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The political ecology of indigenous movements and tree plantations in Chile : the role of political strategies… du Monceau de Bergendal Labarca, Maria Isabel 2008

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  THE POLITICAL ECOLOGY OF INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS AND TREE PLANTATIONS IN CHILE  THE ROLE OF POLITICAL STRATEGIES OF MAPUCHE COMMUNITIES IN SHAPING THEIR SOCIAL AND NATURAL LIVELIHOODS    by    MARIA ISABEL DU MONCEAU DE BERGENDAL LABARCA  BA. Anthropology, Universidad Austral de Chile (1992) MA.  Environment, Development and Policy, University of Sussex (1996)    A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in   THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (RESOURCE MANAGEMENT AND ENVIRONMENTAL STUDIES)          THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)   April 2008   Maria Isabel du Monceau de Bergendal Labarca, 2008 ii  Abstract In Chile’s neoliberal economy, large-scale timber plantations controlled by national and multinational forest corporations have expanded significantly on traditional indigenous territories. Chile’s forestry sector began to expand rapidly in 1974, the year following the military coup, owing to the privatization of forest lands and the passing of Decree 701. That law continues to provide large subsidies for afforestation, as well as tax exemptions for plantations established after 1974. As a consequence, conflicts have developed between indigenous communities and forestry companies, with the latter actively supported by government policies. The Mapuche people, the largest indigenous group in Chile, have been demanding the right to control their own resources. Meanwhile, they have been bearing the physical and social costs of the forestry sector’s growth. Since democracy returned to Chile in 1990, governments have done little to strengthen the rights of indigenous peoples. Government policy in this area is ill-defined; it consists mainly of occasional land restitution and monetary compensation when conflicts with the Mapuche threaten to overheat. This, however, is coupled with heavy-handed actions by the police and the legal system against Mapuche individuals and groups. From a political ecology perspective, this thesis examines how indigenous communities resort to various political strategies to accommodate, resist, and/or negotiate as political-economic processes change, and how these responses in turn shape natural resource management and, it follows, the local environment. My findings are that the environmental and social impacts associated with landscape transformation are shaped not only by structural changes brought about by economic and political forces but also, simultaneously, by smaller acts of political, cultural, and symbolic protest. Emerging forms of political agency are having expected and unexpected consequences that are giving rise to new processes of environmental change. Evidence for my argument is provided by a case study that focuses on the political strategies followed by the Mapuche movement. I analyze the obstacles that are preventing the Chilean government from addressing more effectively the social, economic, and cultural needs of indigenous peoples through resource management policies. Government policies toward the Mapuche have not encompassed various approaches that might facilitate conflict resolution, such as effective participation in land use plans, natural resource management, the protection of the cultural rights of indigenous communities, and the Mapuche people’s right to their own approaches to development. Employing Foucault’s notion of governmentality, I argue that, while the Mapuche have widely contested the state’s neoliberal policies, they have nevertheless been drawn into governing strategies that are fundamentally neoliberal in character. These strategies have reconfigured their relationship with the state, NGOs, and foreign aid donors. Operating at both formal and informal levels of social and political interaction, this new mentality of government employs coercive and co-optive measures to cultivate Mapuche participation in the neoliberal modernization project, while continuing to neglect long-standing relations of inequality and injustice that underpin conflicts over land and resources. iii  Table of Contents Abstract................................................................................................................................................. ii Table of Contents ................................................................................................................................ iii List of Tables ....................................................................................................................................... vi List of Figures..................................................................................................................................... vii List of Illustrations............................................................................................................................ viii List of Appendices............................................................................................................................... ix List of Acronyms.................................................................................................................................. x Acknowledgments ............................................................................................................................... xi Dedication ........................................................................................................................................... xii Chapter 1. Introduction....................................................................................................................... 1 Merging Theory with the Case Study through Political Ecology .......................................................... 5 Contributions towards Understanding the Political Ecology of Tree Plantations and Indigenous Movements........................................................................................................................................... 11 Rationale of the Thesis......................................................................................................................... 20 Structure of the Dissertation ................................................................................................................ 31 Chapter 2. Research Design .............................................................................................................. 35 Designing the Case Study .................................................................................................................... 35 The Case Study: Comunidades en Conflicto de Collipulli .................................................................. 38 Methodological and Analytical Tools.................................................................................................. 41 Data Collection............................................................................................................................. 42 Data Analysis Procedures ............................................................................................................. 45 Outcomes of the Research ............................................................................................................ 46 Chapter 3.  Background .................................................................................................................... 48 The Mapuche People............................................................................................................................ 48 Historical Context: Land Exclusion and Cultural Denial .................................................................... 50 The Republican Period ................................................................................................................. 50 Allende’s Agrarian Reforms (1970–1973) ................................................................................... 53 The Military Regime and the Counter-Reform (1973–1989)....................................................... 54 Indigenous Rights under Succeeding Neoliberal Regimes........................................................... 56 The Overlaps between Indigenous Land Seizure and the Forest Development Model in Chile ......... 59 The Renaissance of a New Indigenous Movement .............................................................................. 64 Chapter 4. The Significance of Temperate Forests: From Forest Ecosystems to Industrial Plantations .......................................................................................................................................... 66 iv  Local and Global Perceptions of Temperate Forests: A Comparison between Chile and British Columbia.......................................................................................................................................... 67 How Temperate Forests Are Valued. State, Assessment and Trends. ................................................. 70 Forest Policy and Management Practices ............................................................................................ 74 Forest Endowments and Land Tenure Systems ................................................................................... 75 Industrial Forestry in Temperate Forests: The Chilean Case............................................................... 76 The role of Chile’s Forest Industry in the Global Economy: Forests for Pulp .................................... 80 Patterns of Consumption and Demand................................................................................................. 82 Controversy: Tree Plantations and Native Forests in Chile ................................................................. 86 Actors’ Positions, Their Values, and Discursive Frames..................................................................... 88 The Industry.................................................................................................................................. 88 The Government ........................................................................................................................... 90 Environmentalists ......................................................................................................................... 91 Indigenous People......................................................................................................................... 92 Small-Scale Foresters and Peasant Farmers ................................................................................. 93 The Legal and Conceptual Battles: Reading Between the Lines ......................................................... 94 On the Way to Sustainable Forest Management … Whose Knowledge and Values Count? .............. 96 Conclusion ........................................................................................................................................... 99 Chapter 5. Ecological and Social Transformations in Indigenous Territories: An Environmental Racism Perspective................................................................................................ 102 The Social Construction of Race and Forms of Racism .................................................................... 104 Commonsense Privileges: Making Power Systems Invisible ............................................................ 106 The Environmental Racism Framework ............................................................................................ 107 Dismantling Environmental Racism in Chile .................................................................................... 111 Loss of Territory and Neoliberal Expansion...................................................................................... 115 The Gaps Between Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Populations: Beyond Statistics on Poverty…. 117 Social and Environmental Impacts Associated with Tree Plantations............................................... 122 1. Conversion of the Agricultural Sector and the Impacts of Plantations on Small Farms ........ 122 2. Displacement of the Rural Sector and Indigenous People...................................................... 126 3. Labour Problems and Working Conditions on the Plantations .............................................. 127 4. Landscape Transformations.................................................................................................... 128 5. Loss of Capital as a Result of Export-Oriented Subsidies and Incentives ............................. 130 6. Water Scarcity and Water Pollution ....................................................................................... 130 7. Changes in Soil Quality.......................................................................................................... 134 8. Loss of Biodiversity................................................................................................................ 135 9. Human and Ecosystem Health Risks Associated with Excessive Use of Pesticides, Fertilizers, and Herbicides ....................................................................................................................... 136 10. Uncertainty and Risk Associated with the Use of Genetically Modified Trees ................... 137 Institutionalized and Systemic Forms of Environmental Racism...................................................... 139 v  Unequal Protection of Rights and Unequal Law Enforcement .......................................................... 140 Indigenous Struggle and Violations of Basic Human Rights............................................................. 