglé. The mega-project is part of Panama’s attempt to meet rising energy needs which have soared in line with the country’s rapid economic growth (Servindi, 2015).

10 Free, prior and informed consent is a legal principle whereby a community has the right not to give consent to a proposed project on their lands (Forest Peoples Programme, 2015). 11 The Barro Blanco Hydroelectric Power Plant Project includes finances from development banks in the Netherlands and Germany, and is listed as a ‘green dam project’ under the UN’s drive to offset global carbon emissions, an initiative known as the UN Clean Development Mechanism.

In many respects, indigenous groups in Panama are active agents of change in pursuing alternative forms of development based on anti-modernity approaches. This has two key implications for this study: firstly, what type of relationship exists between autonomous indigenous regions and the national decision-making architecture, and secondly, can different knowledge systems intersect and interrelate where they appear, at least on the surface, diametrically opposed?

2.4 Kuna Yala: Resistance to cultural imperialism

Figure 3 – Map of Kuna Yala (Source: Frommers, 2015)

This next section presents a brief historical overview of the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, exploring experiences which have helped define this space, in particular socio-cultural and economic relations with Panama and Colombia. As one of the largest indigenous populations in Panama, the Kuna number around 58,000, with approximately 29,800 people living in Kuna Yala (Castillo, 2001). Although largely straddled along the Caribbean coast – stretching from the northern entrance of the Panama Canal to the western fringes of Colombia – there are also several Kuna settlements in Panama City and Colón, in addition to northern areas of Colombia (Howe, p. 81). Spread across vast tropical forest and 365 islands (with more than 400 kilometres of coastal marine zone), Kuna Yala covers 3200 square kilometres and stands out from other autonomous indigenous regions in Latin America as one of the first spaces in which an indigenous group received the

legal right to govern its own affairs (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 48). Moreover, previous research implies that Kuna Yala is one of the few examples of an indigenous group in Latin America with well-defined community-state interactions12. Based in Panama City, the KNC is the main political actor for the region, with representatives from the archipelago’s 49 communities13 convening every six months, though emergency sessions are called if a crisis occurs (Tice, p. 41). The saila (chief) for each community receives one vote in the KNC, while the Congress itself is steered by the saila dummad (grand chief), of which there are three in total (Herlihy, 2003, p. 318). The KNC is also responsible for a range of community organisations and non- governmental organisations (NGOs), covering recreational events to indigenous education to legal affairs (Howe, 2002, pp. 93-94). Although the KNC has one representative in the national parliament, which corresponds to other indigenous regions in the country, the state retains absolute de jure authority over land governed by the Kuna (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 45). This has proven a sticking point for relations with Panama City, especially where the government has pushed for the construction of military bases in the area to monitor cocaine smuggling from Colombia and prevent the incursion of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia14 and the Colombian military into Panamanian territory (Howe. 2002, p. 88). Kuna Yala has also needed to repel government attempts to exploit the region’s extraordinary natural beauty with tenders for tourism projects, as well as the appropriation of land for mining and gold exploration. Nonetheless, the Kuna have (arguably) been the most politically vocal and economically organised of Panama’s indigenous groups. This is visible with mola, for example, a traditional Kuna embroidery craft patented under international intellectual property rules (World Intellectual Property Organisation, 2001). Further, the decision by the Kuna in June 2013 to reject the UNREDD programme on the grounds that they had not been fully informed about negotiations for the carbon-reduction scheme, is testament to political mobilisation in the territory (Redd-Monitor, 2015). Land ownership for the Kuna is enshrined under the local constitution (1945); accordingly, non- Kuna cannot rent or buy land in Kuna Yala (Tice, p.41). This association with natural resources and representations of self-determination position the Kuna as a valuable case study for PDT, if not to answer the proposed research question. In line with Law 41, the General Environmental Law endorsed by the Panamanian legislature in July 1998, Indigenous Peoples hold, “The right to control and develop

12 Despite a once acrimonious relationship, direct confrontation between the Panamanian State and Kuna Yala has been rare. The Kuna have nevertheless challenged Panamanian authority around issues related to land rights and resource management. 13 There are 38 communities on the islands, nine communities along the mainland coast and two inland communities (German Federal Ministry for the Environment, Nature Protection and Nuclear Safety, 2003). 14 Also known as Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, or FARC.

lands and resources, engage in autonomous development, and retain profits from development carried out by others within the comarca” (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 46). As indicated in the map below, indigenous regions in Panama contain some of the best preserved and most biodiverse forest in the country15, a situation used by the Kuna to assert and legitimise political bargaining with the government over issues around natural resource management and autonomy.

Figure 4 - Tropical forest cover in Panama (Source: Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, 2015)

2.5 Case study: Ustupu I have selected Ustupu as an empirical case to elaborate on self-determination and anti- modernity approaches to development in the context of the Kuna. This section therefore provides an overview of the demographic, social and political characteristics of the fieldwork site. By population Ustupu is the largest of Kuna Yala’s 49 communities16. It is

Figure 5 – An aerial view of Ustupu (Photo credit: Dad Neba) also the historical birthplace of the 1925 Kuna

15 Kuna Yala is part of a primary tropical forest zone set up by the local government in 1985, the first of its kind by an indigenous group in Latin America (German Federal Ministry for the Environment, Nature Protection and Nuclear Safety, 2003). 16 The population is estimated at around 2000 to 3000, though the numbers are not precise.

Revolution, where activists led by Iguaibilikinya17 ousted the Panamanian military from the area in a short, violent confrontation. In the aftermath, the Kuna resisted numerous military campaigns by Panama to recapture Ustupu and other islands nearby, with a peace agreement eventually signed which paved the way for Kuna Yala becoming an autonomous indigenous region in 1938 (Howe, 2002, p. 86). At the time of my fieldwork, a number of visitors from across the comarca and Panama, including political figures and indigenous chiefs from Canada and Guatemala, descended upon Ustupu to commemorate the 90th anniversary of the Revolution. This was an interesting period of the research, with political sentiment very strong and community organisation very visible. The island itself is somewhat spatially separated, with Ustupu to the south and Ogobsucun to the north. Although there is no ethnic divide, each community has its own administration and saila18. During my fieldwork I also interviewed people from Ustupu now living in the Kuna communities of Dagar Kun Yala and Veracruz in Panama City. I also travelled through a number of settlements and islands in Kuna Yala when I made the six-hour voyage by boat along the coast from Carti to Ustupu.

A Kuna community close to Carti (Kuna Yala) A Kuna settlement in Panama City

I chose to focus my research on the island as I believe Ustupu’s history of political agency and community mobilisation provides a backdrop for evaluating power dynamics among an indigenous group in Latin America. Likewise, the area’s rural setting in between the river and the sea, and within proximity of the tropical forest on the mainland caters to analysing self-development in the context of territoriality over land and natural resources.

17 Iguaibilikinya is also known by his Spanish name Nele Kantule. 18 Ogobsucun has historically been more closely affiliated to Colombia than Panama, with the population migrating from Kuna areas in Colombia during the mid-to-late 19th century.

3. MOVING INTO THE NEW PARADIGM

We went from the 16th century characterisation of ‘people without writing’ to the 18th and 19th century characterisation of ‘people without history’, to the 20th century characterisation of ‘people without development’ and more recently, to the early 21st century of ‘people without democracy’ (Grosfoguel, 2010, p. 68).

In this section I will give an overview of PDT. I will outline the main motivations behind key theorists within this field and how new actors affecting development discourses have emerged. In doing so, I will situate Indigenous Peoples in the post-development agenda, specifically in relation to the emergence of social movements (both urban and rural), assertions for autonomy over local decision-making and territory, and also where nature and food production fit within this debate.

3.1 The emergence of post-development theory

Discourses of post-development are connected to broad relations of power – economic, political and cultural – and the structures, institutions and actors contained within. As a contemporary discipline, PDT can be viewed as part of an ongoing attempt to reinterpret development: from the rise of welfare-based approaches to sustainable livelihood approaches to anti-growth trajectories. While post-development is sometimes used loosely as an umbrella term to reject normative development paradigms, taken fundamentally it links the unequal distribution of power and a hierarchy of knowledges to an alternative model, one that moves beyond these hegemonic relations to redistribution and empowerment (Pieterse, 2000, p. 176). This has manifested in a variety of ways, some of which are discussed below and have been selected strategically to capture the main concepts and themes relevant to this study. In many respects, the discipline is closely linked to decolonial thought and anti-modernity epistemologies19. Mignolo, a prominent critic of the power structures that underlie the semantics used by international institutions and development agencies, argues that to think decolonially means to untangle oneself from thinking “disciplinary” at the sociological, economic, anthropological and artistic level (Mignolo, 2010, p. 11). Coloniality is taken to be all-encompassing and hierarchical, and involves the political and economic domination of people of colour and women. He argues that, “Knowledge

19 In referring to anti-modernity I mean the rejection of an idea based on progress, growth, monetisation and the commodification of society.

systems are relegated to the periphery and taken to be ‘backward’ or ‘traditional’” (Mignolo, 2010, p. 17). Quijano asserts that decolonial perspectives anchor themselves in overthrowing the “colonial matrix of power”, made up of control of the economy, control of authority, control of gender and sexuality, and control of subjectivity and knowledge. Only by rebalancing these domains can a person or a system truly be considered ‘decolonised’ (Mignolo, 2010, p.3). Other contributors to PDT include James Ferguson where he highlights the power of language and discourse. In his analysis of Lesotho he criticises the World Bank for constructing the aforementioned as a “lesser developed’’ and “traditional” society primarily on the basis that the society is primarily ‘rural’ and ‘agricultural’ (2009, p. 58). Urban and rural social movements are important drivers of PDT. These have gained momentum in recent years through efforts to contest the social contract between citizens and the state, in particular around land reform, stronger governance arrangements, and grassroots participation in steering development priorities. In this regard, and in a Latin American context, Indigenous Peoples have been key architects in transforming power relations via social movements. Closely linked to community development and self-governorship, post-development orients itself as localised and participatory, and fundamentally beyond the language of poverty and growth obsessively used to categorise societies as developed or not. For Escobar, it implies local knowledge and popular power (1995, p. 215). Rahman, meanwhile, highlights “the primacy of human dignity” and actions that avoid reliance on external agents, even where it means a “slower pace of economic development” (1990, pp. 306-307). Discussion can also be placed more broadly within inclusive development debate in terms of efforts to “discover and invent new paradigms” for marginalised societies (Sachs, 2004, p. 1802). As already mentioned, power rests at the crux of post-development discussion, specifically efforts to transform social, cultural and political relations from coercive forms of ‘power over’ – or domination – to power ‘with’. Rowland describes ‘power with’ as, “Productive power in which creativity enables actors to exercise their agency to achieve their objectives” (De Haan, 2012, p. 350). Biekart and Fowler summarise this more concisely as, “The synergy which can emerge through partnerships and collaboration with others, or through processes of collective action and alliance building” (2013, p. 536). This is not to say that power has been downgraded as a domain to analyse post-development approaches. Rather, it is to posit that the networks and alliances being formed at the grassroots level are more heterogeneous, thus power must be looked upon as a more horizontal and multi-scalar phenomena. A number of thinkers regard power as being increasingly contested through interactive governance, that is the involvement of multiple actors and different arenas in decision-making

processes, and to “govern at a distance” (Torfing et al, 2012, p. 65). Governmentality through the creation of autonomous structures is looked upon as one outcome of this process, under what Cleaver describes as, “Organised practices through which we are governed and through which consciously and unconsciously we govern ourselves” (2012, p. 42). These new layers of governance are outlined by Neil Brenner in his critique of urban governance and the territorialising state. Although I will borrow ideas from Brenner where he considers ‘rescaling’, “The reorganisation of relations between different scales through a social, economic or political process” (2004, pp. 7-9), I contest that local governance actors vis-à-vis indigenous communities are also adapting to the complex interactions of the globalising world.

3.2 Autonomous rural communities as agents of change

This section will situate PDT in relation to autonomous rural communities and consider the power dynamics, networks and actors which play a key role in manifestations of self-determination and self- organisation in a rural setting. Before moving further, however, let it be said that autonomy is a context- specific and contested term. If autonomy is an outcome of the redistribution of power, then ‘the community’ and ‘the local’ are vehicles steering power away from top-down processes to those that are horizontal in nature and heterogeneous in terms of actors, voices and input in local decision-making. The Zapatistas are a salient example to draw upon, establishing autonomous socio-economic organisations known as Los Caracoles, or indigenous community assemblies, to create their own forms of social, political and legal organisations . These structures are not based on Western models nor do they reflect monetised and commodified practices advocated by large development agencies, rather they an attempt to recreate Mesoamerican structures – an “indigenous ethos” (Mignolo, 2005, p. 128). Autonomy can be linked to ideas of self-development and necessitates looking at the community as a space to manage resources and encourage collective action. The cultural, economic and political agency exercised through this process of self-organisation is important. Agency at the collective level has been referred to as, “A group of individuals acting as agents not only to improve their own living conditions but also to bring about changes in their societies” (Pelenc et al, 2013, p. 88). To understand autonomy as a collaborative practice also requires considering roles, responsibilities and relations among actors, as well as forms of exchange through different networks. Within PDT, tools and strategies to build alternative development models are looked upon from a context-specific approach, specifically in terms of how they are conceptualised and utilised at a local level. Furthermore, the effectiveness of the community in leveraging these tools and strategies is partly shaped by

vulnerability20 and the level of adaptability achieved through capacity-building mechanisms within the community (Gallopin, 2006, p. 300). For autonomous rural communities and self-determination paradigms, participation is a key instrument to enhance adaptive capacity and renegotiate dominant power relations. This can be traced to a wide body of literature on participatory development. Thinkers such as Paulo Freire have written extensively on the role that active and deliberative participation can have in all areas of social and political life, including development initiatives. Latin America exists as one of the main laboratories for participatory development, especially grassroots initiatives such as participatory budgeting, which snowballed across several cities in Brazil during the 1980s and 1990s. Yet, participation has also taken shape in the form of urban social movements in efforts to upgrade rights and entitlements. Concurrently, participation has also been criticised as a neoliberal instrument of governmentality, especially at the rural grassroots level where communities driving their own development agenda(s) are vulnerable to governments withdrawing from investment in community services (Cornwall, 2006, p. 72). This study is not concerned with the impact of participatory approaches to projects set by development agencies, rather the focus is on how autonomous communities in an indigenous setting adopt participatory strategies to rank local priorities and create inclusive spaces among the population. As defined under Article 18 of the UNDRIP:

Indigenous peoples have the right to participate in decision-making in matters which would affect their rights […] in accordance with their own procedures, as well as to maintain and develop their own indigenous decision-making institutions (2008, p. 8).