144 Conclusions........................................................................................................................................ 145 Chapter 6. The Revitalization of Indigenous Movements and the Transformative Politics of Mapuche Territorial Organizations ............................................................................................... 147 The Emergence of New Social Movements in Latin America .......................................................... 147 The Origins of the “Mapuche Movement” and Its Early Demands ................................................... 150 From a Class–Based Movement to an Ethnic One ............................................................................ 151 Current Organizations and the “Territorialization” of the Movement ............................................... 154 Leadership Dynamics and the Use of Different Political Strategies.................................................. 157 The Revival of the Mapuche Movement: Resistance and Subsistence.............................................. 160 Mobilizing Collective Memory.......................................................................................................... 162 Young Leaders with Old Memories: Reminiscences of a Lost Nature in Industrialized Landscapes166 Rebuilding the Land, Rethinking Their Identity ................................................................................ 168 The Transformative Politics of the Mapuche Movement .................................................................. 171 Conclusions........................................................................................................................................ 173 Chapter 7.  Government Responses to Indigenous Demands: A New Deal with Old Rules ..... 176 Understanding Resistance in the Broader Context of Resource Policy ............................................. 177 Resistance Movements in the Context of “Neoliberal Multiculturalism” ......................................... 180 The Project Dependency Dilemma: Coerciveness and Co-optation of Assistance Programs ........... 184 Politics of Land Restitution and the Development Agenda ............................................................... 187 Limitations and Obstacles of State Responses to Indigenous Demands............................................ 190 “Miracle Projects” and the Professionalization of Development....................................................... 196 Dealing with Indigenous Demands: The Carrot-and-Stick Approach ............................................... 204 Revisiting the “Mapuche Conflict” and Applying the Antiterrorist Law .......................................... 206 A New Deal with Old Laws ....................................................................................................... 208 And the Trial Proceeded …........................................................................................................ 210 Behind the Trial .......................................................................................................................... 212 The Normalization of Fear ................................................................................................................. 213 Final Discussion................................................................................................................................. 216 Chapter 8. Summary and Conclusions .......................................................................................... 219 Bibliography ..................................................................................................................................... 229 Appendices........................................................................................................................................ 252 vi  List of Tables  Table 3.1. Process of Mapuche’s forced settlement (1884-1929)…………………… 64 Table 3.2. Total of land of indigenous reserves seized during the military regime…. 67 Table 3.3. Law 701 payment summary….……………………………...…………... 73 Table 4.1. Total Chilean radiata pine and eucalyptus planting………...…………... 91 Table 4.2. Chile’s forest product export by major commodity……...………….…. 92 Table 4.3. Annual growth rate for radiate pine………………………...…………... 94 Table 4.4. Chile’s forestry export by destination………………………...………... 96 Table 5.1. Poverty levels, indigenous and non-indigenous population…….…........... 130 Table 5.2. Levels of poverty by region……………………...………………………. 130 Table 5.3. Employment rates in Collipulli………………….…….…………………. 136 Table 5.4. Migration rates in the IX and VIII regions.………….………………….. 137   vii  List of Figures  Figure 1.1. Conceptual model............……………………………………………..…… 33 Figure 1.2. Underlying and direct causes of deforestation and degradation of native forests in Indigenous territories…………………………………………………..……. 34 Figure 1.3. Multilevel analysis……………...…………………………………..……... 35 Figure 4.1. Evolution of pine plantations in Chile……...………………………..…….. 88 Figure 4.2. Cumulative plantation area in Chile 1978-2000…………………………… 90 Figure 7.1. The relationship between objectives and political strategies………………. 190  viii  List of Illustrations  Illustration 2.1. Map with current properties of Indigenous communities in Collipulli  52 Illustration 2.2. Front page of a local newspaper depicting Mapuche as terrorists…… 54 Illustration 3.1.  Mapuche ancestral territory ………………………………………... 61 Illustration 4.1. Chile’s pulp production by type 1990-2010…….…………………… 93 Illustration 4.2. Comparative advantages of pulp production…….…………………... 95 Illustration 5.1. Concentration of plantations and Mapuche property………………... 131 Illustration 5.2. Mapuche property surrounded by plantations……………………….. 132 Illustration 5.3. Mapuche farmer harvesting eucalyptus……………………………... 134 Illustration 5.4. Radiata pine plantations………………………………………...…… 140 Illustration 5.5. Mininco plant in Collipulli………………………………………….. 142 Illustration 5.6. Water reservoir in Collipulli…………………………………………. 143 Illustration 5.7. Soil erosion in Lonco Mahuida (Collipulli)......................................... 144 Illustration 5.8. High density eucalyptus plantations…………………………...…….. 145 Illustration 5.9. Formerly planted areas………………………………………………. 146 Illustration 7.1. Forest operations under police protection ……………………..……. 219  ix  List of Appendices  Appendix A.  Research Objectives and Guiding Questions………………………... 263 Appendix B. Definitions of the Cadastre and Evaluation of Chile’s Native Vegetation Resources………………………………………..………………..……. 266 Appendix C. Legal Definitions of Decree Law 701 (DL 701)……………………… 267 Appendix D.  Forest Stewardship Council - Principle 10: Plantations…………..… 268  x   List of Acronyms  ADI   Areas de Desarrollo Indígena, “Indigenous Development Areas” CONADI  Comisión Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena, “National Corporation for Indigenous Development CONAF  Corporación Nacional Forestal, “National Forestry Corporation” CONAMA  Comisión Nacional para el Medioambiente, “National Commission for the Environment” CORMA  Corporación Nacional de la Madera, “National Timber Corporation” INDAP  Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo Agropecuario, “National Institute for Agricultural Development” FAO   Food and Agricultural Organization FTAI   Fondo de Tierras y Aguas Indigenas, “Indigenous Land and Water Fund” ODEPA  Oficina de estudios y políticas agrarias, “Office of Studies and Agrarian Policy” PAP   Programa de Apoyo Predial, “Land Support Program” SNA   Sociedad Nacional de Agricultura, “National Agricultural Society” xi  Acknowledgments This thesis would not have been possible without the support of many people. I would like to offer special thanks to my supervisor, Terre Satterfield, for her kind support, advice, and endless patience in improving my writing and ensuring my continuous funding. Also thanks to my committee members, Juanita Sundberg, Alex Clapp, and Les Lavkulich, who read my numerous revisions and constantly offered their guidance and support. A large number of students and members of the RMES Program and the University of British Columbia helped me complete this work. Among them, I would like especially to mention my friends Patricia Keen, Bhaskar Chakrabarti, David Brownstein, and Dorothy Schreiber, who read parts of my thesis and gave me their brilliant ideas and suggestions. Thanks to the many institutions that provided me with the financial means to complete my research: the Government of Canada Award (ICCS), the University of British Columbia Fellowship, and the Keizo Obushi Scholarship from UNESCO. I would like to give special thanks to the people in Chile who helped and facilitated my fieldwork: the Communities in Conflict of Collipulli, and the Insituto de Estudios Indigenas (Universidad de la Frontera). My special thanks to Jose Aylwin, Karina Prado, Victor Ancalaf, Alfredo Seguel, and Alejandra Malian, who provided me with priceless suggestions and hospitality throughout my fieldwork. I would also like to mention Dr. Antonio Viviani, my friend and colleague, who has inspired me in too many ways to mention here. And finally but not least, thanks to my husband, daughter, parents, sisters, and numerous friends who endured this long process with me. Though they did not and still do not understand completely what I was doing, their love and support were essential for the completion of my work. It is to them I dedicate this thesis. xii   Dedication   This thesis is dedicated to three wonderful women: my grandmother Laura, my mother Carmen, and my daughter Belen, who taught me to enjoy life the most… 1  Chapter 1. Introduction In this thesis I examine the political ecology of the resource conflict between the Mapuche, the largest indigenous group in Chile, and the expanding tree plantation industry in southern Chile. My objective is to explain how indigenous communities—in this case, the Mapuche—use various political strategies to accommodate, resist, and/or negotiate access to and use of resources in changing political-economic landscapes (local, national, and global) and how, in turn, those responses shape natural resource management and, it follows, the local environment. I begin this chapter by outlining the present-day context of this study. Under Chile’s economic liberalization program, large-scale timber plantations controlled by national and multinational forestry companies have gained access to traditional indigenous territories within the Chilean nation-state. As a consequence, conflicts have arisen between indigenous communities and forestry companies, with the latter actively supported by government policies. International economists view Chile’s forest development program as a success, yet that program has also generated considerable controversy regarding its costs and benefits (Newbold 2004). As a result of the rapid expansion of tree plantations, land and resources are now concentrated in the hands of a few powerful economic groups; at the same time, most of the environmental and social costs associated with the forestry industry are being borne by other sectors of society, especially indigenous communities (McFall and MacKinnon 2001). As one result, concepts such as environmental protection, conservation, and biodiversity have become popularized and people are beginning to question how plantations are being managed, by whom, and for what. From my field observations in Chile, I well realize that tree plantations have become a highly charged political issue. Environmentalists are raising concerns about the future of Chile’s native forests, and indigenous people have long been battling the forestry companies to recover their ancestral lands. The Mapuche have organized themselves into a loosely structured movement and have adopted various political tactics to confront the government’s systematic denial of Mapuche land and resource rights. The Mapuche comprise almost 10 percent of Chile’s population. At one time they occupied vast territories in central and southern Chile, but their rights to those lands have been sharply curtailed since the early 1900s (Bengoa 1985). They began to lose those territories during 2  colonial times; the process then accelerated with the advent of industrial capitalism, which privileged the interests of foreign investors. As a result of ongoing wars in the second half of the nineteenth century, more than half the Mapuche had been exterminated by the early 1880s (Sznajder 2003). Soon after, they lost almost 95 percent of their territory to land grabs, during which their cattle were stolen and their crops were burned. In later years, many Mapuche died from hunger and disease (Aylwin 1999). Others died during skirmishes with the colonial occupiers, including the police and the army. When the conflict began—a conflict recorded in Chilean history as the “Pacification of Araucania”—Mapuche territories comprised 10 million hectares; by the time it ended, 500,000.1 By 1970 the Mapuche were left with less than 300,000 hectares (Gonzalez 1986). Between 1970 and 1973, during the presidency of Salvador Allende, the government allocated roughly 500,000 hectares to Mapuche communities. But those years were followed by the military dictatorship of Agusto Pinochet, during which Mapuche territories were again reduced to less than 300,000 hectares. This was the result of two decrees, which together dismantled community properties and assigned individual title to each community member (DASIN INDAP 1990, in Aylwin and Castillo 1990). The expropriation of indigenous lands was part of Pinochet’s strategy to “neoliberalize” the economy. In part this meant reorienting the economy towards exports, privatising public industries and splitting up common property or communal regimes. New forestry policies based on subsidies and incentives encouraged a strong expansion of monocrop tree plantations and the planting of radiata pine in place of native forests. This transformed the rich temperate rainforests of south-central Chile so profoundly that the Mapuche people began referring to those plantings as the “new green army”—an ironic allusion to the link between the dictatorship’s oppressive policies and the invasion of the radiata pine plantations. The expansion of pine monoculture has been greatly enabled by Chile’s neoliberal economic model, which the dictatorship imposed during the early 1970s (see also Aylwin 1999; McFall and MacKinnon 2001). As a result of that model, Mapuche communities have been impoverished, their residents reduced to a marginal existence on degraded lands in a  1 Following its victory against Peru and Bolivia in the Pacific War in 1883, the Chilean army swept southwards, thus incorporating the Mapuche territories into the Chilean state. Chilean history refers to this as the “pacification of Araucania."” 3  geographically reduced territory. When one walks through their fields, one quickly sees that Mapuche communities are now surrounded by tree plantations owned by the forestry companies. Those companies have been expanding rapidly; and that expansion, combined with a depressed agricultural sector, has forced the Mapuche to bear the social, economic, and environmental impacts associated with plantations. Those who have remained on their lands have been excluded from local “economic development.” Some Mapuche families have been forced onto more fragile and unproductive lands; most, though, have migrated to urban centres, where they tend to live in peripheral areas and to work in the low-wage sector. At the time of the 1992 census, most Mapuche were urban dwellers: of the 906,000 remaining Mapuche, 44 percent lived in Santiago, the national capital, and only 16 percent in the IX Region (INE 1993),2 their traditional rural homeland. Since the fall of the military regime in 1989, successive democratic governments have failed to make progress in respecting and promoting the rights of indigenous peoples, especially the rights of the Mapuche. The parties of the Concertación3 have been in power since the return to democracy in 1990. Under the Indigenous Pact (adopted in 1989), they have committed themselves to recognizing indigenous peoples in the Constitution and to undertaking affirmative action in favour of ethnic minorities. But that is all on paper. In practice, as I will explain, the government’s core policy has amounted to an ill-defined land restitution plan, combined with development programs and monetary compensation, the overall goal being to prevent an indigenous insurgency. This has been coupled with an aggressive police and judicial campaign against those Mapuche leaders and communities that oppose the occupation of their ancestral lands by large farm and forest owners. In 1999, local people witnessed the militarization of the contested areas, the stated aim of which was to protect the Mapuche and businessmen from further conflict. Protests have been classified  2 According to the 2002 census conducted by the Institute of National Statistics (INE), Mapuche account for 15.5 percent of the population of the IX Region, 3 percent of the population of Santiago, 4 percent of the national population, and 87 percent of the total national indigenous population. However, 2002’s census question asked respondents to declare their own ethnic origin; the 1992 census question had been based on “belonging,” The sharp difference in results between 1992 (928,000 Mapuche) and 2002 (692,192 Mapuche) has been attributed to changes in the question as well as to factors associated with discrimination. 3 Also known as the Coalition of Parties for Democracy, the Concertación is an alliance of centre-left political parties, founded in 1988. 4  as a “threat to the state,” and on that pretext the police have invoked state security laws and carried out antiterrorism measures (both promulgated during the military regime)4 against protesters. As a result, hundreds of Mapuche have been charged by civil and military courts for actions relating to land conflicts. In addition to a new procedural reform in the IX Region, the Chilean courts have allowed for the selective application of state security and antiterrorism laws, thus denying those detained a fair and timely trial. Mella (2007) has researched this issue thoroughly. He has found that hundreds of Mapuche have been jailed in recent years for activities relating to land disputes. Typically, the charges include criminal conspiracy, contempt of authority, arson, squatting, aggravated kidnapping, rioting and disturbing the peace, robbery, and extortion. These people face jail, house arrest, and various probation orders. The strong growth of the forestry sector has been supported by government policies whose purpose is to protect the investments of the timber companies. At the same time, following current trends in other countries, the Chilean government has launched new policies aimed at combating discrimination against indigenous people, along with programs to raise the Mapuche out of poverty. In March 2001 the Inter-American Development Bank (IADB) loaned Chile US$80 million to fund programs in education, health, and economic development (personal interview with former director of CONADI). This was supplemented with a $53 million contribution from the Chilean government. In September of that same year, The Ministry of Planning (MIDEPLAN) established the Orígenes (Origins) Program, whose aim was to foster an intersectorial, intercultural, decentralized, and participatory approach to assisting indigenous development areas (ADIs)5. All of this was intended to complement the Indigenous Water and Land Fund (FTAI), whose specific purpose was to purchase lands for indigenous people. That  4 The Anti-Terrorist Law is a legacy of the military government (1973–1990). Pinochet introduced it in 1984 to deal with the actions of armed political groups that opposed the military regime. It doubles the normal sentences for some offences, makes pretrial release more difficult, enables the prosecution to withhold evidence from the defence for up to six months, and makes it possible to convict defendants on testimony given by anonymous witnesses. These witnesses appear in court behind screens so that the defendants and the public cannot see them. 5 5  same year the government convened the Historical Truth and New Deal Commission, on which the state, the Chilean people, and the indigenous communities of Chile were all represented.6 Since 1994, MIDEPLAN, through the National Indigenous Development Corporation (CONADI), has purchased more than 250,000 hectares of land and transferred it to indigenous people.7 Nonetheless, as the media often report, conflict has continued in Mapuche areas of the south. Land disputes between forestry companies and the Mapuche have not ceased, given that the government’s concomitant aim is to support the resource extraction industry. Many authors have analyzed recent public policies towards the Mapuche, especially as those policies relate to their exclusion from Chile’s democratization process (Contesse 2006; Castro 2005; Flores- Borquez and Grover 2005; Bengoa 2000). Yet little attention has been paid to the impact of land acquisitions on indigenous communities or to the long-term sustainability of land transfers. It is in this context that I became interested in the relationship between social movements and the environment—in particular, the social and cultural dynamics of resource management. More traditional analyses of environmental degradation examine the impact of policies on people and their land; by contrast, I will be emphasizing the role played by indigenous political mobilization (i.e., social movements) regarding access to lands and resources, and the environmental transformation that results. Merging Theory with the Case Study through Political Ecology In this section I review the various literatures that are pertinent to this case study. My research has been guided by premises derived from multiple theoretical sources. Having examined recent studies on political ecology, I considered various theories for explaining particular phenomena and how they might relate to field observations. As an anthropologist working on environmental issues, my research is a fusion—it does not derive from any single discipline. However, given that I view environmental  6 The Report of the Commission of Historical Truth and a New Deal for Indigenous Peoples was finally released in 2004. 7 6  degradation/rehabilitation as both a material process and a socially constructed one, I have adopted a political ecological approach as an overarching framework—as one, moreover, in which power and discourses play a key role. In other words, I am embracing not a theory but rather a theoretical framework that is inherently eclectic. One of the great contributions of political ecology “stems from its hybridity and its capacity to break down boundaries among multiple paradigms and disciplines” (Belsky 2002, 276). I view political ecology as a bundle of linked concepts and theories. In this regard, each of the following chapters will have its own particular emphasis. I will be expanding on and integrating into political ecology theories relating to social movements, environmental justice, and cultural politics. This theoretical framework is useful when it comes to examining the politics of the environment. When disparate groups negotiate access to resources, unequal power relations come to the fore. As a field of study, political ecology has always linked the actions of resource users in specific settings with the politics, institutions, and social relations that constitute those settings (Bryant and Bailey 1997). Political ecologists attempt to show that the environment is framed by relations of political economy and simultaneously contested in political, cultural, and symbolic ways. According to authors such as Vayda and Walters (1999, 167), this framework has focused excessively on the politics of natural resources “and has missed or scanted the complex and contingent interactions of factors whereby actual environmental changes often are produced.” However as Paulson, Gezon, and Watts (2003, 206) argue, “the politics of the environment should be understood as a contested and negotiated domain in continual dialectic relationships with biophysical environments.” Political ecology links local and global political economies with issues of ethnicity, gender, class, and land and property rights, as well as with the politics of control and resistance as they pertain to control over resources and to biophysical processes. My theoretical framework has been inspired by ongoing debates within political ecology—a field that is well aware of its critics and that has stimulated fresh thinking in environmental studies. In the present day, two questions preoccupy political ecologists: First, how can we better link the biophysical and social/political-economic dimensions of environmental issues— that is, how can we be political and ecological both in practice and in our insights? And second, how are local ecologies tied to global processes? Both environmental and political theories have been developed from the perspective of individual fields such as anthropology, sociology, 7  history, geography, political science, and ecology. Each of these fields has its own methods (often multiscale), which can be both qualitative and quantitative: participant observation, surveys, discourse analysis, narrative approaches, modelling, examination of secondary data, focus groups, participative rural appraisals (PRAs), interviews, and spatial and temporal analyses (including those made possible by geographical information systems [GISs]). The political ecology approach was first taken by geographers and anthropologists, some of whom set out to link cultural ecology (the relationship between a given social system and its niche natural environment) to political economy (the relationship between production and consumption). However different their understandings of environmental change, both geographers and anthropologists have distanced themselves from the deterministic theories of the past, which are based on cultural materialism and bounded physical and cultural systems (Steward 1955; White and Dillingham 1973; Rappaport 1984) as well as on Malthusian explanations of environmental degradation, food scarcity, and famine. In this regard, several trends in anthropology have confronted cultural ecology by going beyond the study of isolated communities living in harmony with their physical environment. The earliest writings on political ecology were a response to the need to integrate environmental theories with political ones. The term political ecology has been often attributed to Eric Wolf, author of “Ownership and Political Ecology” (1972), and its origins are described well by Paulson and her colleagues (2003; see also Peet and Watts 1996). As these authors note, peasant and postcolonial studies generated questions about social differentiation, exploitation, and the impact of global markets on the Third World’s rural poor. The earliest studies looked mainly at land use practices within local political economies as well as the global economy. However, unlike traditional peasant studies—such as those by Chayanov (1986) and Sahlins (1972), which emphasized the household level and local economies—recent analyses on contract farming and agrarian change have examined the “interaction among local and global forces, political economy, and the environment" (Grossman 1998, 211), as well as the capacity of peasants to respond to ecological and political change (Sheridan 1988). Paulson and her colleagues (2003, 207) have observed a growth in neo-Marxist analysis in the social sciences and development studies  (Bryant and Bailey 1997), including “world-systems theory, dependency theory, and Marxist-inspired structural approaches advanced concepts of control over and access to 8  resources, marginalization, surplus appropriation, and relations of production and power” (Paulson et al, 2003) A number of influential studies were carried out between the 1930s and the 1960s, but it was not until the 1980s that political ecology was recognized as a field in its own right, in the aftermath of publications by Watts (1983) and most notably by Blaikie and Brookfield (1987). According to the latter authors, “political ecology combines the concerns of ecology and a broadly defined political economy. Together, this encompasses the constantly shifting dialectic between society and land-based resources and also within classes and groups within society itself” (Blaikie and Brookfield, in Paulsen et al. 2003, 2005). Early works in political ecology focused on the relationship between humans and their biophysical environment. Applying methods from various disciplines, scholars brought together concepts from cultural ecology and political economy. On a more regional scale, political ecologists rejected the conventional wisdom of the time: that environmental degradation results from ecological factors, technology deficits, or population growth. They pointed instead to processes operating on different scales and at different times that combined to create the conditions for land degradation.  