If PDT represents a shift from top-down modernisation toward bottom-up participation, the growing emphasis on knowledge, in particular indigenous local knowledge, has been an key factor in this process. According to Arce and Long, “Knowledge concerns the way people understand the world, the ways in which they interpret and apply meaning to their experiences” (Blaikie et al, 1997, p. 218). To conceive knowledge as location specific, however, we must also not view one knowledge as universal, even it is ‘local’ as opposed to ‘outside’ knowledge. While local knowledge may be utilised to encourage participation and favour ideas that match with local challenges, a critical lens is still needed; firstly to think about whose knowledge is being privileged and whether it represents the entire community; and,

20 Vulnerability analysis is extensive and complex. For the purpose of this research and clarity, I refer to vulnerability loosely as increased risk and reduced security where transformation exists within a particular system (Gallopin, 2006, p. 294). Throughout this study I apply the term interchangeably in an economic, social and political context.

secondly, who holds the knowledge and is this knowledge being shared equally among the entire community (Sillitoe, 1998, p. 233).

3.3 Rethinking nature

Buen Vivir, which translates as the ‘good life’ or ‘to live good’, is an important strand of PDT connected to Latin America and Indigenous Peoples. Esteva regards Buen Vivir as part of a shift in development studies from economic well-being to social and environmental paradigms, and communities re- establishing alternative ways of life and government at the grassroots level (2010, pp. 66-67). At its core, it is (arguably) an attempt to interpret nature beyond a human-focused perspective. According to Gudynas, the community holds an instrumental value for well-being in terms of the social bonds within and among, while the intrinsic and spiritual value of nature functions to embed community structures in an environmental framework (2011, p. 441). The emergence of nature in post-development discourses has, in recent years, been energised by changes in Ecuador, whereby the ‘Rights of Nature’ have been enshrined in the National Constitution. As outlined by Alberto Acosta, ex-president of the Ecuadorian Assembly, in 2008, “There is no conception of a linear process that establishes a past or future state. There is no vision of underdevelopment to be overcome. And neither a state of development to be reached” (Pinto, 2012, pp. 228-229). The Rights of Nature raises a central question of what lens should be applied to linking nature and human well-being. One argument has been that rights for the natural world are a way to outline the “responsibilities of human beings towards nature and of securing restraint on human behaviour” (UK Environmental Law Association and Gaia Foundation, 2009, p. 4). The attention on agency and justice in environmental debates has partly been shaped by the rise of ‘sustainability’ and ‘ecosystems’ discourses by development agencies and international institutions21. Through taking nature to be an owned and exploitable object, its value has been conceptualised as a resource to be conserved for future human generations, once again following an anthropocentric approach. Some thinkers stress that the international community must pursue ‘Earth Jurisprudence’, that is, “The philosophy of laws and regulations that give formal recognition to the reciprocal relationship between humans and the rest of nature” (ibid).

21 The green agenda has gained momentum under efforts by development agencies to link overpopulation, depleting natural resources and Climate Change (Borel-Saladin and Turok, 2013, p. 209).

Others also touch upon this rights-centred dimension by highlighting the need to move toward ‘environmental citizenship’, where legal and political rights are interlinked with ethical practice in an era of “politicised nature and ecological reason” (Pinto, 2012, p. 231). The Rights of Nature framework outlines where dominant development paradigms are being challenged, at least academically, in their failure to look at nature as anything other but a territorialised object for human satisfaction. Indigenous Peoples are conceived as agents for change in this struggle, in part based upon perspectives that emphasise a more intrinsic approach to nature grounded in spiritual and cosmological importance. Yet, this study must also acknowledge a dichotomy between Indigenous Peoples as ‘guardians of nature’ who defend the environment and also as actors applying this ethical legitimacy to gain natural resource ownership and secure power and autonomy.

3.4 Natural resource management as a platform for resistance

The right to land is a means for subsistence and social reproduction, but also a means to regain human dignity and attain higher levels of autonomy (Vergara-Camus, 2014, p. 91).

This study needs to consider post-development in the context of linking autonomy with natural resource management. Escobar asserts that communities on the periphery are adopting more creative strategies in challenging entrenched power structures (1995, p. 217). To this effect, natural resources have become a key medium for Indigenous Peoples22 to mobilise around and demonstrate agency. This is an area of tension however, as from a decolonial lens nature has been contested as an exploited and monetised object under the control of human domination. This does not fit neatly into the discourse of indigenous self-determination, in that to defend and promote a cosmology that does not give Man hierarchy over nature, indigenous communities must territorialise the land. This appears somewhat of a contradiction: good stewardship of the forest as an endeavour for political gain. Nonetheless, this is the reality that indigenous communities face: they must ‘play the game’ so to speak. That is, a game whose rules and power structures are set by international institutions and national governments. According to Pinto, the move toward societal well-being and natural systems demands looking at nature from a new angle beyond property rights to “protecting the resources themselves” (2012, p. 229).

22 Though I describe Indigenous Peoples as “on the periphery” I do not imply a sentiment of being weak or not empowered.

Much attention has been directed toward how indigenous communities define, protect and adapt to their natural environment to reduce vulnerability and enhance their well-being. For many communities, nature holds social, spiritual, cultural and material importance in terms of sustenance and supporting livelihoods (Stavenhagen, 2013a, p. 52). According to the UNWGIP:

The indigenous approach to self-development is based on the principles of respect for and preservation of land, natural resources and all elements of the natural environment […] including sovereignty over land, resources and the environment under natural law (Stavenhagen, 2013a, p. 94).

CNRM has largely been framed around how networks and partnership among different actors function to form knowledge and awareness on strategies to preserve and protect nature, and the material benefit this can have in facilitating sustainability and collective good (Armitage, 2005, p. 709). The notion of ‘community’ is, of course, a complex term. It can be viewed both through the lens of a spatial unit as well as a homogenous social structure. It is also constructed upon the premise that people live in harmony among one another with shared beliefs, values and practices, thus overlooking competing interests and power dynamics (Agrawal and Gibson, 1999, p. 630). Indigenous communities are often framed within a narrative of stark similarities among the population, namely assets and common characteristics such as ethnicity, religion or language, factors which contribute to homogeneity and reduced hierarchy (ibid, p. 634). In this vein, ‘groups’ are regarded as more efficient in terms of distributing resources and power; likewise they are important in how they affect individual preferences and behaviour (Stewart, 2005, pp. 188-190). The capacity of groups to thus shape the behaviour of their members regarding perceptions of the local environment is crucial for understanding indigenous cosmovision of nature and engagement from the local population. Institutionalising the intrinsic importance of nature through norms and values therefore necessitates the community, or a group structure, as a domain for capacity-building. Murphy goes as far to say that territorial forms of self-determination create a space which allows Indigenous Peoples to develop resource models that protect and promote the capability of their community (2014, p. 326). Beyond this, however, a larger unit can also equip Indigenous Peoples with a more robust tool – in terms of available skill set and local knowledge – in defending against external threats to the region and the natural resource base (Agrawal and Gibson, 1999, p. 636). Moreover, networks and scales among community actors facilitate the transfer of knowledge and ideas where nature is prioritised as central to local livelihoods. Networks reveal the bonds and bridges, and level of homogeneity among the

community, which can encourage institutionalisation of norms and values, as well as pacify competing information, interests and agendas around a certain issue (Newman and Dale, 2005, p. 478).

3.5 Feeding self-development

To understand the relationship between self-determination and PDT further, this section will touch upon food production – an area of contention for development institutions and social movements alike in recent years. The global relevance of food debates is apparent with “End hunger, achieve food security and improved nutrition, and promote sustainable agriculture” being listed as one of the Sustainable Development Goals for the UN in its post-2015 development agenda (UN, 2014). Among other things, concern has mounted following increasingly volatile global food prices and an unequal distribution of harvests. Indeed, communities with limited autonomy over food production have shown themselves to be vulnerable to external shocks, as witnessed by the political instability and social unrest triggered by food shortages in Egypt, Haiti and Cameroon in 2008 (Adam, 2008). According to PDT, global food production is enmeshed within the power structures of international institutions, financial banks and government think-tanks, whose mandate is set by rigid trade rules and control over intellectual property by national governments and large corporations (Martinez-Torres and Rosset, 2014, p. 983). For the purpose of this study food production needs to be interpreted in the context of self-determination, and the power structures, scales and forms of knowledge (agricultural or not) nested within. Non-integration into global food production (value) chains can essentially be viewed as a form of resistance and self-organisation. Food sovereignty can be accepted as an expression of local autonomy which manifests in, “Local demand, local production-consumption cycles, and farmer-to- farmer networks that promote agro-ecological innovations and ideas” (Altieri, p. 607). Taken further, and from an indigenous lens, the Declaration of Atitlán23 outlines:

Food sovereignty is the right of Peoples to define their own policies and strategies for the sustainable production, distribution, and consumption of food, with respect for their own cultures and their own systems of managing natural resources and rural areas, and is considered to be a precondition for food security (International Indian Treaty Council, 2010, p.5).

23 The Declaration of Atitlán was agreed at the First Indigenous Peoples’ Global Consultation on the Right to Food at Sololá in Guatemala in 2002.

Rural and urban social movements have been prominent forces in tackling unequal power relationships in food production, and have been driven by harnessing local knowledge in agricultural practices. Community-based agriculture projects and the consumption of local produce have been just two strategies in this drive. In many ways, achieving food sovereignty depends on land rights. “Access to land not only allows families to produce food for self-consumption, it also represents a way to regain control over their own life and hence be in a position to collectively practise an active form of citizenship” (Vergara-Camus, 2014, p. 90). Claims for land rights and autonomy can thus be legitimised and accelerated through independent food production, whereby working the land, feeding families and sustaining lifestyles can only be achieved through asserting a claim to the land. The Zapatistas stand out at a prominent example in this regard. La Via Campesina, or ‘the Peasant’s Way’, is an important case for Central America of a rural social movement empowering local communities in autonomous food production. Though founded in Belgium in the early 1990s, Via Campesina makes a basic claim that farmers need land to produce food for their own communities through greater access to and control over soil, water, and biodiversity (Altieri and Toledo, 2011, p. 607). The movement is comprised of different networks (local and transnational), activists and farmers, knowledges and knowledge-sharing platforms, and advocates a powerful message of anti-modernity against the ownership and commodification of nature (Martinez- Torres and Rosset, 2014, p.984). By advocating the struggle against a “system which dominates people and nature” the movement as managed to globalise its cause (ibid). Via Campesina is part of a growing trend of rural social movements that have emerged in Central America in recent years, with Campesino-a-Campesino (CAC), or ‘Farmer-to-Farmer’, another example. CAC asserts that communities are better able to self-organise and sustain through separating themselves from the global market and engaging in agroecological practices, which they regard as more efficient and conducive to increased biodiversity (Altieri, 2011, p. 602). Roman-Alcala places ‘decentralised natural resource management’ at the heart of successful environmental and social outcomes, arguing that food sovereignty and strong ecological principles are highly supportive of one another (2014, p. 16). The rise of transnational movements in debates on food sovereignty also implies an important role for networks, bridges and transnational alliances. While food self-sufficiency may be the goal, the input of different cosmologies and types of knowledge, as well as resource-sharing and solidarity through international platforms, is vital to strengthening resilience at different scales and, ultimately, creating greater adaptive capacity.

Concluding remarks

In this chapter I have explored some of the themes and debates contested by PDT. I have presented these arguments in a way that I believe provides a lens for analysing the case of Ustupu, Kuna Yala. By unpacking decolonial thought and the alternative ideas and strategies which have manifested in challenging dominant power structures in development, I have attempted to show that self- determination and autonomy are at the root of these processes. Nonetheless, they are also complex and fluid ideas. In the case of Indigenous Peoples, natural resources and food sovereignty exist as contested spaces for self-determination in resistance and mobilisation against neoliberal dominance. I have sought to capture the importance of networks, alliances and agency in building capacity at different scales to allow for the movement into a new paradigm, not least the ideas of ‘community’ and ‘knowledge’. The following chapter outlines my research process in more detail. I present my ontological and epistemological approach, and how it has rendered my choice of methodology and data analysis thereafter. In addition, I highlight some of the ethical and methodological predicaments encountered during the fieldwork and what measures I took in response.

4. ARTICULATING MEANING FROM USTUPU

This research design is based on an analysis of Ustupu, which I have taken as a decolonised space in Panama that can add meaning to my theoretical framework. I have structured my methodological approach to be inductive by nature – building an impression of my data from the bottom-up through patterns among respondents relative to the research question and subquestions outlined below.

4.1 Research question and subquestions

How do community-based structures and local participation affect development strategies in Ustupu, Kuna Yala, and what are the implications for self-determination?

1. How is the community organised and mobilised in local development strategies? 2. What are the main vulnerabilities and threats to the natural resource base and how is the community adapting to these? 3. What role does food production play in practices of autonomy? 4. How is local knowledge maintained and reproduced, and in what way does it relate to participatory forms of community development?

4.2 Epistemological and ontological perspectives

There is never a single story about a single place (Adichie, 2009).

This thesis aspires to be revelatory and depart from a colonial epistemology that reproduces studies “about the subaltern” as opposed to a “with and from subaltern perspective” (Grosfoguel, p. 65). I want to challenge universalism and normative approaches to research: ‘knowledge’ as a notion anchored in

Western cultural, economic and political thought, the epistemic implications of which are ‘theory’ or ‘truth’24 produced within the boundaries of eurocentrism and colonialism (Escobar, 2010, p. 39). The stories gathered during my fieldwork in Ustupu and Panama City reflect that there is more than one reality. There is no hierarchy among the responses from interview participants, nor observations made by the researcher or secondary quantitative information compiled through discourse analysis of policy and legal documents. In taking modernity and universalism as two edges of the same sword, my research does not intend to elevate itself as an answer to the ills of development. Though I do claim, however, that alternative knowledge(s) need to be prioritised or given space to affect. I have taken steps to factor in the epistemic and ontological impact of the physical environment of Ustupu and Panama City in how it affects the creation of knowledge. I have tried to make best use of shifting between rural and urban settings in Ustupu, Panama City and Amsterdam, by triangulating25 different methods of data collection and analysis, including qualitative and quantitative approaches, as a I believe that physical space shapes your awareness and conscious idea of reality. It has long been said that there are multiple mental constructions of reality, whereby realities are not fixed, but alternate according to experiences and social experiences. Each participant included within this study is treated as having their own reality which can be considered as equally valid to the findings. This research design therefore encourages subjective thought, as well as interaction, in order to allow participants and the researcher to become the architects of the findings. The physical environment of Ustupu, a small but densely populated island far removed from a large population centre, encouraged this active and participatory approach to data collection. It allowed me to build rapport and familiarity with local residents. Throughout the course of my fieldwork I refrained from accepting ‘reality’ as a system of cause- and-effect laws, neither do I bow down to the orthodoxy of Western science of nature as fixed, mechanical and purposeless, and based on materialism (Quijano, 2010, p. 24). Rather, my research serves a subjective purpose to uncover perceptions of reality, not universal law. By following a more qualitative focused research design I believe I can better search for better meaning among the individuals I interviewed in Ustupu and Panama City. The obsession of uncovering ‘truth’ in development-oriented research and being able to comprehend and theorise everything around us has brought detrimental consequences for Indigenous

24 The idea of establishing ‘truth’ is rooted in Western thought, and is not the objective of this thesis. 25 ‘Triangulation’ describes when two or more methods have been used in a research design (Integrated Approaches to Participatory Development, 2015)

Peoples. Hence the emergence of post-development discourses and the emphasis on reality as subjective, dynamic and contextual. I want to emphasise that reality is neither linear nor static. This study has therefore tried to capture the idea that perceptions of reality change over time by inputting life-storytelling. I am aware that as the researcher I stand as the chief architect transmitting the ‘reality’ in Ustupu. My own ontological beliefs have therefore played a role in what has come to be known. Furthermore, the findings have been evaluated according to pre-existing knowledge on Ustupu and Kuna Yala prior to reaching the field in February 2015. In my attempt to be a ‘knowledge-broker’, that is to avoid critical misunderstanding and only see something based on presupposition, I have tried not to consider Ustupu as a single culture. Rather, my fieldwork seeks to move away from perpetuating a history of storytelling by the West: of showing people as only one thing – over and over again – such that they eventually become this imagined reality (Adichie, 2009). Epistemic and ontological considerations ultimately sit within structures of power, “The ability not just to tell the story of another person, but to make it the definitive story of that person” (Adichie, 2009). This study has sought a balance of stories to avoid ignoring the different characteristics, experiences and perspectives of respondents and the researcher. The purpose is to build a balanced picture of Ustupu. During my fieldwork therefore, I was mindful of the risk of ‘going native’26. In visiting Ustupu during a highly politicised period, I continuously reflected on my role as someone with the ability to affect social change, but a need to remain objective (Fuller, 1999, p. 222).

4.3 Conceptual scheme

As elaborated in the theoretical framework, this thesis is based upon two main theoretical concepts: natural resources and community participation. Nested within, however, are autonomy and self- determination. In the assemblage and multi-scalar interaction among the aforementioned concepts, the instrumental and intrinsic value given to the natural resource base in Ustupu helps to mobilise the community in acts of self-determination. This is reinforced by the Kuna cosmovision which is sustained by participatory forms of decision-making and a focus on food production and the transfer of local knowledge. Agency emerges through the spiritual, human and social / cultural importance attached to the natural resource base and strategies devised to resist territoriality by Panama. In doing so, the community pursues its own development path with support from Kuna institutions and knowledge

26 ‘Going native’ is a term predominantly used in ethnographic research where the researcher is perceived as too involved in the community and fieldwork site under study, in process losing objectivity and reflexivity.

brokers negotiating at the local, national and global level (s). These actors facilitate information flows and transnational solidarity which creates political awareness at the community grassroots base. The dashed lines indicate overarching challenges and threats to the production of local knowledge and the Kuna cosmovision in protecting the natural resource base. These political and economic dynamics are multi-scalar by nature and go beyond the borders of Ustupu and Kuna Yala, in particular the weak links between Ustupu and Panama. This ultimately has an impact on the strategies and resources available to the community in rescaling to build adaptive capacity.

Figure 6 - Conceptual scheme

4.4 Units of analysis

To better understand the multi-dimensional approach to self-determination in a setting of territoriality over the natural resource base, my unit of analysis centres on three different groups:

1. Natural resource users 2. Community representatives 3. Knowledge brokers

My first group of interview respondents were formed of inadulet, or botanical doctors27, and individuals and cooperatives28 engaged in farming in Ustupu. The second category featured individuals working in positions of guidance in Ustupu, which I have termed as ‘community representatives’, including spiritual advisers, educators29 and activists. The third and final set of respondents included knowledge brokers working at the governmental and international level as consultants, directors and political representatives. The responsibility of these knowledge brokers is to operate as liaisons at multiple scales: the local, national and international. Of note, I must add that some interview respondents fall into two or even three categories, particularly given the role that natural resources have in supporting community mobilisation.

4.5 Sampling

The data collected in this study has been guided by purposive sampling. I organised semi-structure interviews on the basis of speaking with people I viewed as relevant to answering the research question. As my fieldwork progressed, however, I steered more towards theoretical sampling. Bryman notes this as an approach in which interviewees are selected according to emerging themes and revelations from the research, such that there is, “A movement backwards and forwards between sampling and theoretical reflection” (2008, p. 459). This was influenced through grounded theory and to code my observations while in the field. Strauss and Corbin note that grounded theory allows for ideas to be generated during the fieldwork and data analysis stages, a basis that is, “Inductively derived from the study of the phenomena that it represents” (1998, p. 23). I took an exploratory approach that was rooted in grounded theory as one that could facilitate the decolonial focus of this research, that is to refocus away from universalism and concede multiple worlds and knowledge(s) among participants. The sampling is, in some respects, an elite variety because of the attention on attitudes, strategies and behaviours of individuals who were prominent enough in Ustupu and Panama City.

27 I have used the term ‘doctor’ not ‘expert’ as I want to acknowledge botanical medicine as an equal system of knowledge to Western medicine, especially as I have also interviewed a doctor who graduated in medicine and whom I describe as a ‘doctor’. 28 In Ustupu a farming cooperative describes where farmers have put their resources together to facilitate transport, cultivation and accessibility in agricultural and farming processes. 29 I have chosen the term ‘educator’ over ‘teacher’ to imply that the latter is associated with the Panamanian knowledge system and hierarchy.

4.6 Research methods

By focusing on self-determination and PDT, I want this study to make the voices of local residents heard. The indicators and variables applied to answer the research questions (see Appendix B) have been formulated to capture a balanced outlook from interview respondents, notably through a participatory objective. While research in social sciences has increasingly centred on mixed-method approaches30, that is a balance between qualitative and quantitative data, this is also highly dependent on the research location and the topic of study. As explained in the section on methodological limitations, I favoured a more qualitative and ethnographic outlook during the data collection phase. This was partly to account for the local geographic and socio-cultural environment, as well as the perceptive nature of the concepts underpinning this study. Notwithstanding, by triangulating the findings from semi-structured interviews, participant observations, transect walks and select quantitative data, I have sought to put forward a credible analysis and answer the research questions with more conviction. The methodological framework was therefore intended to be robust, reflexive and transferable to the different data collection sites in Ustupu and Panama City: taking into consideration geographic, social and practical challenges.

Participant observations Upon arrival in Panama City I accompanied my local research partner31 to a number of political and cultural events organised by the KNC, Panamanian Government and NGOs. By orienting myself among the Kuna community living outside of Kuna Yala I met a number of academics, artists and politicians, some of whom shared their views in semi-structured interviews further into the fieldwork. The lion’s share of participant observations, however, took place in Ustupu: ranging from cultural events and political marches to community meetings and transect walks32 with cooperatives working in the tropical forest. According to Green and Thorogood, participant observations build thicker description of the social and physical environment, and help to, “Produce an account of a social setting that is faithful to the perspectives of the participants” (2004, p. 135). Through approximately 30-35 hours of observations

30 A mixed-method design is regarded as an effort to better address complex issues and concepts, and initiate new lines of thinking through attention to revelatory or unexpected outcomes (Creswell and Plano-Clark, 2009, p. 21) 31 I have chosen ‘research partner’ not ‘research assistant’ to emphasise that our relationship was based on a shared experience. I told plenty of stories about my life and experiences in Amsterdam, London and Kurdistan. 32 A transect walk is a fieldwork tool to identify and describe the location and distribution of resources, topography and vegetation, and the main land uses along a given path or semi-defined area (Flora and Fauna International 2013).

I followed-up themes and issues in semi-structured interviews and secondary quantitative information provided by Kuna academics and activists working in Panama City.

Semi-structured interviews In order to put forward a stronger impression of Ustupu and its residents, I carried out semi-structured interviews with 24 respondents over a period of nine weeks. Conversations with respondents were fruitful for building rapport and helping assess patterns and commonality in the perceptions and values of the community. Likewise, interviews revealed more general themes among different lives in the community as well as identify suitable locations for transect walks and participant observations. In these conversations I attempted to construct knowledge according to the perspectives of participants and to better understand the meanings that people attribute to their world. Interviews were carried out in Spanish, although I received support from a local translator where people opted to speak in Kuna. In line with the decolonial episteme of this research, the use of Kuna to transmit opinions and ontologies by interview respondents carried linguistic limitations to full understanding concepts and ideas in a second language. In-depth interviews and life storytelling with some respondents allowed me to piece together a historical narrative of life on the island by tracing changes over time. Faraday and Plummer describe a life history interview as one that captures “the inner experience of individuals, how they interpret, understand, and define the world around them” (Bryman, 2008, p.440). This contributed to gaining deeper knowledge of networks, scales and interactions among actors locally and internationally.

Transect walks The inclusion of transect walks was to build richer description of the socio-cultural, and environmental dynamics of Ustupu, and to ascertain, “The geographic knowledge local people have about their lands and their sophisticated understanding of space...” (Herlihy, 2003, p. 316). During my fieldwork I visited a number of farming plots and coconut farms in Ustupu. I spent between one and four hours with farmers as they guided me through the tropical forest describing how they conceptualise and manage the land – in particular the tools, techniques and philosophies they adhere to in this process – as well as the networks, ties and knowledge supporting them in their work. I also accompanied a farming cooperative on four separate occasions to different agricultural locations in the mainland tropical forest one to two hours from the island. These walks proved revelatory for learning more about the distribution of labour in farming practices as well as how self-organisation takes place. Moreover, it helped me to see first-

hand in what way the community interprets the natural environment and puts into practice customs and traditions shaped by local institutions. I was able to triangulate my observations during these walks with participant interviews on the island to build a detailed picture of community organisation in the context of natural resource management. Moreover, it allowed participants to identify constraints and opportunities regarding locations or particular ecosystems situated along the transect (Integrated Approaches to Participatory Development, 2015).

Quantitative This study pursued a more qualitative approach, in part to articulate greater meaning from language and visual experiences. Nonetheless, a quantitative aspect has been included through secondary quantitative information and data gathered from international institutions and NGO reports, as well as from Kuna knowledge-brokers working for NGOs in Panama City. Quantitative information included has been guided by individuals I got to know over the course of my fieldwork, whom were insightful and helpful in providing me with hard copy government publications and laws pertaining to indigenous issues in Panama. I also received access to maps and statistical information produced by local and national institutions. I have attempted to incorporate these into the analysis and research context where relevant.

4.7 Methods of analysis and data analysis

The geographically isolated location of the fieldwork site – six hours by boat from the nearest city in Panama or one hour by plane – as well as an infrastructure powered by solar energy, meant that my methods of analysis were somewhat limited in their scope. I logged my observations with a notebook and camera, while interviews were recorded with a digital recorder. I transcribed conversations in Panama City and Amsterdam, owing to restricted access to the internet or electrical power in Ustupu. Translation was done with the support of a research partner in Ustupu and Panama City, respectively. I used Atlas.Ti for my qualitative analysis. There were two main phases to the coding process: open coding and axial coding. After reading the transcripts I explored the data to create a number of codes through interpretation of the language used by interview respondents to give meaning to their world(s). After thorough review and reflection I built code trees to make linkages between different indicators and categories. This was carried out using both macro and micro analysis, that is I started with broad categories and then progressed to a more fine-tuned evaluation through generating specific

codes (Hennink et al, 2011, p. 216). Much emphasis has been placed on inductive and deductive reasoning. It is proposed that inductive codes should be designed according to the responses from participants themselves, while deductive codes are formed based on theoretical assumptions in place from prior to when the fieldwork took place (ibid, p. 218). In my analysis I built a coding paradigm based on a combination of inductive and deductive codes that displayed how these codes intersect and provide a basis for theorising and answering the main research question. The factors explaining particular patterns of behaviour in this reflect the epistemological and ontological foundations of the thesis: that there is no fixed reality, and knowledge as based upon the individual’s socio-cultural experiences and natural environment. These can and do, however, contribute to a wider body of knowledge on Ustupu and the main thesis topic: CNRM, autonomy and self-determination. Though I did not conduct a survey or questionnaire, I collected a large amount of documentation in the time that I worked with Kuna experts and activists in Panama City, these include flyers, flags, legal publications, pamphlets, books, artwork, photographs and dictionaries.

4.8 Ethical considerations and limitations

Someday you will become a professional with a title [...] You were an eyewitness to our existence as a people, our customs and traditions; you are very strong, you came from far to get to these lands to learn from us, how we live, how we think […] You’ve seen everything from us, you’ve taken pictures of us, that’s important. Now when you get there [Amsterdam] you’ll tell others everything you have seen, and so in the future other people will come to hear from us (#21).