Blaikie and Brookfield’s (1987) Land Degradation and Society has provided explanations for land degradation besides the one that links it to population pressure on resources. Their book includes examples of soil fertility improving with the intensification of land use, and of erosion increasing as population declines. During the 1990s, however, instead of focusing on deterministic analyses and the biophysical aspects of environmental change, political ecologists began taking a post-structuralist approach. The field now focused mainly on local-level social movements (including environmental movements), symbolic contestations, and power/knowledge relations as articulated through discourses and practice (Peet and Watts 1996; Escobar 1999). New studies have broadened political ecology’s explanatory powers by assigning greater weight to the effects of positionality—in terms of gender relations (Schroeder 1999; Rocheleau, Thomas-Slayter, and Wangari 1996), race, culture, ethnicity, class, and other social relations—on ecological change and access to resources. In this vein, important contributions include Schroeder’s research on how gender relations affect land stabilization and tree planting in Gambia. He shows how men 9  have used a tree-planting program to reclaim land that had been given to women, who had been using it for high-value horticulture (Schroeder 1999). Other studies have drawn from constructivist, post-structural, and postmodern theories to challenge prevailing notions of environmental degradation. Here, one of the most interesting studies was conducted by Fairhead and Leach (1998) along the border between the Sahelian savannah and the tropical rainforests in West Africa. The authors challenged conventional associations between population pressure and environmental degradation in Africa by showing how the area in question was in fact natural savannah and that forest patches on the grasslands were in fact human artefacts. It had long been contended that human activity had destroyed large areas of forest, which had been turned into savannah through indiscriminate burning and overgrazing. At the time of the study, government and development agencies were restricting access to and use of the remaining forests in order to preserve them. Yet having analyzed historical sources and overlapping maps, Fairhead and Leach came to the opposite conclusion: the areas in question were in fact natural savannah, which the people had enriched by planting trees. In this case, people had actually increased the region’s forest cover; far from degrading the ecosystem, human intervention had created a new one. This sort of research is challenging the more simplistic neo-Malthusian narratives about population pressure as well as homogeneous characterizations of “culture.” To address equity and social justice issues, political ecology has generated its own critical perspective on Third World environmental studies (Peet and Watts 1996; Martinez-Alier 2002). The field has also critically analyzed those institutional and developmental processes that are informed by movements for social and environmental justice (Bryant 1995; Guha and Martinez- Alier 1997; Zimmerer 2000). These studies have examined the ecological and cultural dimensions of distribution and equality and have found that “the spatial distribution of environmental degradation and resource access is unequal both within localities and globally” (Gray and Moseley 2005, 15). At the same time, the proliferation of social movements and ecological populism is playing a key role in countering environmental injustices. As Martinez- Alier (2002) has observed, ecological populism pivots more around social justice than around conservation and biodiversity per se. Nonetheless, this kind of environmentalism is not just about poverty; it is also about the need for marginalized groups to control their own resources and to protect their survival rights. 10  Political ecologists also realize that in both theory and practice, analyses of environmental change and representations of such change have to incorporate multiscale analyses, both temporal and spatial, including locally and globally scaled studies of the following: landscape transformations, impacts or reactions to “globalization,” North–South issues, transnational livelihoods, commodities, and alternatives to free trade. As Blaikie and Brookfield (1987, 79) point out, “one of the major problems of building a theory of soil erosion is the high degree of contingency which always accompanies any explanation of soil erosion at a particular place.” Viewed locally, environmental degradation seems to be tied to local environmental and social conditions. Yet at the same time, “land-use conflicts are largely conjunctural and thus difficult to theorize” (Bassett 1988, 472). Bridging the gap between what goes on at the local level and the broader political-economic processes that shape events has been one of the principal challenges facing political ecologists. The North–South dichotomy—relating especially to inequalities of resource distribution, but also to environmental inequalities between industrialized countries and developing ones—has also been an important focus for political ecologists. Specifically, this issue includes the North’s disproportionate consumption of resources (Grossman 1998), as well as the political ecology of war—an ecology that brings to light the otherwise obscure relationship between natural resources and armed conflicts (Le Billon 2001). Recent studies have also examined transnational and North–South environmental histories in order to analyze flows of trade and knowledge and to question discourses of a pristine, edenic nature versus the very different conceptions of nature and conservation that apply in situ (Zimmerer and Bassett 2003; Guha 2000). A focus on North– South relations has “allowed political ecologists to assess a considerable set of representational practices in relation to ‘alternative’ forms of consumption in the North that seem notably to have direct and substantial effects on people and environments in the South” (Bryant and Goodman 2004, 345). These cross-spatial analyses have been conducted for development programs (Ferguson 1994; Escobar 1995), conservation agendas (Brosius 1999), and even concepts such as “community” (Agrawal and Gibson 1999) and identity and difference (de la Cadena 2000; Sundberg 2004, 2006). The contributions and successes of political ecology show just how complex and dynamic environmental issues are. This in turn suggests why a new generation of political ecologists is developing new areas of research. These new areas include the political ecology of genetically 11  modified organisms and intellectual property rights, as well as the impact of genetically modified organisms, nanotechnology, urban expansion, resource wars, waste management, and the drug trade (Robbins 2004). How to do political ecology is not the only question that many researchers face today. Other, more specific questions are constantly being debated—for example, How can political ecology be made more relevant to policy?8 As a theoretical and methodological approach, political ecology is still “in development” through research, analysis, and practice across a wide variety of disciplines. It is inherently hybrid and amorphous. Possibly its only distinctive and thus characterizing feature is that it consistently analyzes power relations and examines politicized environments. To paraphrase Paulson and her colleagues (2003, 205), the analysis of factors that shape power relations among human groups, and the influences of those relations on the environment, “has led to results that have challenged dominant interpretations of the causes of environmental degradation and has contested the prevailing prescriptions for solving such problems.” Contributions towards Understanding the Political Ecology of Tree Plantations and Indigenous Movements This study contributes to theoretical work on nature–society relations by studying those relations in the context of daily livelihood struggles that arise as part of competing claims over resources. Those struggles are embedded in the broader socio-political context—that is, in the context of national and international neoliberal political and economic interventions. At first glance, tree plantations and the Mapuche movement might be seen as two completely unrelated topics. But when we view forests as a contested resource for which there are conflicting perceptions of use, we can begin to see the links between politics and environmental change—that is, “political ecology.” Without the insights of that interdisciplinary framework, I would not have been able to explore issues of the power/knowledge nexus and the struggle for control over resources.  8 As shown in recent meetings/debates of the Cultural and Political Ecology (CAPE) speciality group of the American Association of Geographers and the Environment and Anthropology (A&E) section of the American Association of Anthropologists. 12  Similarly, it is important to understand the institutional regulations and economic practices that encompass both the cultural politics and the political economy of environmental struggles. In this chapter and those that follow, I build on the insights offered through the political ecology lens to argue that the sustainable management of forests should not be discussed solely in technical or economic terms. The social relations of power, including human rights abuses, and their direct and underlying causes should also be addressed. Violence—including human rights abuses—is connected to environment and resource conflicts all over the world. When viewed in isolation, many of these conflicts seem to be little more than incidents of criminal activity in the physical space in question; but when the broader social context is considered, it becomes clear that a recurring pattern of human rights violations can be linked to natural resource loss (FERN 2001). This holistic approach can help us avoid simplistic linkages between environmental conflicts and social phenomena—for example, the claim that scarcity causes violence (Homer- Dixon 1994). My approach is more closely related to Peluso and Watts’s (2001) understanding of violent environments—that is, the “ways that specific resource environments (such as agricultural lands, tropical forests, or oil reserves), environmental processes (deforestation, conservation, or resource abundance), and cultural politics are constituted by, and in part constitute, the political economy of access to and control over resources” (2001, 5). Conflicts over forests in Chile, for instance, are not the result of overpopulation. Rather, the demand for forest resources arose in the historical context of land seizures and external demands for forest resources. Thus we need to consider the broader economic and political context in which these conflicts have arisen. My research draws from recent works in political ecology that take a post-structuralist approach to their analyses and that in this way highlight the social construction of nature and the imposition of dominant discourses (Escobar 1999; Soper 1995; Fairhead and Leach 1998, Robbins 2004; Shroeder 1999; Gupta 1998). Following this line, I will be challenging essentialist notions linked to class and economic forces, and emphasizing culture and politics as the sites of discourse and the terrains of construction (i.e., rather than determinacy). As Thompson (1984) notes, discourse is the ideological practice that sustains and reproduces the relations of dominance. However, discourse is also an ongoing process of negotiating and contesting those relations of dominance. 