While several participants in this study wanted me to tell their story and let people know about the Kuna, I have tried to uphold confidentiality and meet the guidelines of the University of Amsterdam. All personal information shared with the researcher has been treated with anonymity. Prior to visiting the fieldwork site in Ustupu, Kuna Yala, consent was obtained from the KNC and the Ustupu authorities33. I informed participants of the purpose of my research and sought verbal approval in recording interviews and photographing cultural events and sensitive spiritual locations on the island. The findings have been made available to the KNC and Ustupu authorities upon their request prior to me returning from the field. Owing to the long struggle the Kuna have faced in negotiating rights and autonomy with Panama,

33 While international visitors are generally welcomed to the comarca, local bureaucracy and red tape is an indicator of Kuna autonomy in practice. This is further emphasised with the $20 visa fee charged by the KNC to international visitors once they enter the comarca.

politicians, activists and Kuna NGOs whom I met in Panama City asked that my work be made available to their archives to create awareness of the indigenous cause in Panama and worldwide. Although I designed the methodological framework to be as inclusive and participatory as I saw possible – mindful of local norms and customs – there are limitations in terms of female participation. Though I actively sought a female voice in this study my local research partner and host family informed me on several occasions that local cultural norms do not permit males to interview married women. For this reason participant observations were highly important in forming a picture of social roles and gender relations in the community. While I took several photographs and videos as a visual memory of observation sites and transect walks, I abstained from photographing Kuna women without their permission (in accordance with local custom). Language was another consideration. As I do not have an academic command of Spanish or Kuna, I was only able to establish minimal rapport and relations of trust with participants and the community. I relied on a local research partner whom I had established contact with prior to leaving for the field. I also befriended two anthropology researchers from Berlin, with a strong command of Spanish and who were also guests in Ustupu during the time of my fieldwork. They provided valuable help with translation and access to interview participants given their long stay on the island. The translation of interview responses from Kuna to Spanish and then further translation in English, however, also means that the decolonial episteme of this study is hindered somewhat. I have attempted to construct a Kuna glossary (see Appendix C) to recapture the terms I encountered orally and visually, and which add meaning to participant worldviews that cannot be fully expressed through Spanish or English. Likewise, the quantitative strand of this research is somewhat under developed as I have not been able to fully access Kuna and Spanish publications relevant to Ustupu and the research question. As explained further in the final chapter where I reflect on methodological limitations, the style of language in the translation of interviews has been a core focus; and despite every step being taken to preserve the colloquial style of Kuna and the terminology used by participants, in some instances this has not been possible.

5. SELF-ORGANISATION, KNOWLEDGE AND FOOD PRODUCTION

This chapter explores the main findings from fieldwork carried out in Ustupu and Panama City over a period of nine weeks between February and April 2015. This analysis is based upon semi-structured interviews, observations, transect walks, and secondary quantitative data obtained from Kuna NGOs and through my own research. Through presenting the main themes from the data, I address consistency and differences in conceptualisations of the community and nature, how participation and knowledge relate to these, and how food production and autonomy intersect.

5.1 The ‘community’ and forms of participation

As elaborated in the theoretical framework, PDT implies that the community has a primary role in devising and delivering ‘local’ development strategies. Based on this, my research sought to ascertain what characteristics form the ‘community’ in Ustupu and to understand who is involved and what activities link these actors, as well as to explore power relations and networks governing these structures. This takes into account the resources that promote or inhibit the community in setting goals and priorities in local development strategies. I applied an indicator matrix which I believe best captures the perspectives on community and participation, and which also puts a focus on natural resource management and food production in local self-determination (see Appendix B).

Belonging through participation Of the various stories I heard during my fieldwork I was frequently told that in order to be part of the community one must participate in daily life. This takes place in a variety of forms and is mandatory under “community law” (#17). The different types of participation include: street and school cleaning; maintenance of the island aqueduct; clearing access paths in the forest; constructing local homes; building an ulu (wooden canoe used for transport to the tropical forest and fishing); and attending the onmaked nega34. “The Kuna people’s system is very close to that of communists or socialists: their way of life resembles the socialist way, it is [still] distinctive and unique, the motto is to help each other.

34 The onmaked nega is a large gathering house where community decision-making and spiritual ceremonies take place, and exists among each of Kuna Yala’s 49 different communities.

Everyone carries out tasks” (#20). Collective responsibilities have also grown in response to limited financial support for Ustupu from the Panamanian Government (#14).

Collective preparation of inna for the Kuna Revolution

The image above shows local men taking part in the preparation of inna, a maize- and sugarcane-based drink consumed during community celebrations, and which was prepared for the 90- year anniversary of the Kuna Revolution35 which took place during my fieldwork. Community life is also sustained by sports activities, collective viewing of football games and cultural and religious events. Regarding the latter, these are marked throughout the year and include the commemoration of revolutionary figure36 Iguaibilikinya, as well as ‘Western’ events such as Easter, Christmas and Mother’s Day (#4). These occasions help to construct and reinforce local identity through symbols and imagery. Festivals on the island also attract Kuna visitors from Panama City and other settlements in Panama37, in addition to the Diaspora in Canada and other territories in Central America. A number of Kuna living on other islands and settlements in Kuna Yala came to Ustupu throughout February to celebrate the Kuna Revolution. As explained in more detail in the following chapter, these ties and networks link residents of Ustupu to their extended families. I was told by a number of people from Ustupu now living in Panama City that they still maintain close links to the community and their families through regular visits and flows of remittance38. Concurrently, the Kuna now living in Panama are also called ‘waga’, which is a term used to describe Panamanians or foreigners. “There are many differences

35 Following several years of forced cultural assimilation into Panama, Kuna revolutionaries led by Iguaibilikinya organised a rebellion in Ustupu and other islands on February 25, 1925 against the Panamanian state. The event is celebrated by the Kuna annually. 36 I have chosen ‘figure’ not ‘leader’ to acknowledge the communitarian structure of the Kuna culture. 37 Of the approximately 58,000 Kuna population worldwide, an estimated 20,000 to 25,000 live outside of Kuna Yala in Panama and overseas. 38 Of the various Kuna communities in Panama, I visited Dagar Kun Yala, Kuna Nega and Veracruz in Panama City. Each community is organised in a similar way to Ustupu, with a saila (chief) and onmaked nega, as well as several other Kuna institutions.

with respect to the Kuna born here. They [Kuna in Panama City] don’t know about Kuna culture and speak their language. They don’t know where they come from and only know the Latin customs” (#8). These ruptures in identity have become more pronounced with the acceleration of migration to Panama City in recent years and indicate that the community is a somewhat homogenous idea. In exploring the idea of ‘shared culture’ as a pillar of participation in the community, religion and knowledge systems become important to this analysis, in particular as there are multiple faiths in Ustupu. These include: Kuna; Catholic; Baptist; Mormon; Jehovah’s Witness; Church of the Gods; and Bahá'í 39. This gave an impression of a more complex identity, one in which people cross boundaries and belong to several different groups at once. Some respondents described themselves as both Kuna and Catholic or Kuna and Bahá'í. While to be Kuna can imply ethnic affiliation, it does not necessarily mean spiritual attachment to the Kuna faith. I was told that community participation is fundamental to the Kuna identity, such that they are intertwined: one cannot be Kuna without being part of the community (#4). Minority faiths such as the Mormon Church and the Church of the Gods were perceived by some as “against” participation in local Kuna institutions, notably the onmaked nega, and holding an altogether different worldview: “They do not participate; they never come to the onmaked nega, they stay in their homes and never talk about the Kuna culture” (#12). This schism is highlighted below:

We are not Christians, we have our own religion, beliefs and spirituality. We talk about the Mother, we believe in our Mother. She is our goddess, then comes Man, we are a product of two energies, two forces: the mother earth and the cosmos. That's what created the Kuna world (#22).

The onmaked nega serves as an interactive space for residents and community delegates to exchange experiences, histories and learn about the Kuna worldview. Discussion and decision-making range from issues on farming and gender to youth and education. The building also holds a spiritual function, with the saila performing chants to connect with the non-human world and transmit a cosmovision and philosophy that guides the daily lives of local residents (#21). The notion of the community is affiliated to demonstrating knowledge of Kuna customs and traditions, and to understand the local cosmovision, which requires a command of the Kuna language to be able to interpret the chants and speeches made by the saila (#14). Ustupu is predominantly Kuna by ethnicity, with some minority groups also on the island, including Colombian boat merchants and Panamanians working at the health centre, school, bank and

39 During my fieldwork I was told that Bahá'í followers believe that all religions and faiths have the same spiritual source (#11).

police station. A handful of missionaries from Central America and the US also live on the island. Although several non-Kuna people I met on the island told me that there are few restrictions on their daily lives, they also described the Kuna worldview as “different” from that of people in Panama (#19).

Perceptions on gender Female community participation takes place in several different arenas. Despite my limited access to these spaces40, women were visible in the local economy – particularly in a financial capacity for local businesses such as household shops and cooperative restaurants – and through their input as educators at Nele Kantule School. They are also important actors in shaping local identity, which encourages participation in the community. As one male respondent informed me, “We still hold on to our cultural values through the women” (#10). In this regard, women are major brokers in transferring the Kuna language to the youth and sustaining knowledge of the Kuna diet and local medicine, owing to their maternal role as carers for the children41. Most women in Ustupu also wear the mola (female Kuna dress)42, especially during February where it is a requirement and can levy a fine from the civil police should a Kuna woman walk in public dressed without one43. Yet, as one respondent told me, women are also increasingly transforming local participation and self-organisation through cooperatives and committees dedicated solely to women’s issues (#1). Moreover, women are instrumental in the preparation of inna during community celebrations and festivities, in addition to participating as delegates in general congresses held among the 49 communities of Kuna Yala.

Women celebrate the anniversary of the Kuna Revolution

40 I was told on a number of occasions that I, as a man, should not interview a married woman, partly because she would have many children to look after or that I would need permission from her husband. This issue regarding ‘access’ is discussed in more depth where I address methodological limitations in the final chapter. 41 The Kuna diet is an important driver in aspirations for autonomy over food production. 42 Mola is a major symbol of the Kuna and is patented under the World Intellectual Property Organisation. 43 The Civil Police are a separate institution from the Panamanian police, who also maintain a small presence on the island. The former have powers to arrest where local customs or laws are deemed to have been broken or disobeyed.

5.2 Attitudes and practices toward nature

We are related to the land as our culture keeps our secrets. Culture is what you do, what you eat, what you think […] Culture is tradition and language […] Men value nature […] The actions of the men are related to nature […] Therefore everything is connected: men, culture and nature (#11).

In this section I want to make clear that the instrumental and intrinsic importance attached to nature in Ustupu intertwine to drive community participation, self-determination and set local development priorities. This is explicit from the extraordinary biodiversity and lush tropical forest nearby to the island, which is a resource, object of agency and a non-material base in which the Kuna identity is anchored.

Kuna cosmology and the environment The spiritual value attached to the land was noticeable in many of my experiences in Ustupu. To work on the land, that is to undertake agricultural farming and provide for the community, is regarded as a central tenet in the Kuna belief system.

According to the Kuna world view, it is believed that the soul goes to heaven, and the work is the bridge that will lead us to the kingdom in the afterlife. Down here we pass through hardship, with hunger, but in heaven we will no longer face this situation (#20).

The position of nature was apparent in cultural events and festivals which took place during my fieldwork. Where I have already mentioned inna, I learnt that this locally brewed alcohol, made from water, sugarcane, coffee, maize, cacao and plantain, among other crops, is consumed to connect one to the non-human world (#20). I observed the different stages of its preparation, from men gathering sugarcane on family and collective plots of land to women preparing the liquid to be brewed and cooled in large earthy pots for several days.

I took perceptions of nature as a ‘provider’ to be strongly rooted in the lives of the community. As noted under my findings on food production, diet carries spiritual and cultural importance. From my discussions with a number of inadulet and state-qualified doctors, the tropical forest supports well- being in treating a range of ailments (#8). Cacao, for example, is one of the most important crops supporting local health, especially for children and the elderly. Among its various properties, it is consumed as a drink and smoked during ceremonies (to bond the human and non-human worlds), as well as playing a role in birth procedures and death rites (ibid). The influx of “non-Kuna” food onto the island, through what many respondents termed a process of “Westernisation”, is, however, redefining attitudes and practices toward nature. During my research I observed a hybrid diet of locally produced and imported foods, with household stores stocked with foods packaged and transported from Panama, Colombia and other markets. A number of respondents raised concerns regarding the impact of canned goods, soda, sugar and rice, and other products, on the criticality of nature in the Kuna cosmology, specifically as fewer people are cultivating crops and learning about the values of the land (#17). One outcome in this process has been reduced biodiversity and the gradual disappearance of knowledge on local plants and fauna (#10).

Environmental awareness and local challenges Interaction with nature in Ustupu takes place predominantly through experiences on the land. Subsistence farmers and farming cooperatives are important actors in this regard and navigate rules and regulations set through assembly-type decision making at the onmaked nega and by the KNC. The use of pesticides and fertiliser is forbidden throughout the comarca under these procedures – farming and fishing must be organic. Pollutants in the upper part of Kuna Yala at the border with the Darien were nonetheless cited as having an ongoing detrimental effect on Ustupu’s natural environment and food pyramid – especially with the migration of wild animals in the tropical forest (#10). Such behaviour was attributed to campesinos and government infrastructure projects44. As a result, farmers must now travel deeper into the forest to sow seeds and hunt (#17). This threatens the cosmology of land as sacred, specifically the upper part of the forest where spirits are believed to reside among the large trees (#22). During my fieldwork I gauged several threats posed to the local environment, in particular the island’s vulnerability to rising sea waters and flooding. According to respondents, these dangers, and others, were described as anthropocentric in their cause, with Man regarded a “destroyer” (#10). Due to

44 ‘Campesino’ is a term used by people in Ustupu to describe mestizo peasants working on farmland, specifically agricultural workers that clear the tropical forest for cattle ranches or monocrop farming. It has a similar connotation elsewhere in Panama and Central America.

timber exploitation, animals and birds in the tropical forest are migrating further away, while overfishing has depleted local marine resources (#17). The existence of pollutant plastics and chemicals was also noted as a problem, and one with ramifications for food production (#10). During my transect walks, I saw plastics, rubbish and debris scattered along the coastline, much of which is carried by the ocean currents from Colombia or is dumped at sea by fishing trawlers or commercial ships. Local waste management practices, however, also created an impression of pollution originating from Ustupu itself, with an area behind the Catholic Church frequented as a place to discard food waste and rubbish into the sea. Such practices were Pollution on a local beach viewed as relatively recent and linked to overpopulation, a changing local diet and the influx of processed food from Panama (#10). With the natural resource base coming under increasing pressure, and food sources becoming ever scarcer, interaction with nature appears to be decreasing. Notwithstanding these changes, environmental issues have also aroused agency in mobilising to safeguard nature and, ultimately, the Kuna cosmovision. The perception among some respondents of themselves as “defenders of nature” (#7) or “caretakers of large trees” (#22) resonated strongly. In discussions about the carbon trading project, UNREDD, which is addressed in more detail in chapter six, I was told that no price can be attached to the land and that the Kuna would not be bought through financial incentives. “For us, the land is priceless”, one respondent told me (#12). Another went further to reiterate ‘Napguana’ or Mother Earth, that is, “The land, trees, rivers and the air, which are all related to us” (#8). Other perspectives relate back to the Rights of Nature discourse presented in the theoretical framework, “The trees were the first inhabitants before us”, thus we take nature as a sacred force, I was told (#15). While I do not want to delve too far into the Kuna cosmology, further light needs to be cast upon nature and spirituality, and the multiple properties ascribed to the natural resource base in Ustupu. “We are products of Mother Earth, we are all generated from Her. For us the land is like our mother, that cares for us, sustains us, gives us air, gives us food, clothing and shelter; for this reason we consider the land as our mother” (#22). It was visible from my observations among local farmers and fisherman of this perception of nature as a provider. As one respondent told me, “We consider mother earth in two aspects, as our mother and as our resource. It generates money, so we take care” (#22).

In this close relationship with nature and the resource base, it was recounted that the Kuna are “defenders of nature” (#7) and that there is a knowledge gap among the non-Kuna world in the relation between man and nature. As one respondent said, “Latinos do not understand our world” (#15). This sense of agency and environmental self-determination is elaborated on further below.

Territorial threats and community mobilisation Nowhere is the importance of nature in Ustupu more apparent than through perspectives on UNREDD. As mentioned in the empirical focus – and as will be alluded to in the following chapter on external networks – the project has become a key focus point for interactions between the Kuna and international institutions. It also raises a number of points about nature as a platform for self- determination and resistance to dominant development discourses. As one respondent said, “We don't want to know anything about UNREDD; it's a threat to our people. The elders have a strong definition of what mother earth means, as it gives them their daily bread, so it is not easy to give in to this mega- project. Ultimately, the decision was to say ‘no’ to UNREDD” (#22). As a mechanism to combat the effects of Climate Change, the UNREDD was conceived by several respondents as a tool of governmentality,

We ourselves will be the participants in the promotion of our economy and about Climate Change. We know we are not going to solve the problem, but we can at least control it […] The UN would be owner of carbon, the owner of everything that would produce carbon […] That’s why we said ‘no’ to UNREDD (#22).

Although Climate Change was identified as a palpable threat to the lives of the community – with shifting climatic conditions and extreme weather events noted among respondents – it was also taken to be a complex and evolving issue, and one that cannot be dictated by an external force from outside of Kuna Yala (#23). Individual and community decision-making on farming practices, food production and knowledge construction is highly dependent on access and control over the land. Where this is perceived to be threatened by initiatives such UNREDD or megaprojects put forward by Panama and MNCs, interview respondents ‘flexed their muscles’ so to speak, “No one can move us out of here; no one can take it from us. If anyone comes to take our land, then there will be blood as there was in the Kuna Revolution” (#2).

Megaprojects, nevertheless, do exist on the island. The Arcos fibre-optic telecommunications line, for example, which was negotiated by the KNC and telecoms group Cable & Wireless almost 25 years ago, brings in approximately $12,000 in revenue annually for both Ustupu and Ogobsucun (#22). However, other major projects, in particular tourism45, have been rejected by the community where they have been viewed as weakening local livelihoods dependent on land and marine resources.

5.3 Harnessing local knowledge

…the jungle is like a school, a university […] It is our pharmacy, our hospital, our restaurant, our warehouse […] Almost like our brother (#10).

As outlined in the theoretical framework, activating local knowledge in autonomous rural communities necessitates participatory forms of development. By tracing attitudes and practices toward nature therefore, this section explores what norms and values constitute ‘knowledge’ in the Ustupu context. In doing so I have sought to give meaning to non-normative approaches to nature and highlight those factors and spaces determining how knowledge is produced, sustained and transferred among different actors in the community.

Knowledge in action In my analysis I followed the approach of knowledge as locally constructed in line with my theoretical framework. A range of networks and personal relationships at the individual, family and community level were explored. Through interactions with family members and elders, especially brothers, fathers, grandfathers and male members of the community, respondents described how they built up their skill- sets and awareness of their surroundings from a young age (#15). My conversations with farmers and farming cooperatives, as well as with Kuna experts working in consultative roles for international institutions and NGOs in Panama City, revealed consistency in the importance they placed upon the experiences between the youth and elders in learning about nature and the land, particularly food production and ina, or Kuna medicine (#8). As one participant said, when recounting his relationship with his father, “I will teach you to stand up for yourself from an early age […] I will show you all this because I could die soon and you might have nothing and depend on others” (#11).

45 A number of tourist resorts have been built on islands close by to Carti in the western part of Kuna Yala. Though no figures were available, the tourism industry attracts a significant amount of revenue for local Kuna families and the Kuna National Congress, though it has also brought pollution and reduced food sovereignty as fewer people are now choosing to work on the land.

Several respondents referred to ‘naskued’, a term that translates, literally, as “development”, and relates specifically to the production of food and work in the fields (#1). Or, as I was told by another man from Ustupu now living in Panama City, “Producing land and learning traditional knowledge for the benefit of all and not just for the few; not to be individually rich but to share knowledge with everyone” (#23). Community delegates including the saila transmit this concept through community discussions at the onmaked nega. I believe that the circular relationship presented in the Métis Holistic Lifelong Learning Model helps to capture the multi-actor and multi-scalar processes taking place in knowledge formation in Ustupu46.

Figure 7 - Métis Holistic Lifelong Learning Model (Source: Canadian Council on Learning, 2007)

Agricultural practices and food production play a significant role in the actors involved in knowledge formation. The cultivation of coconuts, for example, is an important space whereby individual farmers and families using land inherited from their parents and grandparents to self-organise and exchange farming skills (#7). These spaces serve the younger generation in learning agricultural

46 The Métis Holistic Lifelong Learning Model creates a link between life-long learning and community well-being, and has been applied as a framework for measuring progress in knowledge formation for a number of indigenous communities internationally (Canadian Council on Learning, 2007).

techniques from their fathers and other family members, and also build understanding on biodiversity. Among those noted, I can mention sowing seeds, pest control, clearing land and crop rotation (#7). During transect walks in the tropical forest, I observed male members of the community organising as farming cooperatives to transport agricultural produce (mostly plantain and sugarcane) from the tropical forest to the island. They collaborated to identify crops for cultivation and areas of land which required clearing or burning. Young boys would also occasionally join their fathers to help gather crops. I was told that during the school holiday period the male youth frequently visit farming plots to assist with agricultural tasks around land management and food production (#15).

Yarsuisuit farming cooperative

Related to this, intercultural education stood out as a major theme during discussions on the challenge to attain a coexistence among different knowledge systems – the Kuna and non-Kuna world(s). Interview respondents cited the erosion of networks and ties between elders and the youth as a factor decelerating and inhibiting the transfer of knowledge to the next generation, which, as a result, has reduced the standing of nature in community development processes (#17). Several Kuna educators described the Panamanian schooling system as one that does not cater to the priorities of the community in terms of guaranteeing autonomy over food production, (re) producing local knowledge nor encouraging self-organisation (#17). The education model was viewed as one that instils non-Kuna ideas and encourages migration to the city. The end result is a subsequent loss of knowledge and reduced interaction with the land (ibid). Those working on the land explained that only through visiting the tropical forest from a young age with their fathers and grandfathers could they ascertain the skills needed to sustain themselves (#15). The dichotomy between the Panamanian and Kuna education system is clear; the former values written forms of knowledge, whereas the Kuna

culture, which is influenced by storytelling and through practice, is more orally oriented. “Collective memory still runs strong. Everything about history is transmitted orally and through doing” (#17).

Autonomy as rooted in knowledge As alluded to above access to land is key for putting local knowledge into practice and as a tool for self- determination and autonomy. This has been highlighted where I mention coconut farming as a marker of private land rights and a space for self-organisation. Knowledge formation in Ustupu is quite explicit – interaction with nature, land and agricultural farming. It was explained widely that to hold knowledge of agricultural practices is to be autonomous and self-organised in deciding lifestyle choices, “I have neither a boss nor a master”, one man affirmed (#7). Through participation in community spaces, such as the onmaked nega and farming cooperatives or with family members, opportunities arise to nurture skills and practices that ensure self-sufficient food production and reduced vulnerability through dependency on external actors. Knowledge also implies self-determination, with respondents exercising their skill-sets related to land and the environment as a tool to “defend the Kuna culture and identity” at the grassroots level and to sustain the community base (#15). Farmers and community representatives pointed to their deep understanding of the land as crucial to safeguard the tropical forest from alternative knowledge systems – those that do not orient around spiritual well-being and non-material benefit. This serves to reinforce the claims of the Kuna, at least in Ustupu, as guardians of the forest and to use this power to mobilise the community in pursuing alternative development practices.

5.4 Mobilisation through food production

The value of knowledge in self-determination is further evident from efforts to achieve self-sufficient food production. “To be autonomous, one has to have his own responsibility concerning production and avoid dependence” (#17). These expressions resonated throughout my conversations with farmers and community representatives. “Without land we are nothing” (#15) one group of respondents said. In this section I will give an impression of how food production intersects with autonomy and community participation. In the process I explore vulnerabilities as well as strategies devised in Ustupu to expand adaptive capacity. Subsequently, I will highlight how land management practices are defined by different forms of collective organisation – structures shaped by customs and lore in the community. Moreover, I make explicit that food practices and their supporting agricultural mechanisms demonstrate

an inherent nutritional and spiritual importance: food production not only supports community health and well-being in Ustupu, but also relates to Kuna cosmology and cultural traditions.

Spaces and types of agricultural production A variety of actors and resources are involved in food production. These include household farmers, farming cooperatives, artisan fishermen and cash crop farmers, among others. Likewise, men and women are involved at different stages of the production line, with men responsible for working the land and physically transporting produce from the mainland to the island, and women often engaged in distribution and storage within the home. Agriculture takes place in a range of settings in and around Ustupu. Poor soil quality ensures that most food production on the island itself is in the form of home gardening, mostly tomatoes, chili, coconuts and some tropical fruits; these spaces are used to incubate and grow small plants, which are eventually transferred to larger plots on the mainland tropical forest (#13).

Home gardens in Ustupu

The lion’s share of food production, however, takes place on private and communal land in the tropical forest47. As explained in more detail in the following chapter, coconut farming is the main bread winner in Ustupu,48 though lobster and crab fishing are also important for local value chains49. Other products include: papaya; pineapple; lime; mandarin; banana; avocado; mango; tomato; pumpkin; onion; carrot; squash; maize; plantain; cassava; yam; cacao; taro root; sugarcane; mangrove fish; crab;

47 Communal land titles for agricultural use are granted by the local administration in Ustupu, not Panama. 48 While there are no official figures for production in Ustupu, it was explained that the community sells as many as 26,000 coconuts per week to Colombia, and around 20 million annually. 49 Lobster is sold to fish markets in Panama City at a price of $3.50 each, with fresh catch transported via aeroplane almost every morning. The local authorities have seasonal fishing restrictions in place to avoid overfishing.

turtle; shark; deer; tapir; iguana; wild boar; shellfish; and red snapper50. Locally grown food is a major symbol of Kuna identity and source of cultural agency. Tule masi, for example, which translates literally as “people’s food”, is a trademark dish in Kuna culture and is prepared using ingredients found in the tropical forest, river and sea, namely coconut, plantain, cassava, taro, yam, chili, lime and fish. For many respondents I spoke with, eating tule masi serves as an expression of being Kuna (#7). In this respect, it is necessary to re-emphasise the Declaration of Atitlán, which outlines the cultural significance of local produce as a marker of being indigenous and upholding autonomous practices. Added, food production also supports cultural events in Ustupu, namely the Kuna Revolution, in which each family must contribute at least 20 canes of sugarcane in the preparation of inna, which is consumed collectively.