13  In contrast to structuralist approaches, which embrace materialistic conceptions of discourse and have a class-based focus, I argue that agency does much to shape relations of domination. This is especially visible in identity politics and place-based social movements (Escobar and Alvarez 1992). Following a research need identified by Martinez-Alier (2002) as well as by Paulson and her colleagues (2003), I will be emphasizing local responses to global economic and political forces. Communities are generally viewed as “passive recipients” of development programs and state interventions; yet they can in fact be active participants in change (Guha and Martinez- Alier 1997). Globalization has led to economic and cultural uniformity; it has also engendered new opportunities for human agency in relation to governance processes. Indeed, economic, political, and cultural globalization has shaped how social movements operate, with impacts that are sometimes unexpected. We also need to analyze and understand the role played by indigenous peoples as evolving political actors (Brysk 2000; Yashar 2005; Sundberg 2004, 2006). Sometimes this role involves taking part in the government apparatus, sometimes it takes the form of protest movements, and sometimes more radical efforts are made to reinvent politics. As Agrawal (2005, 211) notes, “the relationships of subjects to the environment need to be examined in their emergence, not simply taken as part of a larger politics by pre-existing interests.” When approaching this study, I selected three specific literatures to help me to understand how resources are perceived, accessed, and used. First, I have employed a social constructionist approach alongside the one offered by critical theory (Cavallaro 2001) to address the conflicting values and representations of nature that underpin the different ways in which resources are accessed, managed, and protected. Joining the growing number of scholars who reject both the reification of nature and society as separate entities and the view of nature as a passive thing, political ecologists are embracing critical realism; that is, they are looking at nature as an active agent in determining human–nature interaction (Zimmerer and Bassett 2003; Forsyth 2003). In this thesis I will be attempting to understand the nature of environmental changes by incorporating certain aspects of social constructivism while rejecting strong forms of relativism. Whatever the criticisms levelled at social constructionst approaches (Burningham and Cooper 1999), environmental scientists of diverse backgrounds are aware of the complexity and the heterogeneity of the spatio-temporal systems they are dealing with; thus it is increasingly 14  evident that some form of relativism is unavoidable, especially in reference to studies relating to biodiversity, sustainability, and conservation. Historical changes are often visible in changing concepts of nature, because the natural/material world is permanently transformed by society and also because humans themselves change their perceptions of nature (Vogel 1996). A social constructionist view of nature emphasizes the historical transformations whereby, for instance, an ideology of nature as a resource for capitalist development becomes (at least in part) an ideology emphasizing the aesthetic and non- functional values of nature (Hannigan 1995). The (social) construction of  forest as a concept goes beyond the naive assumption that such terms are merely monikers of ostensibly value- neutral natural objects.  In this way, forest  become a social construction that reflects the manner in which the dominant group perceives it, and attaches value to it, as part of a system of knowledge and representation (Contreras 2001, 2). As Bruce Braun (2002) noted in his work on British Columbia’s “intemperate” rainforest, industrial forestry should be “situated in a wider field of cultural and historical practices—and relationships of power—through which these forests have been invested with layers of cultural and political meaning” (2002, 3). Conflicts over forest resources are an example of how history, language, and meaning all merge in and are reflected by what we try to define as “pure nature.” Satterfield’s (2002) ethnographic account of the debate surrounding the old-growth forests of the Pacific Northwest makes a similar point, in that she shows how environmental conflicts are also cultural struggles to define the discourses through which forests will be addressed and, it follows, their uses as commodities, wilderness preserves, or biological hotspots. When I began examining the conflict between indigenous peoples and forest plantations, I soon realized that the imposition of one discourse over others, and the historical context of inequality linked to environmental issues, could not be examined without paying heed to their intersection with concurrent events, including questions of human rights and persistent forms of racism. My research therefore draws from diverse theoretical perspectives and critical thinkers—including Bourdieu, Habermas, and Foucault—as well as from critical race theorists writing in the field of law (Delgado 1995). This literature has been especially important when it comes to examining the Mapuche from an environmental racism perspective; after all, intentionally or not, discrimination rooted in government policies and private sector practices strikes the environment, health, biodiversity, local economies, security, and standard of living of 15  communities. The environmental racism experienced by indigenous people in Chile, as in other countries, is visible in environmental conflicts as well as in the actions that authorities and private companies undertake in order to achieve “development” or “economic growth” (such as constructing highways, airports, hydroelectric dams, waste dumps, and monocrop plantations). I have also drawn inspiration from the literature on the politics of resource control. Here, the works on political economy, environmental justice, and social movements address four main issues: • The unequal power relationship between production and consumption in a global economy, within the framework of resource management policies and environmental regulation (Carrere and Lohmann 1996; Grossman 1998; Watts 1983). • The social and cultural dynamic relating to access to natural resources (Leach 1994; Shroeder 1999; Peluso 1992). • The unequal distribution of costs and benefits associated with resource management (Pulido 2000; Stonich 2001; Johnston 1997). • The growth of Third World environmental-livelihood movements that merge environmental issues with those of social justice (Taylor 2000; Szas 1994; Bullard 1990; Guha and Martinez-Alier 1997). Some critical questions in political ecology revolve today around environmental justice and its association with cultural relativism. How is it possible to accommodate multiple world views within a single shared system of values? One person’s profit may be another’s loss. Our understandings also depend on whose perspective we choose to take when determining whether something constitutes “degradation.” New social movements are challenging concepts of democracy and development and thereby creating new forms of politics in which collective identities are reinforced. The impact of social movements on the democratization of cultural, social, economic, and political life has been especially strong in Latin America. According to identity and social movement theorists, “changes in environmental management regimes and environmental conditions have created opportunities or imperatives for local groups to secure and represent themselves politically” (Robbins 2004, 188). These movements often represent new forms of political action, in that 16  they emphasize collective identity and common values rather than—or in addition to— developed ideologies. This is addressed in the new literature on social movements (Alvarez, Dagnino, and Escobar 1998; Escobar and Alvarez 1992; Laraña, Johnston, and Gusfield 1994), which emphasizes the constructedness of social and political identity, in contrast to conventional social movement theories, which presuppose preconstituted categories of political actors (mainly class-based categories). Ethnographic research has changed dramatically since the 1970s. Today’s anthropologists are reframing their field, having by and large accepted that cultures are not static, nor can they be construed as “authentic” or “spurious” (Clifford and Marcus 1986). There is now evidence that collective identities are constantly changing based on ethnicity and, in particular, on indigeneity or indigenousness. This new perspective emphasizes historical factors and cultural differences; it also acknowledges the unequal power relations characterized by “non-dominance” within a nation-state (Martinez Cobo 1986). Likewise, following Appadurai (1996), group identities constitute ethnoscapes—that is, they are deterritorialized or reterritorialized identities that transform their own spatial, cultural, environmental, and social worlds. The Mapuche have long been portrayed as homogenous, isolated, and almost extinct rural communities. These false representations are now being contested by new Mapuche identities that are as much a part of indigenous reality as land claims and rural development. There are urban Mapuche, some of them influential intellectual leaders who live today in Europe and North America. There are even the Punk Mapuche (“mapunkies” or “mapuheavies,” as they call themselves), a young Mapuche movement encountered in the cities of Argentine Patagonia, who fuse their indigenous identity with other features of the urban culture. The local–global link is another important aspect of indigenous people’s movements, because it helps gather international support for local demands. Over the past few decades, the revitalization of indigenous movements has made those movements more visible on the world scene and helped vanquish romantic perceptions of isolated communities and “noble savages.” In addition, contemporary indigenous political organizations and the politics of identity in Latin America have forced anthropologists to change how they do fieldwork. There is no substitute for empiricism in the form of participant observation; that said, some of the key insights to be found in this study were found on the Internet. 17  In the course of my research, I have been especially interested in the links between indigenous movements and civil society—that is, in the interpretations and representations of culture and how they affect mobilization and movement orientation. As Ortner (1995) notes, resistance should be understood not just as opposition to domination but also as opportunities for alliances across social movements. She asserts that notions of resistance can be taken to the level of the subject and his/her relationship to resistance in terms of consciousness, identity, and intentionality. Theories about “new social movements” present an interesting approach not only in terms of organizational behaviour but also for understanding new forms of resistance and negotiation. Scott’s works, particularly Weapons of the Weak (1985), have been highly influential among political ecologists for their analysis of the meanings and effectiveness of social movements’ political practices and strategies. His ethnographic analysis of the Malaysian villagers in Sedaka challenges the very concept of a “revolutionary consciousness” and examines ordinary, everyday forms of resistance. He asserts that peasant disobedience need not be organized to be considered resistance, nor does its main objective need to be the undermining of the system. Rather, the need for self-help is the central point of struggle between the oppressed and the oppressor (ibid., 296). Similarly, indigenous movements’ resistance strategies should be understood in a broader context, one in which local livelihood practices are entangled with broader political economic processes. Thus, we need to look at “problems of livelihood and production as much as problems of politics and power” and emphasize “negotiation and accommodation as much as resistance” (Bebbington 2000, 449). Indigenous peoples have developed new ways to intervene in local affairs: today they engage themselves with and against governments and corporate interests and at the same time insert themselves into exchange networks with other local, national, and transnational groups and communities. In the shifting terrain of rapidly changing structures of governance throughout the world today, indigenous resistance stimulates the development of a binary between local forms of resistance and national and global strategies. This in turn leads to complex dynamics, both between the state and indigenous peoples and within the indigenous communities themselves. Because it has become more difficult to accommodate differences in a “legitimate” way, notions of citizenship, democracy, and authority are constantly changing. Indigenous organizations may use essentialist discourses while claiming their rights as citizens; they may even take on 18  governance functions. In that sense, indigenous responses are often ambivalent and adaptable. For instance, Mapuche activists in Chile may employ official discourses on democracy and justice while at the same time making it clear that negotiating these terms by no means implies acceptance of the discourse (Millaman 2000). Moreover, development, the state, and the markets are reshaping indigenous communities and movements. As Assies and Salman (2000) note, the current political mobilization of indigenous movements reflects their ability to link identity with agency by reshaping their agendas—and nurturing different alliances—in accordance with the changing political climate. In their edited volume, Blaser, Feit, and McRae (2004) offer some interesting reflections on “the agency of indigenous people” and on how many of the changes in the arenas in which indigenous peoples struggle have been reshaped by indigenous peoples themselves (albeit also by others). The changing roles of nation-states and NGOs, the expansion of transnational corporations and media networks, and the rise of the environmentalist and human rights movements have certainly, directly or indirectly, altered indigenous peoples’ strategies for achieving autonomy. Nonetheless, indigenous people’s agency and their alliances with other movements have helped transform alternative structures of governance—structures that are both inside and outside civil society and the state and markets: “Indigenous administrative structures and service organizations are, on occasion, tied to state structures for funding and legal legitimacy, which in turn makes them partly accountable to the state. Nevertheless, they may also be held accountable to other sources of authority deriving from established ‘traditional’ institutions, such as hereditary chieftaincies or elders, or in relation to locally held moral values and notions of legitimacy” (ibid., 15). Though my emphasis is on the social and cultural dynamics of access to and control over resources, I will be including a third area of study in order to explore how forests are conceptualized and eventually managed. For this purpose, I have reviewed the literature on current debates regarding forest ecology and resource management. I have included this third thematic area not to protect myself from the main critique levelled against political ecology9— that it overemphasizes social and political factors at the expense of ecological concerns—but rather to reveal how forests and forestry are understood in ways that cannot be explained merely through scientific endeavours (Contreras 2001). These points are further explained in chapter 4.  