The challenge of food sovereignty Agricultural production and fishing are seasonal, and follow a crop rotational system based on rules and regulations set by the onmaked nega (#15). Demographic pressure on the land has led to reduced soil fertility, in the process strengthening the need for crop rotation (#10). Moreover, the latter is seen as supporting local biodiversity and reducing monoculture and crop disease (ibid). During my fieldwork, which occurred in the dry season51, only a limited amount of fruit and vegetables were available from household shops or among local homes. I was told that this is not a seasonal phenomenon but represents decreasing levels of food sovereignty on the island. The diminishing input from the youth in local agriculture was regarded as the main factor in this demise. Although a number of responsibilities are placed on young people to participate in working the land, as laid out by community representatives52, food production does not meet local demand. “They want to live an easy life” (#7), said one respondent, while another told me, “There is more than enough food here, what happens is that people do not want to work” (#10). Others attached the problem to wider cultural and lifestyle changes in the community, “People pretend they live in the city, but we are not in the city”, one group of respondents said (#19). Another example of threats to food production relating to the youth in Ustupu include drugs. Narco-trafficking and cocaine, for example, were acknowledged as alternative sources of income that reduce the incentive to farm (#20). Beyond drugs, other respondents pointed to a local education

50 This list was made through my own observations during farming and fishing excursions. I may not have therefore included other important crops which were not in season at the time of my fieldwork. 51 Ustupu’s weather conditions are separated according to the dry and wet season(s). The dry season generally runs from December to April and the wet season from May to November. 52 In order to be granted permission by the local authorities to travel to Panama City and other communities in Kuna Yala, participation in local agriculture is mandatory.

system that does not lend itself to promoting Kuna values – to work the land (#12). Other factors include the role of religion in affecting world views, especially where they differ from the Kuna faith: agriculture and food production as the cornerstone of community development (#22). As elucidated in the following chapter, addressing youth participation is a multi-scalar issue. “People need to be educated in agriculture, to be taught agricultural practices, that is what is missing here”, one respondent highlighted (#10). Community representatives are aware of these challenges and have taken measures to initiate change. The promotion of intercultural education, for example, was outlined as one strategy to drive self-determination in the youth, in particular to learn about spiritual and historical figures in the Kuna world, and the reasons behind the revolution, “The youth needs to know why their grandparents fought for the land” (#12). As the food sovereignty challenge has grown in the community, diversity and complexity in the local diet has also altered. Poor nutrition was attributed by health experts as contributing to a range of illnesses and diseases such as high blood pressure, diabetes and cancer (#20). In my observations I noted a large number of refined goods and (what I describe as) ‘junk’ food being imported from Panama and Colombia, and sold to the community at households shops. This dependency on ‘outside’ food to meet calorific and dietary requirements has also integrated Ustupu further into global value chains, in the process heightening the need for monetary exchange. Community representatives, farmers and farming cooperatives acknowledged that greater urgency could increase adaptive capacity and, in the process, enhance food production. “We need to lead the revolution in the fields”, one respondent said (#17). “I think that we ourselves must assess our past, present and future, and what we want. To do this, everyone needs to participate, it is not an issue that concerns only one particular person” (#7), said another farmer. While local knowledge in Ustupu is rooted in historical practices and cultural identity, mechanisation was also suggested (#17). Reduced participation has resulted in farmers transporting larger quantities of agricultural produce, often alone, but also further away from their plots of land (ibid). This logistical challenge has required opening up new access paths in the tropical forest to reach unused agricultural land (#13). Incursions into virgin forest are, however, contributing to the degradation of the natural resource base, and threaten biodiversity and ecology, an area the Kuna have fought tooth-and-nail over with the Panamanian Government for so long. Simply put, the land is the base in which self-determination and autonomy depend upon.

Concluding remarks This chapter has examined perspectives and practices related to nature, knowledge and food production in Ustupu. By analysing these overlapping domains, an attempt has been made to situate the values, strategies and structures influencing community participation and self-determination.

Figure 8 - Vulnerability matrix linking nature, knowledge and food production

The Ustupu experience illustrates several noteworthy points for discussion and to help answer the main research question. Social organisation is rooted in the need to reproduce knowledge through agricultural and land management practices, in part through the interdependent relationship between the Kuna cosmology and community participation. The significance given to nature is driven by traditions that attach spiritual and cultural importance to the land, with the community an important instrument in sustaining this model through placing responsibilities on society. This chapter also surmises that approaches to food production are based on harnessing local knowledge, skill sets and community labour. However, this complex assemblage of factors has shown itself to be imbalanced or under stress, with implications for autonomy through increased dependency on external actors. To understand these processes further and to build a more comprehensive picture of Ustupu, I will now move on to integrate relations of power and the role of networks and scales as another level of analysis

6. SCALES AND NETWORKS OF POWER

We as a people do not want to disappear like many other Indigenous Peoples around the world (#22).

This chapter presents the main findings on power structures in Ustupu. This second level of analysis aims to complement the different views on nature, knowledge and community discussed in the previous chapter, specifically through adding a dimension on strategies and adaptive capacity. The purpose is to show how networks at the local, national and global scale intersect in shaping community priorities and self-determination. In doing so, governance arrangements and methods of self-organisation are discussed and integrated into wider debate around governmentality and vulnerability. This is especially the case where weak political ties between Ustupu and Panama have rendered the national level a somewhat fickle scale in achieving alternative development strategies.

National Global Local

World Bank / UN

Kuna National Congress

Panama Ustupu institutions Local governance

International NGOs Kuna knowledge brokers Indigenous alliances

Figure 9 – Multi-scalar power relations

6.1 Local governance and intra-island cooperation

As already discussed, a variety of actors steer local development strategies. From my conversations with community figures in Ustupu and Kuna political representatives in Panama City, governance arrangements are driven by sustaining the Kuna cosmovision. As described, this relates to working the land, demonstrating knowledge of nature and its cycles, and participating in the community. Although there is no official head of the community, a representative known as the saila, assumes a guiding and spiritual role to inform Ustupu on issues ranging from farming and gender relations to education and youth participation in agriculture (#21). The responsibility of the saila is to convey knowledge of Kuna traditions, laws and cosmovision orally to the community through assembly- style meetings that take place at the onmaked nega. This is in addition to maintaining relations with neighbouring Ogobsucun, the other population centre on the island, which incidentally has its own saila and administration53. Meetings at the onmaked nega take place throughout the week, with specific issues reserved for certain days, these include: agriculture and fishing; youth; education; and women’s issues, among others. A variety of actors participate and deliberate, including farmers, community representatives, female collectives and educators. Non-Kuna residents living in Ustupu also take part in these sessions where they relate to education, religion and the youth (#19). Meetings are typically conducted in Kuna, with Spanish spoken only when visitors from Panama arrive on the island and are required to outline the purpose of their stay in Ustupu. The diagram below presents the main community priorities I noted during my fieldwork:

Food production

Information Autonomy -sharing

Land management Assembly- type Education decision- making Spirituality & Culture

Figure 10 – Interface between community priorities

53 Ogobsucun is located on the same island as Ustupu and there is no clear physical boundary between the two communities. It was explained, however, that Ogobsucun was founded some years after Ustupu, when Kuna families in what is now Colombia migrated to the island.

The saila is supported by the sapin dummad, or an administrative representative, who oversees a number of working committees and women’s committees (#14). Where issues arise around regulatory, social or family problems, the sapin dummad delegates to a committee to help resolve the issue and avert conflict (#12). These committee issues are not discussed in the onmaked nega but in committees themselves (ibid). The saila and sapin dummad are also responsible for granting permission for local residents to travel to other islands within Kuna Yala, as well as to Panama City and overseas (#20). If one does not participate in community activities, they may be refused permission to leave the island. From my fieldwork, I can say that although Ustupu is highly communitarian it is not without the presence of authority in guiding certain decision-making. Ustupu is one of 49 communities under the guidance of the KNC, which is based in Panama City, with each community implementing its own form of decision-making54. As one respondent told me, “No community interferes with another community” (#12). Men and women living in Ustupu choose at least one saila to represent the community at the Onmaked Dummad Sunmakaled, known as the Kuna Yala General Congress (KYGC), an inter-island meeting which takes place every six months and brings together representatives from all 49 island communities. It was explained that where issues are more complex, they are dealt with by the KYGC (#22). Although the Kuna Yala charter approved in 1995 (as part of Ley Fundamental de la Comarca Kuna Yala) sets out the responsibilities of the saila in Ustupu (and other communities), the saila dummad and the KNC are the main actors guiding regional autonomy. Residents of Ustupu and Kuna Yala are, however, subject to the Constitution of Panama and the laws of the republic (Horton, 2007, p. 105).

Indigenous chiefs from Canada, Mexico and Guatemala watch a theatre performance for the Kuna Revolution

54 While a number of respondents questioned why the KNC is based in Panama City, given the logistical challenge of being far removed from the comarca, others mentioned that Panama offers a more practical location to negotiate relations with the government as well as international NGOs and other indigenous groups in Panama (#23 and #24).

The saila and local authorities play a key role in social mobilisation and energising political consciousness on the island. During my fieldwork, a number of events and activities were organised as part of the 90-year anniversary of the Kuna Revolution and to re-instil awareness of local autonomy and self-determination. These included political speeches and the politicisation of public space across Ustupu, in particular revolutionary murals painted on walls, theatre performances to re-enact the events of 1925 and concerts by well-known Kuna musicians (see Appendix E). Community governance also receives input from a number of religious institutions on the island. Along with the Kuna faith, local religions include Catholic, Baptist, Mormon, Jehovah’s Witness, Church of the Gods, and Bahá'í. Despite the onmaked nega being open to all faiths to attend and participate in local decision-making, I was told that not all groups share the same cosmovision as the Kuna faith and some do not take part in local decision-making, in particular the Mormon Church and Church of the Gods (#4). This has resulted in weakened intra-community ties and homogeneity in Ustupu, and means that part of the population does not fully partake in community decision-making.

6.2 Externalised structures and ties

Local development strategies are also governed by external structures of power. These take a number of forms and link Ustupu to other communities in Kuna Yala and Panama, respectively. Though Kuna self- determination has partly emerged as a response to exclusion from and discontent toward the state, during my fieldwork I mapped several spaces in Ustupu where state institutions maintain a presence (or territorialise) and affect autonomy and self-organisation.

Spaces of contested knowledge Nele Kantule School is one example of a contested space. In following a syllabus approved by the national government, the school receives teachers55 and printed course books from Panama and other islands within Kuna Yala (#19). Based on interview responses, however, the local curricula appears to be one at odds with the Kuna cosmovision of working the land and ensuring self-sufficiency in food production through youth participation. One respondent told me, “I see threats in the form of Western education being taught to our children in schools” (#11). A number of interview respondents noted a growing need for intercultural education: coexistence between different systems of knowledge and to

55 I have used the term ‘teacher’ to imply that this individual working in the school is promoting a non-Kuna knowledge system.

value agriculture and rural living above a primacy for urban life. Although Ustupu is the only case among autonomous indigenous regions in Panama where children are taught in the local language (non- Spanish) until the age of eight (#19), the education system is one of the main reasons behind rapid flows of migration to Panama City, as the youth pursue university education and employment opportunities outside of Ustupu (#17). While local education programmes are not implemented from above, but are negotiated at the community level in meetings between parents and Panamanian teachers at the onmaked nega (#19), Kuna values and ethics in education appear secondary to the Panamanian worldview. One strategy to decelerate youth migration has been a proposal to establish a Kuna-focused university in Ustupu. Still in its infancy, interview respondents regarded the idea as a measure of adaptive capacity that could elevate the Kuna cosmovision among the youth (#12). That said, the Panamanian State would still need to provide funding, to which the latter has not yet done, despite a ruling to advance intercultural and bilingual education in all Kuna Yala schools (Land is Life, 2013). “It appears that the government does not attach any value to the Kuna people”, one respondent told me. (#12). The KNC did recently introduce an intercultural bilingual programme to promote discussion on the value of nature and farming among the youth (#22). Other initiatives by the KNC to boost cultural (re) engagement from the youth include the creation of the Pan-Kuna Games, which were held in Ustupu from 20-23 February – at the time of my fieldwork56. These examples point to a situation in which Panama has kept the Kuna within its orbit by not granting sovereignty, yet has withheld services to which it is duly responsible. Under the Constitution of Panama, the state is mandated under law to support Ustupu and other communities in Kuna Yala in a variety of ways. These include the provision of infrastructure, education and basic necessities, much in the way that they must assist other provinces in the country, though in the case of Kuna Yala this must respect the latter’s autonomy (#22). Where Panama lays out plans to introduce projects to Ustupu or other communities, it must first consult with the KNC, which heads the KYGC.

International narco-trafficking Another space that situates Ustupu within the realm of Panamanian territoriality relates to drugs. Although the political violence and organised crime of nearby border areas with Colombia were not identified as a danger for people living on the island, a number of residents did pinpoint narco-

56 The Pan-Kuna Games is a sporting event that takes place over three days prior to the anniversary of the Kuna Revolution in February. Teenagers and young adults from Kuna communities in Panama City, Colon and Kuna Yala compete as teams in volleyball, football and basketball. During my fieldwork around 200 to 300 Kuna visitors came to Ustupu to participate in the event.

trafficking as a serious, and growing, threat to local autonomy (#22). Ustupu’s proximity to major cocaine producer Colombia and along an international drug trafficking route has heightened these concerns. Figures are not precise, but Panama was ranked third in Latin America for cocaine seized in 2009, accounting for approximately 7% of the world’s total (UN Office on Drugs and Crime, 2011, p. 116). The coastline and jungles of Kuna Yala and the Darien are a major artery in cocaine transportation to Panama City and other destinations in Central America. Interview respondents spoke of the danger that drugs pose to the Kuna cosmovision in terms of reduced participation from the youth in agricultural production and the erosion of local knowledge57. With cocaine washing up along the shoreline on a regular basis, drugs have become a quick-fix and alternative means to sustain local livelihoods. Monetary returns from drugs have essentially taken away the incentive to engage in local food production (#9). The erosion of food sovereignty has, in turn, created dependence on food imports from Panama and Colombia, as well as monetised forms of exchange. It has also led to growing Panamanian military involvement in combatting drug trafficking (ibid). On one occasion during my fieldwork a group of heavily-armed soldiers arrived by helicopter and naval boat on the island following a tip-off that cocaine was being housed at a ‘safe-house’. Some respondents are fearful of growing insecurity, while others put the responsibility on Panama for not doing enough to address the issue (#22). The general view of Colombia and Panama was characterised by distrust and negativity. As one respondent told me, “Over there people think of life as easy by living on theft and stealing” (#17).

The indigenous connection in Panama Nonetheless, as part of the wider Kuna stake for autonomy, Ustupu has benefitted from collaboration between Kuna knowledge brokers and other indigenous communities in Panama. These vary among the different groups, though interview respondents working in consultative roles for Kuna NGOs noted cooperation around the promotion of biodiversity, resistance to government-sponsored megaprojects and concerns with land grabbing (#23). UNREDD is perhaps the most significant issue for Indigenous Peoples in Panama and one of the main battlegrounds in contesting knowledge. Although the position among indigenous groups in Panama toward UNREDD has differed58, partnership and collaborative training on indigenous conservation and the promotion has taken affect through workshops and events sponsored by international NGOs (#23). In effect, these spaces have helped form stronger links and ties

57 By referring to local knowledge I mean agricultural practices, botanical medicine and practices related to the land. 58 While the Kuna rejected UNREDD, the Emberá agreed to trial the pilot project in the Darien (#24).

among indigenous groups in Panama, including in Ustupu, where communities are faced with similar challenges in harmonising the relationship between nature and autonomy.

6.3 Rescaling to build adaptive capacity

Another example of a network linking Ustupu to Panama is remittance. I was told that almost every family receives financial support from family members working in Panama, with the money generally used to purchase school books and children’s clothes (#13). Remittance also contributes toward energy fuel (diesel) thereby allowing farmers to reach far-away agricultural land. In many ways, however, it is a double-edged sword. In spite of the community enhancing its adaptive capacity by leveraging these external networks, it has also become increasingly dependent on remittance as a coping strategy against lower food production. Remittance and migration to Panama City has resulted in two main issues for Ustupu. On the one hand, food sovereignty has diminished as a result of decreased youth participation in agriculture. Conversely, a number of community representatives describe building friendships and skill sets during their time living in Panama, “I spent 15 years working with the gringos59, I learned their way of being” (#21). Several other people in the community have also spent time studying in Russia, Cuba, Spain and Brazil, viewing the experience as beneficial to their own self-development and for putting Ustupu’s name on the map. While interview respondents described self-sufficiency in food production and subsistence farming as the bedrock to local autonomy, it has been through cash crop farming that has led Ustupu to forge strong external relations, in particular with Colombia60. The cultivation of coconuts, for example, which takes place on private family plots of land, is a key source of income for local residents. “Coconuts are the currency of the Kuna”, one respondent said (#15). Although there were no reliable figures at the time of my research, one respondent told me that collectively Ustupu sells around 26,000 coconuts per week to Colombia (#7), which contributes to an annual total of 20 million among all of Kuna Yala (#24).

59 Gringo is a term used throughout much of Latin America to describe someone from the US and, sometimes, a Northern European. 60 Coconuts traded by the Kuna are used to produce a variety of goods in Colombia and Central America, including soap, perfume and rum, among others (#10).

Coconut farming is a major network integrating Ustupu into global value chains. The sale of coconuts to Colombian shipping merchants is part of a long-standing reciprocal agreement between Panama and its neighbour, though the former plays no role in governing these operations at present (#14). Farmers I interviewed, and accompanied in visits to their farming plots, explained that coconuts are the most prized crop on the island. For each coconut sold to Colombia they receive $0.40, which can be used as credit to purchase items brought from their eastern neighbour. Access to credit allows a range of goods to be purchased, including school books, vegetables and fuel (diesel) which provides access to faraway agricultural land on other islands and the mainland further along the coast toward Colombia (#7). As part of the bartering system organised around coconuts, tradesmen from Colombia lead a market twice per week next to the main pier in Ustupu61. These boats travel throughout the archipelago, anchoring at different islands in Kuna Yala and also trade a range of merchandise, including baby clothing, hammocks, electronics, household cleaning products, kitchenware, and pirated DVDs. These large vessels also contribute to the island’s waste management programme through purchasing large bags of crushed aluminium cans and plastic bottles from families to be recycled at factories in Colombia. The presence of the Colombian merchants was visibly a valuable link in the daily lives of people in the community. “You can find anything from the Colombian guys” (#19), one respondent said. Other stories relayed concern, specifically the added dependence on cash crops. “If Colombian boats do not turn up, we cannot sell coconuts” (#10). In the effort to navigate between subsistence and commercial agricultural production – that is at the local and global scale – perceptions of vulnerability run strong. “We are at the mercy of the Colombian market […] Every passing day we are becoming more dependent on Colombia” (#22), one respondent told me. Although it appears that local farmers are obliged to be market-oriented, owing to fragmentation of the social base in terms of reduced youth participation in agriculture, in many ways it is a catch-22 situation. “It is clear to me that we are living in a world of many changes, a lot of Western influence, things that are coming from the outside […] We have to face this situation […] Possibly in 20 years everything will change, and I do not know how that will affect our

61 Colombian vessels must pay a tax to the local administration in Ustupu where they dock at the marina.

region” (#21). Some pointed towards increasing monetisation and dependence on money: “I know that in today’s world money is in charge – if there is no money, there is no work” (#10).

Inter-island networks As already explained, the governance framework in Ustupu is characterised by high levels of autonomy granted by the KNC. Nonetheless, the latter also assumes a role in negotiating community development projects for the 49 different communities. A comarca-wide solar power project, for example, which was executed through funding from the World Bank and a Dutch company, was negotiated by the KNC in 2010. Inter-island relations between Ustupu and other communities in Kuna Yala also build rapport and create collective goals. Several spaces exist in this exchange. The bi-annual KYGC (see picture on left) brings together every saila of the 49 communities in the comarca and provides an arena for deliberation on tourism, fisheries, the environment, and information sharing (#22). As one respondent summarised, the KYGC provides forum to devise strategies to reinforce local Photo credit Onmaked Dummad Sunmakaled (KYGC) autonomy (#18). One area of cooperation is to leverage familial relations to trade food and fish between communities on different islands at times of food shortages (#22). In addition, inter-island cooperation has also contributed to political mobilisation where threats to local autonomy have surfaced62. However, around the issue of reduced food sovereignty – a problem shared by several islands – inter-island networks have yet to devise a policy of how to enhance production through mechanisation. “There is no attention for production from the government; the congress and the community are the ones that must support production” (#22). These weak ties between the local and national level raise an issue touched upon in the theoretical framework, where national governments, in this case Panama, grant autonomy but do not uphold their own obligations vis-à-vis the provision of state services and financial support.

62 UNREDD has been an important issue in which different communities within Kuna Yala have mobilised as a unit to negotiate how to take forward discussions on the carbon trading scheme. The Kuna eventually rejected the proposed project on the grounds of a lack of free, prior and informed consent, as well as fears of interference in local governance (Redd-Monitor, 2015).

6.4 International solidarity and alliances

Ustupu residents have also built international alliances to globalise their struggle for autonomy and promote the Kuna knowledge system. As part of the 90-year anniversary for the Kuna Revolution, which took place during my fieldwork, a number of representatives from indigenous communities in Canada, Guatemala and Mexico were invited to take part in the celebration on the island. ‘Indigenous solidarity’ was evident in a number of interviews, with some community representatives sharing their experiences from global conferences on indigenous causes as well as describing the friendships they have forged with other indigenous groups (#11). Local community delegates have also leveraged intra-ethnic networks of support with Kuna professionals and experts originally from Ustupu. These lawyers and consultants for international institutions and NGOs, some of whom I interviewed in Panama City, have proved instrumental as mentors in devising clear development strategies. Through studying overseas and travelling extensively to international institutions and development platforms, they function as important agents for building awareness about specialised topics affecting the Kuna, as well as a bridge for merging different knowledge systems – Kuna and non-Kuna. Health is one example to mention. While there are no accurate figures, an increasing number of people from the comarca have graduated from Cuba in the field of medicine in recent years63, a situation that is harmonising two different health systems (#20).

Kuna knowledge brokers and indigenous alliances are a key resource for Ustupu

Community representatives have also used Kuna knowledge brokers where threats to the local natural resource base and Kuna autonomy have appeared. Detailed and technical information about the

63 While the numbers cannot be verified, it is believed that since 2006 approximately 50-60 students from Kuna Yala have graduated in medicine from Cuba (#20).

global carbon trading programme UNREDD, for example, was conveyed by Kuna experts to different community representatives across Kuna Yala, including Ustupu, in 2013. Each of the 49 communities in Kuna Yala took part in workshops organised by the KNC and voted at the KYGC, with a unanimous ‘no’ delivered by delegates on the basis that local communities had not been fully informed by the UN about the project (#22). As one respondent said, “The mission we have as an organisation is to lower the information to the communities, this has an impact on men, women and young kids being involved in environmental issues” (#23). Input from Kuna experts creates a network between Ustupu and the regional and international levels. This information exchange has empowered community representatives to advocate the cause of the Kuna living in Ustupu and to establish solidarity with other indigenous groups globally64. Ustupu and the KNC is party to several international indigenous platforms including the International Indian Treaty Council (IITC), with the 35th Annual Conference of the IITC having taken place in Ustupu in 2009 (#11). Other international events focused on indigenous capacity building have also been held in the community in recent years65.

This is the strategy of Indigenous Peoples, one cannot work on its own, there are things that Kuna Yala can contribute to from its own reality, but there are also other things whereby we need support from other communities. We have another vision so we must join efforts, interests and concerns to impact and have a say in environmental policies of the country we are working in (#23).

The community also maintains global ties through a number of grassroots projects with international NGOs. Land is Life, for example, a US-based environmental NGO with a focus on Indigenous Peoples, has collaborated with Ustupu farmers to establish the Ibeorgun Traditional Knowledge School of Kuna Yala. The programme is aimed at remedying some of the problems elucidated in this thesis: to energise “inter-generational transmission of traditional knowledge” which is a key step to enhancing local biodiversity and food production (Land is Life, 2013). The impact of international NGOs upon community development in Ustupu, however, is driven predominantly by Kuna NGOs working in Panama City. These organisations are valuable power brokers in disseminating information to Ustupu from the international realm regarding policy and global debate

64 As already noted, Ustupu shares close ties with representatives and organisations from indigenous communities in Canada, Mexico and Guatemala. 65 An international dialogue workshop organised under the Resilience and Development Programme at Stockholm University was held in Ustupu from 10-13 April 2012. Titled ‘Knowledge for the 21st Century; Indigenous Knowledge, Traditional Knowledge, Science and Connecting Diverse Knowledge Systems’ brought participants from a number of different indigenous communities and international NGOs.

affecting Indigenous Peoples. During my fieldwork in Panama City I met a number of Kuna professionals born in Ustupu working in the NGO field and who were responsible for facilitating and coordinating relations within international NGOs and indigenous partnerships.

Concluding remarks

The Ustupu experience highlights the role that networks and ties can play in community mobilisation, particularly the links and bridges among different actors at multiple scales. While much can be made of the territorialising capacity of Panama regarding education, cultural assimilation and migration, the same can also be said of Ustupu where community representatives have been able to navigate contested and vulnerable spaces in a relatively successful manner. Although reduced food sovereignty and threats to the land in the shape of UNREDD have weakened the land as an instrument to mobilise the community – the main object of self-determination and autonomy – strong ties with external actors have meant that strategies are being devised to adapt to this changeable environment. Cash crop farmers have shown themselves to be adept in using their long-standing links with Colombia through coconut trading as a means to reduce their vulnerability, or at least contain it. Community representatives, meanwhile, are able to raise awareness of the critical role that working the land has for propping up autonomy, principally through using cultural events and the onmaked nega to encourage participation and disseminate information to initiate cultural and political agency. Local stories from my fieldwork indicate that autonomy is being harnessed from indigenous alliances both within and outside of Panama. Ustupu has managed to build relations with international NGOs around the topics of biodiversity, land rights and protecting local knowledge. Community delegates facilitate as knowledge brokers in equipping Ustupu with political awareness of the indigenous struggle globally, which in turn reinforces community priorities related to nature, food sovereignty and participation. The findings do imply, however, that weak ties between the local and national scale(s) show Ustupu to be at risk of governmentality by Panama. Is it possible to say therefore that Ustupu or Kuna Yala is fully autonomous if the state has removed itself from delivering certain community services or financial assistance where obligated? While Ustupu projects a development model based on a degree of insulation, in order to sustain this model ties with Panama City need to be more defined. The social and environmental issues discussed are arguably too complex that a single actor can manage or contain them alone, or in a hierarchal way.

7. CONCLUSION

During the course of this research a number of issues came to the surface. These emerged from my efforts to construct knowledge on the topic of Indigenous Peoples as an actor affecting new paradigms in international development discourses, specifically in the context of local autonomy, natural resource management and community participation. From my experiences in Ustupu and Panama City I discussed problems concerning youth participation in agriculture and attempts to sustain the Kuna cosmovision and knowledge base within a fluid space of interlinked networks, externalised power structures and vulnerability. My aim was to deliver a clearer understanding of interactions and priorities in Ustupu with respect to the environment and natural resource base. Added, I wanted to explore the community as a vehicle for self-determination and resistance among a multi-scalar and multi-actor political environment. Food sovereignty and agriculture showed themselves to be key domains in this effort. The question that has been addressed in this study was: How do community-based structures and participation affect development strategies in Kuna Yala, Panama, and what are the implications for self- determination?

7.1 Main findings: A hybrid model

The West and the World Bank think of development as making sure Indigenous Peoples have a house made of concrete with nice ceilings and floors. If I have a car then that is development, but for the Kuna people this is not the case [...] To us development is not the accumulation of riches, because our grandparents never talked about accumulating riches, but about living well (Buen Vivir) (#23).