99 Main critiques focus on how political ecologists have scanted the complex and contingent interactions of actors whereby actual environmental changes often are produced (Vayda and Walters 1999) 19  Environmental changes, including forest expansion and changes in forest structure and species composition, reveal the importance of incorporating social science into biophysical studies. As Bradshaw and Bekoff (2001, 463) note, “far from being objective the development of ecological theory is connected to social movements and the personal experiences and personality of individual observers.” Foresters rely on scientific findings to manipulate and manage forest ecosystems and to avoid destroying ecological integrity; by contrast, many indigenous peoples and environmentalists contend that other forms of knowledge are crucial for a proper understanding of a forest’s ecological limits. Most of the debate concerning forest management revolves around differing value and knowledge systems. For instance, proponents of forestry biotechnology such as Victor and Ausubel (2000) argue that in order to meet the global demand for forest products (and protect forests), we need to embark on a “great restoration project” based on genetically engineered trees grown in intensively managed plantations. They consider it possible that “efficient farmers and foresters” who grow “more food and fiber in ever-smaller areas” will add 200 million hectares of forest by 2050; if this does in fact happen, only 12 percent of the world's forests will need to be cut. However, as Charman (2005) notes, it is impossible to know in advance what sorts of impacts transgenic trees will have on native forests. Given the complexity of forest ecosystems, it is difficult to predict the impact of disturbances—be they natural or induced—on the structure, function, and diversity of forests. Yet forest policies and regulations tend to take generalized approaches as they relate to the structural, functional, spatial, and temporal variability of forest landscapes. Moreover, because of their very nature, the boundaries of forest ecosystems cannot be drawn with a sharp pencil. This makes it difficult to assess accurately the quality and changing health of forests, especially in relation to factors other than economic productivity. Some aspects of forests have yet to be assessed, such as their current species mix, soil, ecological functions, and environmental and social value. As  Hull et al. (2002) argue, differing assumptions about nature constrain people’s notions of what environmental conditions can and should exist and in that way also constrain the future that can be negotiated. Beliefs and value systems lie at the core of many debates about forest management and how nature is defined. For instance, new conceptual models in forestry have been attempting to inject greater “naturalness” into stand-level management, resorting to appealing terms such as “new forestry,” “close-to-nature forestry,” “nature-oriented 20  silviculture,” and “diversity-oriented silviculture” (O’Hara 2001). Similarly, “ecosystem management”10 and “adaptive management”11 have become new paradigms in forest management. One of the most popular ecosystem management strategies in Canada today is the “natural disturbance paradigm.” Under this form of management, the forestry industry attempts to ensure sustainability by mimicking nature in forest harvest practices. These concepts and strategies pose a fundamental challenge to conventional resource management philosophy and practices (Cortner and Moote 1999). Ecosystem- and adaptive-based approaches are nowadays viewed as ways to improve management regimes, spread the responsibility for management decisions, and strengthen the capacity of management institutions to learn and adapt to changing environmental and social conditions. But these are relatively new approaches, and many questions remain regarding their efficacy and their relevant components. Past failures in ecosystem adaptive management (EAM) have been judged mainly institutional rather than scientific (Walters 1986; Lee 1999; Pinkerton 1999). As I will explain in Chapter 4, demands for better practices and sustainable forest management are mainly the result of socio-political developments rather than purely ecological concerns. Rationale of the Thesis Conventional political ecology looks at how the global affects the local. I am proposing here, instead, a more complex and iterative relationship. Moreover, I will be analyzing the case at hand in terms of non-linear casual relationships. I will be starting from the assumption that environmental change is dynamic (see Figure 1.1). This process includes natural and human- induced changes in the environment on a local scale. Little attention has been paid yet to changes (be they positive or negative) in the physical, biological, and socio-economic system, even though the impact of those changes on natural ecosystems as well as on society may be significant.  10 Refers to a system-based approach intended to promote an understanding of key interrelationships among physical, biological and human elements of a situation, and the properties and behaviours of sets of these elements acting together as a whole (See Holling 1999; Cortner and Moote 1999). 11 This approach has been used to develop policies and practices that deal with uncertainty, the unexpected, and the unknown. Approaches management as a n experiment from which we learn by trial and error (Dearden and Mitchell 1998). 21   The goal of this thesis is to demonstrate that the environmental and social impacts associated with landscape transformation are shaped not only by structural changes brought about by economic and political forces but also by political, cultural, and symbolic contestations. Furthermore, emerging forms of political agency have expected and unexpected consequences that give rise to new processes of environmental change. This iterative process is constantly evolving, just as social relations and our perceptions of nature evolve. I apply this model to conceptualize the process from a perspective that is different from prevailing linear analyses of environmental degradation. Environmentalists and political economists in Chile have long focused on the political economic processes that cause environmental degradation (see Figure 1.2). Large-scale plantations and forestry operations have transformed landscapes and hence access to, use of, and control over resources. Meanwhile, local communities like the Mapuche have been adapting and resisting this process through various strategies that are affecting current land policies, including resource allocation and management schemes. In this way, the social and natural livelihoods of the Mapuche are constantly being shaped by iterative processes of social and environmental change. My findings, then, lead to broader theoretical arguments about how to frame social and environmental change. I will be examining resource access and control as the key factors mediating local responses to political and economic pressures and opportunities.  3. In the process of accommodating, negotiating or resisting, environmental changes emerge 1. Landscape transformations and environmental change affects Indigenous people 2. Indigenous people organize to address through various ways (i.e. resistance, negotiation, accommodation) their marginalization, exclusion and displacement Figure 1.1. Conceptual model 22   .  I U U U U       U   U E xp or t o rie nt ed  m od el  im pl em en te d in  C hi le  M ac ro ec on om ic  po lic ie s t ha t p riv ile ge  ec on om ic  g ro w th  ov er  so ci al  e qu ity  (m ul tic ul tu ra lis m ) an d en vi ro nm en ta l su st ai na bi lit y Fr ee  m ar ke t ec on om y an d gl ob al iz at io n N on  su sta in ab le  pa tte rn s o f co ns um pt io n an d pr od uc tio n W ea kn es s o f p ol ic y,  in st itu tio na l f ra m ew or k an d fo re st , e nv iro nm en ta l an d In di ge no us  le gi sla tio n In eq ui ta bl e la nd  te nu re  sy st em s In cr ea se  o f i nt er na tio na l pr iv at e ca pi ta l in ve st m en t i n th e fo re st  se ct or  Fi na nc ia l s up po rt fr om  m ul til at er al  ag en ci es  G ro w in g pu lp  a nd  p ap er  co ns um pt io n in  th e N or th  H ig h le ve l o f d om es tic  fu el -w oo d co ns um pt io n La ck  o f t ec hn ic al  p ro po sa ls  fo r s us ta in ab le  m an ag em en t of na tiv e fo re st s La ck  o f e nf or ce m en t f or  ill eg al  fo re st  fi re s a nd  c ut s La nd  se iz ur e in  M ap uc he  la nd s La nd  co nc en tra tio n in  la rg e fo re st  i M ap uc he ’s  P eo pl e Po ve rt y  Pr om ot io n of  la rg e sc al e fo re st  de ve lo pm en t Fo re st  fi re s O ve rg ra zi ng  in  na tiv e fo re st s O ve r- th in ni ng  o f N at iv e Fo re st  Su bs tit ut io n of  na tiv e fo re st  b y ex ot ic  p la nt at io ns N at iv e fo re st  sa le s f or  w oo d- ch ip  su pp ly  N on  S us ta in ab le  fu el w oo d an d ch ar co al  e xt ra ct io n O pt im um  e co no m ic  a nd  en vi ro nm en ta l c on di tio ns  to  pl an t a nd  g ro w  p in e an d eu ca ly pt us  C le ar in g fo r ag ric ul tu ra l p ur po se s Fi gu re  1 .2 . U nd er ly in g an d di re ct  c au se s o f d ef or es ta tio n an d de gr ad at io n of  n at iv e fo re st s i n In di ge no us  te rr ito ri es  So ur ce : A da pt ed  fr om  C at al an  a nd  R am os  1 99 9 23  Following this model, I propose and conduct a multilevel analysis that proceeds from the macro to the local level in an iterative way (see Figure 1.3). At the broadest level, this study seeks to understand how local responses to changing macro political-economic factors transform resource use patterns and the environment. Economic globalization and neoliberal state policies are affecting resource access as well as control over the remaining native forests (see Figure 1.2). According to some authors (Carrere and Lohmann 1996; Catalan and Ramos 1999; Larrain and Menotti 1998; Claude 1997; Quiroga 1996), the underlying causes of deforestation and agricultural decline can often be attributed to local-level environmental use and management, which are equally a product of macro-level political and economic structures and processes.  Figure 1.3. Multilevel analysis Multilevel analysis Free market economy and globalization, patterns of consumption and production, neo-liberal policies, support from multilateral agencies… land use changes, substitution of native forests by exotic plantations, forest fires… Land tenure policy (counter-reform), privatization process,  export oriented policies, economic incentives for plantations…  Certainly, any analysis of the causes of environmental degradation in Chile’s native temperate forests needs to acknowledge the role played by the political, economic, and social forces associated with neoliberalism—forces that include privatization, unequal land distribution, export-oriented policies, and so on. That said, these causal arguments have overlooked the role played by countervailing forces in the form of social movements and network actors. Bearing in mind the importance of structuralist approaches, we must also analyze internal dynamics and 24  their evolution. That is, we must examine how indigenous people at the local level secure their identity and livelihoods and ask what environmental consequences (if any) have ensued. New social movements, such as indigenous organizations, have emerged to secure their rights and identity, but they have done so under varying conditions, and furthermore, their political strategies are related to new processes of environmental change Next I explain the key assumptions that have underpinned my research objectives. My research was inspired by questions that came to mind while I was working in the field of environmental conflicts and community development. In 1996 I worked for an environmental NGO (Defensores del Bosque Chileno) concerned with the destruction of native forests in Chile. I then worked in a research centre for environmental planning (CIPMA, Centro de Investigación y Planificación del Mediombiente), analyzing environmental conflicts and the role that civil society plays in public participation mechanisms. Both organizations were trying to raise public awareness of environmental issues, but neither seemed to acknowledge the links between indigenous claims and the expansion of the forestry industry. This led me to wonder about the role of indigenous peoples in these agendas. Why were indigenous groups being mostly ignored by Chile’s environmental organizations? And what did indigenous people think about the environmental debates relating to their territories? Concerns about environmental degradation have helped create a new political arena