Autonomy and CNRM have been presented as the main pillars supporting local development strategies in Ustupu, an idea not based on the accumulation of material wealth but knowledge about land, food production and cycles of nature. I have shown that this model is driven by multiple actors and networks at different scales: local, national and global. These interactions are part of a wider conceptual debate, and struggle, around the very idea of nature, community, knowledge, and, ultimately, development. Indeed, the Kuna in Ustupu formulate their own definitions of nature and development, and set their own spaces of action to maintain these approaches. To address the first subquestion – How is the community organised and mobilised in local development strategies? – the findings show that Ustupu identifies local priorities through processes of consensus-building and assembly-type decision-making. Furthermore, local representatives tap into

information from Kuna knowledge brokers working at the regional, national and global level. These relations provide a means to resist territorial threats to the natural resource base, particularly with regards to the uncertainties of UNREDD. It is by no means a hierarchical relationship: information facilitated by actors working at national and global tiers encourages self-determination at the grassroots level by reaffirming the value of land and nature in Kuna Yala’s struggle for autonomy, while knowledge brokers and community representatives follow the will of people and desires of the larger community. The case of Ustupu shows that awareness by different community stakeholders of these multiple scales and networks improves intervention in local development objectives. Community representatives utilise higher and lower level processes to scale up local challenges and strategies, in particular food production and the prioritisation of nature. By linking local to macroscale drivers of change, and connecting with Kuna NGOs and indigenous international alliances, Ustupu has managed to localise and globalise efforts for self-determination simultaneously. This helps to build a strong conceptual framework for community representatives to position nature, participation and autonomy at the core of cultural identity. Notwithstanding these efforts, and to answer the second and third subquestions – What are the main vulnerabilities and threats to the natural resource base, and how is the community adapting to these, and, secondly, what role does food production play in practices of autonomy? – notable challenges exist. Although overlapping somewhat, these two questions can be answered by first drawing upon environmental issues alluded to in the opening empirical chapter. I presented the case of UNREDD as a threat for Kuna Yala by imposing the development agenda of the UN – a vision that does not fully match that of the Kuna people. Local livelihoods stand to be weakened where the Kuna interpretation of nature is downgraded as inferior to the UN knowledge system. Nature, community and participation are interconnected forces in Ustupu: weakening one will destabilise another. To assert a new construct of nature that does not consider the socialisation role of elders, community representatives and historical connections with the land could interfere with biodiversity and food production. Reduced participation in agriculture, especially among the youth, has contributed to the demise of food sovereignty. This is not to say that autonomy no longer exists. Rather, the community has rescaled to adapt in conjunction with these challenges, partly through integrating into the market economies of Colombia and Panama. Less food sovereignty, however, has meant that the land is losing its instrumental value in cultural identity and social mobilisation. With community participation rooted in the spiritual importance attached to nature, especially through local traditions and festivals, identity is being undermined or, alternatively, transformed. As I have shown, autonomy is both an individual and

collective experience. Working the land contributes to the construction of local knowledge, that is sowing seeds, cultivating crops and gathering coconuts to be used as a monetary form of exchange. This last point leads into the fourth subquestion – How is local knowledge maintained and reproduced, and in what way does it relate to participatory forms of community development? Based on my fieldwork and reflecting upon the theoretical framework, I have articulated knowledge as an interactive process rooted in participation in land management, food production and community traditions. In many respects, it is a tool for cultural, economic and political agency, and involves a range of actors, from elders and family members to community representatives and farming cooperatives. Local institutions set the mandate for knowledge formation, with the onmaked nega existing as an interactive space for deliberation and collective decision-making on agriculture, education and the youth, as well as serving as an arena for knowledge transfer on customs and lore about nature and collective action. Other relations are also of relevance, including community exchanges with Kuna knowledge brokers, international NGOs and indigenous partners in outside of Panama. Local knowledge drives self-determination in Ustupu and has empowered people to adapt (to some extent) to land threats and cultural assimilation. Although I have chosen not to adapt the conceptual scheme presented in chapter 4, I have summarised some of the interactions above in the table below.

Figure 11 - Self-development matrix

7.2 Theoretical reflection

Whether this case study is convincing as an example of a decolonised space depends on the reader’s interpretation of the strength of my argument presented through Ustupu. No case can offer definite confirmation of a theory. Nonetheless, the experiences of the land shared by interview respondents and through my own observations imply that Ustupu bears several characteristics discussed in the theoretical framework: a conceptualisation of nature and community based on an anti-modernity outlook, and with a horizontal power structure. In these respects, Ustupu was a strong choice. Indeed, the degree of confirmation offered is perhaps greater than the degree of disconfirmation that might have been offered by another case. The main point is that experiences in Ustupu have been similar or equal, rather than dichotomous, thus I can say with more conviction that particular dynamics are in play that encourage a certain type of behaviour or worldview toward the natural resource base, which in turn supports self-determination and community participation. Moreover, Ustupu shows that while autonomy is both an individual and collective experience, it is not necessarily an isolated one. Rather, local stakeholders, including farmers and community representatives, have shown themselves to be adept at leveraging different networks and shifting among scales – local, national and global – to access resources, build knowledge and mobilise around the land. This last point is crucial and one that needs to be explored further, specifically whether or not self-determination for Indigenous Peoples is attainable without a territorialised land base. This study makes explicit that we need to reorganise our understanding of power and governance in autonomous rural communities, especially among Indigenous Peoples. Ustupu is a contested space resisting modernity paradigms – a hierarchy of knowledge, commodification and monetisation – that we can say with more conviction. There still appears to be a knowledge gap, however, in evaluating whether this can be realised only through territorial autonomy and disentangling from dominant power structures. Greater critical understanding is needed as to whether states and indigenous territories can coexist, or whether a more general shift toward an anti-modernity development outlook by non-indigenous actors is first needed so that knowledge is not anchored in a particular idea of being ‘indigenous’ or ‘the other’, but about being a human.

7.3 Methodological limitations

Through my description and evaluation of Ustupu, a number of methodological limitations must be revisited to reflect and come to a stopping point in this thesis. Language is at the core of this discussion, given that interviews were conducted in Spanish and Kuna, neither of which I have a particularly firm grasp. In addition, interview responses were transcribed in Spanish and thereafter translated to English, thus affecting my interpretation of the language where a Kuna term or idea does not carry weight in English. Furthermore, access to secondary quantitative information – publications, reports and articles – was restricted, owing to my limited command of Spanish. The infrastructure in Ustupu also meant that electricity and computer access was limited, thus most coding was carried out in Panama City and Amsterdam, thereby affecting the analysis somewhat. Although this study attempted to gather a balanced insight of Ustupu through the stories shared by interview respondents, this was not possible where local customs shaped gender relations, specifically my role as a male researcher. I attempted to overcome this hindrance through a focus on participatory observations, which helped to shed some light on gender roles and social cohesion. Another issue to reflect upon concerns how to reconcile the data analysis, which has taken place both within and outside the fieldwork location; the urban setting of Amsterdam and the rural environment of Ustupu display a stark difference in their socio-cultural and political characteristics. The motivations behind my fieldwork and research bias also fall within this debate, especially where I discuss self-determination and a louder voice for Indigenous Peoples worldwide. I have sought to be subjective in presenting the Ustupu case; however, I conducted my research during a highly politicised period, with celebrations and events to mark the Kuna Revolution. As time passed on the island, and the more stories I heard, and shared from my own life, there was an underlying expectancy for me to present my findings in a way that gives strength to the Kuna. Equally, an overarching question remains of whether the theory created from a small sample of participants represents the experiences of everyone in Ustupu or Kuna Yala. I answer this through considering my agenda for further research.

7.4 Agenda for further research: A shift in consciousness

The conceptual framework of development studies needs to be continuous in order to understand processes in a more critical way. Nature and knowledge are but just two ideas in this shift in consciousness. To elaborate on the indigenous debate within a post-development framework, I believe

that it would be useful to focus on another space in Latin America. This would situate the rescaling question beyond the borders of Kuna Yala and develop an epistemology that can explore adaptive capacity and power in a more meaningful way. My first recommendation would be to build more reflexive and historically specific understanding of Indigenous Peoples. By this I mean new empirical perspectives on the role that nature and the environment play in building non-normative development approaches among indigenous communities. Likewise, more analysis is needed on what types of knowledge are valued in development strategies and how different actors are integrated in this process. This is especially important as debate continues to rage on the environment in the lead up to UN Climate Change Conference in Paris in late-2015, as well as ongoing attempts by international institutions to govern Indigenous Peoples through environmental initiatives such as UNREDD. The Ustupu experience is an attempt to mend the relationship between man and the environment, and raises profound questions about what it really means to be ‘developed’.

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Appendix A – List of interview respondents

No Date Description Age Location

#1 12-02-15 Ex-sapin dummad for Ustupu (M) 72 Ustupu

#2 12-02-15 Saila for Ogobsucun (M) 61 Ustupu

#3 15-02-15 Botanical doctor (M) 60 Ustupu

18-02-15 #4 Catholic priest and president of Aneda Cooperative (M) 70 Ustupu 11-03-15

#5 21-02-15 Artist and painter (M) 55 Ustupu

#6 25-02-15 Secretary of the Kuna National Congress (M) 56 Ustupu

27-02-15 Farmer and member of Yarsuisuit Cooperative and former representative of the Kuna #7 52 Ustupu 12-03-15 Youth Movement in Ustupu (M)

#8 27-02-15 Inadulet and member of Yarsuisuit Cooperative (M) 55 Ustupu

#9 28-02-15 Farmer (M) 56 Ustupu

#10 01-03-15 Farmer (M) 48 Ustupu

#11 02-03-15 Ex-saila for Ustupu (M) 89 Ustupu

#12 03-03-15 Educator at Nele Kantule School (M) 50 Ustupu

#13 04-03-15 Farmer (M) 47 Ustupu

#14 05-03-15 Sapin Dummad for Ustupu (M) 52 Ustupu

#15 05-03-15 Four members of Yarsuisuit Collective (M) 55-70 Ustupu

Chef in Panama City (M) 28 #16 07-03-15 Ustupu Builder and farmer from Narganá now living in Ustupu (M) 45

#17 09-03-15 Educator at Nele Kantule School (M) 58 Ustupu

#18 10-03-15 Administrator: Kuna National Congress (M) 41 Ustupu

#19 10-03-15 Four Panamanian teachers working at Nele Kantule School (Two M) (Two F) 36-55 Ustupu

#20 12-03-15 Doctor and graduate of Havana Medical School (M) 29 Ogobsucun

#21 13-03-15 Saila for Ustupu (M) 71 Ustupu

#22 14-03-15 Saila Dummad for the Kuna National Congress (M) 76 Panama City

#23 17-03-15 Executive director for the Foundation for the Promotion of Indigenous Knowledge (M) 50 Panama City

#24 22-03-15 Consultant Representative for Indigenous Organisations and Nations Worldwide (M) 56 Panama City

Appendix B – Operationalisation of major concepts

The operationalisation table below guided interviews, observations and transect walks, and has been elaborated to help answer the main research question.

Concept Dimension Variable Indicator Types of interaction Connectivity Spaces of interaction Intrinsic value Spiritual relevance of nature Identity Relation of nature to the Kuna cosmovision Health and nutrition Well-being Biodiversity Types of food production Instrumental value Food sovereignty Agricultural practices Forms of knowledge Knowledge Natural resources Role of knowledge in adapting to change Land rights Accessibility Rules and regulations Territoriality Forms of collective action Networks Types of resources Ecological hazards Local Level of interaction with nature Vulnerability Threats to the land base External Megaprojects Festivals and events Types of activities Community actors Resources and skills Cultural agency Role of Kuna traditions Forms of knowledge exchange Social cohesion Intra-island networks and ties Socio-cultural differences Resources Community participation Types of activities Integration in local and external value-chains Economic agency External networks of support Adaptive capacity Forms of knowledge exchange Places where power is expressed Consciousness Arenas of decision-making Political agency Types of external knowledge Mobilisation Interaction with multi-scalar power structures Global solidarity and partnership

Appendix C – Glossary of Kuna words / names

Abya Yala A term to describe the Americas before the Latin conquest and which has been collectively accepted by a number of indigenous groups in region.

Argar Advisor to the chief and island governance system, also referred to as the chief‘s translator or spokesperson given their duty in transmitting the chief‘s chants in spoken language.

Dule Literally means ‘person’, but also used to refer to someone as ‘Kuna’.

Dulegaya Kuna language. Originates from the words ‘dule’ and ‘gaya’ which here means language, but can also relate to ‘mouth’.

Dummad Is used to refer to high ranking positions. The saila dummad for example is the highest chief.

Gammu burwi Kuna dance. Gammu is a panpipe instrument, while burwi means little and multiple. The dance requires several gammu, often men.

Igar or igala Path or way, used to refer to a story, a treaty or a practice that is chanted by a saila or other ritual specialists. Has other meaning in governance such as meeting or decision, among others.

Iguaibilikinya Kuna revolutionary figure who led revolt against Panama in 1925.

Ina Kuna medicine

Inadulet (pl. inadurgan) Specialist or doctor from the field of botanical medicine

Inna A fermented drink made from maize and sugarcane juice. During my fieldwork it was consumed for the 90-year anniversary to commemorate the Kuna Revolution.

Inna nega The building in which the inna rituals are performed. In some Kuna communities it is the same building used as the onmaked nega, though in Ustupu it was separate.

Mergi A term used to describe an American or European, who are presumed to be white.

Mola (or Mor) Clothing. Also used to refer to handmade colourful female blouses sold as artisan goods.

Nan Dummad Great mother, the Kuna female deity also known as mother earth.

Naskued Is a term to describe the Kuna vision of development, that is protection of mother earth and the production of local knowledge to share with the entire community.

Olodule (pl. olodulemar) Is a word to describe a golden person that is the Kuna – protectors of Mother Nature.

Onmaked A term to describe collective gathering for prayer or decision making.

Onmaked Dummad Sunmakaled The Kuna Yala General Congress – the administrative and political governance structure of the comarca.

Onmaked nega A large gathering house that is the central point of village and social life and was used as a metaphor by the prophet Ibeorgun when teaching collective organisation.

Saila (p. sailagan) A term to describe Kuna spiritual and political representatives.

Saila dummad The Kuna high chief of the saila dummagan.

Saila dummagan The main authority for Kuna Yala and responsible for negotiating with Panama and other political bodies. Also known under its other name of the Kuna National Congress.

Sapin dummad A term used in some communities to describe representatives who participate actively in onmaked nega and are good at public speaking.

Sikwi Is a term used to refer to secretaries of the congresses and professionals who are called in to support decision making processes.

Tule masi Literally translates as “people’s food”. It consists of a coconut-based soup with yams, plantain, taro and cassava, and is served with lime and chilli, as well as fish or other types of seafood or meat.

Ulu A narrow, long canoe made of wood and used for fishing and transporting agricultural produce from the mainland.

Waga Is a term to describe someone as a Latino or a foreigner, and literally translates as ‘coloniser’.

War saed Ritual specialist who blows tobacco smoke during the inna ceremony.

War uet Collective ritual that involves tobacco smoking, also known as neg absoget.

Yala Land or territory. As in Kuna Yala, or territory of the Kunas.

Appendix D – Pictures of transect walks in Ustupu and the tropical forest

Appendix E – Pictures of the 90-year anniversary of the Kuna Revolution