for indigenous movements. Often, the social imaginary of the “ecologically noble” Indian has fostered new forms of political agency (Holland 1998; Ulloa 2005). Indigenous people have succeeded in altering the political arena in such a way that their rights—specifically, their territorial rights—have been injected into broader international debates about conservation and the protection of biologically significant areas. As a consequence—here, see recent studies in the anthropology of development (Escobar 1995; Ferguson 1994)—indigenous movements have extended their demands beyond conservationist agendas by introducing discourses encompassing the right to self-determination as well as resistance to imposed development models. More and more research is being done on the politics of indigeneity; even so, many questions remain regarding the role of emerging subjectivities and the construction of collective identities (Alvarez, Dagnino, and Escobar 1998; Brosius 1999; Hodgson 2002; Li 2000). These questions intersect, in turn, with issues of representation, resource management, and recognition of indigenous rights. Some authors have examined the tensions between scholarly and political 25  uses of ecological essentialism and authenticity embodied in the “noble savage” stereotype (Conklin and Graham 1997; Turner 1993; Brosius 1999; Warren and Jackson 2002); others have examined the strategic alliances between indigenous and environmental rights agendas (Hodgson 2002; Zerner 2000). These research contributions can be further enriched through an exploration of political practices and changes in subjectivity as they affect resource use and the environment. As Agrawal (2005, 217) notes, recent Foucauldian analyses on governmentality have been especially useful for understanding “how modern manifestations of power and regulation achieve their full effect not by forcing people toward state-mandated goals but by turning them into accomplices.” Moreover, “the very individuality that is supposed to be constrained by the exercise of power may actually be its effect” (ibid., 217). The concept of governmentality is particularly useful for understanding how neoliberalism shapes people’s conduct: market deregulation policies take the whole of society as their domain, thereby in effect “governing” the environment via the conduct of those population segments whose behaviour “on the ground” changes most acutely as a consequence. More broadly, the governmentality thesis repositions neoliberalism: no longer is market rationalization the natural order of things that it is purported to be; rather, it is a relentless political project with highly specific political-economic and environmental consequences. A number of scholars are now focusing on national-level laws and policies relating to land tenure and resource management (Lynch, Talbott, and Berdan 1995; Repetto and Gillis 1988); still missing, however, are systematic examinations and clear understandings of local responses to external political and economic factors such as markets and technological innovations. To paraphrase Agrawal (2003, 251), scholars have put too much effort into “demonstrating the importance of local group users and thus have tended to ignore how the local is created in conjunction with the external and constituted in relation to its broader context.” Only recently have political ecological analyses begun to pay significant heed to processes of subject formation (Li 2000; Moore 1998; Sivaramakrishnan 1999; Sundberg 2004, 2006). These studies address people’s role in shaping the environment and themselves through a process of mutual reconfiguration. According to Agrawal (2005, 211), the relationship between subjects and their environment needs to be examined in terms of its emergence, not simply taken as part of a broader politics of pre-existing interests. 26  Following these intellectual influences, this research aims to incorporate analyses of recently emerging discursive practices in the context of land and resource conflicts—particularly regarding current discourses about the collective rights of minority cultures as well as citizenship rights in a liberal democracy (Kymlicka 1995). Indigenous groups have contested both citizenship discourses (i.e., the emphasis on individual or private rights over collective rights) and conservationist discourses; both types are prominent in the arena of global justice. Supplementing territorial claims and demands that national indigenous policies be modified, many indigenous leaders and indigenous rights advocates are moving towards new strategies that aim to raise awareness about other issues that are no less relevant for being tangential. My premise is that indigenous political discourse is embedded in a shifting set of essentialist discourses about culture and nature, identity and citizenship—discourses that reach beyond land claims and struggles for self-determination. Such discourses have become entangled in a multitude of liberal perspectives on individual rights, in which the state sees its role as protecting individual citizens’ rights (Yashar 2005) even while drawing from the politics of difference and recognition (Gupta and Ferguson 1997; Taylor and Gutmann 1994). This may seem contradictory, but indigenous people associate their loss of rights and of access to resources with a denial of their cultural liberty and with unequal protection of their rights as citizens of a democratic state. The Mapuche have recently been expressing this point in terms of environmental racism. Analyses of environmental conflicts and environmental degradation have emphasized the economic substructure that supports political decisions. In particular, Marxist approaches— which have played a dominant role in political ecology—have long been influential when it comes to understanding the role of political economy and class differences as key forces in past and present-day social movements. However, this body of thought has not paid enough attention to the literature on new social movements.12 How those movements work has largely been ignored, and so have the consequences of various political strategies and discourses, especially for the environment. Having reviewed the literature in political ecology, I became aware that such approaches require a more balanced understanding of the relationship between human  12 The “newness” of the purported new social movements puts greater emphasis on group or collective identity, values and lifestyles rather than or in addition to developed ideologies and Marxian class conflict that had been the predominant model in much European social movement theory. 27  agency and large-scale political and economic structures. This is why I have chosen to start with an experiential stance, while citing some of the relevant literature that demonstrates the lack of attention to this topic and that calls for more research. After ten years of advocacy work in Chile with peasants, seasonal agricultural workers, fishers, and indigenous communities, I came to realize that social justice requires structural change; a series of compartmentalized development programs is not enough. Such changes, though, need not be driven by Marxist revolutionary dogma. The groups noted earlier are not Marxist idealists; they do not have “fire in their minds”; they are not aiming to overthrow the state. Rather, they are people engaged in an everyday struggle to transform social relations. Indeed, in recent decades the neo-Marxist intellectual movement has began to pay closer attention to power relations as well as to conflict and resistance13 in all its guises. It has been argued that the early Marxist framework relied too heavily on structural determinants of inequality. Some authors have noted that economic and class reductionism has prevented conventional Marxist theorists from understanding both the emergence of contemporary social movements and the complex entanglements of political economy and cultural politics in today’s globalized world. Marxist activists often integrate indigenous groups into their causes—some even take up indigenous causes as part of their own struggles against the system. Yet however well-intended, this activism is often disempowering and even racist towards indigenous people. New approaches to global–local issues, as well as research by political ecologists, inspired my earlier work as an anthropologist, especially regarding the impact of politics on patterns of local resource use. The social and environmental consequences of market liberalization at the global and regional levels call for new forms of societal critique. During the 1980s, social movements opposing economic globalization became important political actors in the global arena. The gradual development of civil society in Latin America and other parts of the developing world has contributed to a proliferation of new social movements as well as to an expanded role for  13 In a broad sense, resistance compromises the multiplicity of relations between hegemonic and counter- hegemonic powers and discourses (Routledge, 1996). Here I refer to the tactical, strategic and symbolic processes involved in contesting the dominant ideologies imposed by local elites. This concept embodies forces and relations of domination, subjugation, exploitation and resistance. These are endowed with varying degrees of political strategies indigenous groups use to resist, negotiate or accommodate to the particular spatial, cultural and historical contexts of a given conflict. Resistance is expressed in the daily and permanent will of the people to systematically preserve the unique aspects of the cultures with which they identify. 28  civil society. Many of today’s community-based, often grassroots initiatives are driven by issues such as poverty, human and political rights, and indigenous identity. International NGOs are now supporting indigenous people’s efforts to challenge national sovereignty and the power of transnational corporations. This goes back to the drafting of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples14. In Latin America, as in much of the world, indigenous groups and rural organizations have played a crucial role not only in accessing resources and markets but in advancing political and cultural claims, as well as in deconstructing, resisting, and at times reproducing dominant narratives of development and modernization. As Van Cott (2001) notes, the emerging Indian Rights movement has influenced and been influenced by international activism to promote democracy. International pressure is forcing nation-states to extend democratic rights to indigenous people. In turn, indigenous people are now linking their demands and goals to pre-existing mandates or concerns of the international community (Brysk 1994). Today, indigenous movements everywhere in the world are demanding not only recognition from their respective nation-states but also rights to their livelihoods. This is illustrated by intensifying contests over land and resource management. Many authors have examined the resistance strategies followed by indigenous people and international groups (mainly North American and European) in the recent struggle to recognize indigenous land rights (Brown 1993; Varese 1996; Fisher 1994; Conklin and Graham 1997). Unlike other groups in Latin America—such as in Amazonas, where the emergence of eco- political movements has been key to achieving indigenous rights—the Mapuche have linked their claims tightly to an ethno-political strategy. That is, they are asserting their rights as a “pueblo” that originally inhabited the land in question, instead of focusing on their self-declared indigenousness (an approach that is often correlated with racial prejudice). I will be arguing that Mapuche political strategies for regaining their land are based on ancestral rights (i.e., they were the original occupiers) rather than on essentialist discourses of ethnicity. Ethnic essentialism has been more influential for other groups than for the Mapuche, whose main organizational strategy—at least in the short term—has involved a case-by-case, territory-by-territory plan for reassembling their ancestral territories.  14 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, September 13, 2007, available at 29  This strategy has both advantages and drawbacks. The government in Santiago, backed by international agencies, has been encouraging economic integration—that is, encouraging the Mapuche to adopt present-day business models for agriculture and forestry. These policies, however, are congruent neither with indigenous development policies as originally laid out nor with the disadvantaged situation facing the Mapuche today. A recent report assessing the government’s land restitution policy states that Mapuche, when they receive land, are often forced to sublet it, deforest it, or simply abandon it.15 In addition, the state’s integration policies have created tensions and divisions within the Mapuche movement. Also, the “localist” approach taken by the Mapuche has sometimes fractured their movement and prevented it from developing a common political project. As Castro (2006) notes, the state’s efforts to “discipline” progress and modernization are being made in a context in which Latin American indigenous people have begun to show a lack of consistency. Some protest the pillaging of their resources and the loss of their independence; others protest their meagre share of the model’s benefits (ibid., 126). And though the Mapuche have adopted some environmentalist discourses against plantations, it is still unclear whether indigenous people will be included somehow in the forestry industry or excluded (because they are competitors for land). According to Clapp (1998a), Chile’s forestry development model hinges on the capacity of Mapuche people to resist pressure from tree plantations while they struggle to retain their lands, livelihoods, traditions, and (so it follows) their identity. Yet members of the Mapuche movement take a positive view of this “lack of consistency.” Long ago, the groups now known collectively as Mapuche organized themselves around several territorial or regional identities, and those identities persist. Since pre-colonial times these people’s autonomy has been based in their political decentralization and strategic alliances. Ultimately, the success of the Mapuche will depend on their ability to balance external pressures and opportunities with local perceptions of indigenous legitimacy and strong local identity. Another factor in whatever success they achieve will be the extent to which networks of access, exchange, and influence reinforce or undermine their goals. Political economic structures influence local people’s land use decisions; at the same time, those people are constantly resisting, contesting, recreating, and reproducing those structures. This process enables local  15 Min. De Hacienda-DIPRES: Evaluación en Profundidad del Fondo de Tierras y Aguas Indígenas, Santiago 2002. 30  agents to modify not only the natural environment but also broader political, ideological, and economic structures, which then influence and cultivate new forms of human agency. I will also be assuming that Mapuche rights, as well as their arrangements for access to natural resources, are underpinned by competing values and discourses. Thus I will be addressing the ways in which the politics of land and resources are shaping forest ecosystems and the local environment. The Mapuche struggle is a response to the historical context. In this regard, systemic and institutionalized forms of racism16 are key to modern-day discourses of development. Racism is still considered a taboo subject in many parts of Chilean society. In part, this is because of power relations—sustained since colonial times—that are obscured and thus accepted without thought, thereby creating the categories and images through which disputes over the environment, resources, and economic development are framed. Since colonial times, nationalism and hegemonic and homogenized patterns of development have combined to produce racialized people and racialized landscapes; this in turn has helped white Chileans maintain their privileged status. One result is that the dominant discourse portrays the marginalization of indigenous people as “common sense”—that is, as the inevitable result of poverty and race. As Brosius (1999) notes, we need to examine a number of complex and connected factors: the relationship between historical and contemporary forms of domination; existing and emerging structures and institutions; the politics of representation; processes of discursive production; and emerging forms of political agency. Any attempt to understand the discursive foundations of environmentalism, developmentalism, or indigenism must take into account the broader spatial and temporal context. In this regard, institutionalized racism has a strong impact on today’s resource conflicts as well as on how politicians manage them. Concealed forms of racism today are justifying discriminatory actions under the guise of protecting the rights and privileges of non-indigenous Chileans as well as corporations (both national and transnational). Racism has enabled the curtailment of indigenous people’s rights and the appropriation of their resources. My work will emphasize the political, practical, and discursive shifts involved in the processes  16 Racism ‘was grounded in biological essentialism and determinism, the idea that human beings could be placed in groups based on physical characteristics, or more deeply, their genetic make-up’ (Grillo 2003: 162). In my research I link the concept of racism with ethnocentrism, which can be defined as ‘the manner in which a group identifies with its own socio-cultural individuality and creates a privileged and central image of itself in relation to others’ (Shanks and Tilley 1987: 155). 31  by which Mapuche people are attempting to regain their ancestral lands, acquire constitutional recognition, and win political autonomy. In particular, I hope to highlight the tensions between traditional resource use practices and the changing patterns of access and use on indigenous lands. Structure of the Dissertation Following the introduction, this work is organized into seven chapters:  Chapter 2. Research Design This chapter describes the steps I took while designing the research, including its main objectives and guiding questions. Because this work is based on a case study, I explain the criteria I applied when setting up the case. I describe the Mapuche organization that has been the centre of attention for my research and introduce the reader to the study’s location. I identify the different methodological strategies and tools I used to collect and analyze data. I also address how I handled problems of validity, reliability, and generalization, as well as ethical considerations. Chapter 3. The Background This chapter briefly describes the Mapuche people and the historical processes of land exclusion and cultural denial carried out by the Chilean state. I also outline the controversy surrounding forestry development in Chile and the conditions that contributed to the formation of the Mapuche movement. Chapter 4. From Forest Ecosystems to Industrial Plantations This chapter begins by outlining the ecological significance of Chile’s temperate forests. I then analyze the political economy of tree plantations and the role played by Chile’s forestry sector in the global economy. I focus on pulp, as this is the main product exported by the forestry sector, and explain its impact at the local level. I also consider the various competing values assigned to forests, as the social, economic, and ecological dimensions of forests often clash with one another. This analysis is key to understanding the interactions among social groups, private actors, and the state in their pursuit of political power. I describe how social and ecological 32  considerations have influenced the debate on the future of temperate forests. The importance of those forests is discussed in terms of management policies and practices. Discussed as well is the impact of industrial forestry over the past few decades. Because this problem cannot be analyzed solely in economic or technical terms, the final section of this chapter examines the controversy over the replacement of native forests with monocrop plantations—in particular, the role played in that controversy by values, knowledge, and power. Chapter 5. Ecological and Social Transformations in Indigenous Territories: A Perspective from Environmental Racism Drawing from post-structuralist theories of nature and recent literature on environmental racism, this chapter expands conventional theories of conflict used in political ecology and environmental justice. I assert that racism is the best lens through which to view this particular conflict. I argue that racial discrimination in its various forms has been obscured in Chile, where formally and informally, racism has been rendered invisible. Discourses of indigenous rights as well as ethnocentric ideas relating to economic development have combined to delegitimize Mapuche land claims. As a consequence, Mapuche visions have been neglected and their interests have been underrepresented in national debates over land use, forestry, environmental, water, and indigenous policy. Much of my research has involved tracking and examining the ecological and social impacts of large-scale tree plantations. Forest products are Chile’s second-largest export. In Chile’s VIII and IX Regions forest plantations (and the pulp industry) have been expanding most rapidly in areas inhabited by the Mapuche. The poorest Mapuche live in the areas where tree plantations are expanding most rapidly, and these people are being forced to bear the social and environmental costs. In this light, I explain why environmental racism cannot be isolated from other forms of racism. Racism interacts with other power structures and economic forces both locally and globally. The ecological and social transformations arising from growth in the forestry sector are subjecting Mapuche people to systemic forms of racism. Chapter 6. The Revitalization of Indigenous Movements and the Transformative Politics of Mapuche Territorial Organizations In this chapter I analyze how indigenous people organize themselves to address their marginalization, exclusion, and displacement (e.g., through resistance, negotiation, and 33  accommodation). I consider the internal dynamics of the Mapuche movement since its political incorporation into the Chilean state in 1883. The Mapuche movement began to form in the early 1900s, after the “pacification” years, and has followed various political strategies ranging from a radical Indianist and culturalist position to one that seeks assimilation into the modernizing Chilean state. Drawing from recent theories of new social movements (identity movements in particular), I describe how the Mapuche movement has evolved from a traditional class-based movement to one based on identity. Generally speaking, indigenous movements utilize essentialist discourses in a strategic manner. I describe the principal organizations and various political strategies used by the Mapuche movement, highlighting that movement’s distinctiveness in relation to other indigenous movements that have emerged in recent years in the context of land claims and resource conflicts. This chapter also considers the links between land and identity and how indigenous people’s political strategies shape their social and environmental world views. Memory has played a key role in the reconfiguration of the Mapuche movement. Many Mapuche are migrants to the cities; there, they have maintained a strong sense of cultural belonging that reproduces their ties to the land. However, the drastic transformation of the rural landscape has made it much harder for them to maintain traditional material relationships with the land—relationships that are vital for Mapuche cultural survival. I examine how the Mapuche people’s sense that “nature has been lost” has inspired reflections on territoriality linked to processes of identity formation. The emergence of a self-conscious group identity has drawn the Mapuche to reconfigure both their past and their future. This is especially so among urban youth, who suffer from a loss of connection to natural and cultural places. The land-based nature of Mapuche claims and the ongoing process of reinventing identity together have played a key role in the Mapuche people’s rethinking and renarration of their history and environment. In an effort to avoid engaging in developmental and environmental discourses, the Mapuche are debating land in terms of territoriality; this narrative, however, continues to be nourished by a cultural imaginary that expresses nostalgia for a spiritual landscape: the mapu. Chapter 7. Government Responses to Indigenous Demands: A New Deal with Old Rules In this chapter I discuss the impact of resistance strategies on resource management, as well as state responses to indigenous claims. I explore the main obstacles preventing the Chilean government from addressing more effectively, in its resource management policies, the social, 34  economic, and cultural needs of indigenous peoples. Employing Foucault’s concept of governmentality, I argue that, though the Mapuche have broadly contested the state’s neoliberal policies, they have nevertheless been drawn into a new set of governing strategies that are fundamentally neoliberal. These strategies have led to the reconfiguration of their relationship with the state, NGOs, and foreign aid donors. Operating at both formal and informal levels of social and political interaction, this new mentality of government employs coercive and co- optive measures to cultivate Mapuche participation in the neoliberal project, while continuing to neglect the long-standing relations of inequality and injustice that underpin conflicts over land and resources. The chapter ends by discussing the Chilean state’s legal responses to indigenous demands. As in many other nation-states, indigenous groups contesting power relations are subjected to persistent violations of their fundamental rights as governments criminalize their legitimate and historically rooted demands. Indigenous/state relations are often marked by violence and counter-violence. The violence of the state is legitimized as “peacekeeping”; yet any act of protest or even self-defence by indigenous groups is often labelled terrorism. Here I discuss the Chilean state’s responses to indigenous claims and the legality of antiterrorism laws as they relate to political and social conflicts. Using the Mapuche case, I will describe how antiterrorism and state security laws are applied to Chile’s indigenous people in Chile, and provide a brief account of recent trial proceedings. Chapter 8. Summary and Conclusions In this chapter I synthesize the main arguments that support my thesis regarding the significance of indigenous transformative politics as it relates to environmental change. I discuss the main impacts of state policies and market forces on indigenous communities as well as the consequences of political mobilization on local communities. I analyze how the strategies followed by the communities to revindicate their rights, and the government’s strategies against the Mapuche resistance movement, have affected resource management at the local level.  35  Chapter 2. Research Design As noted in the previous chapter, this research is in the form of a case study and examines how indigenous communities’ resistance and adaptation strategies shape their natural and social livelihoods. Accordingly, I have focused on the following research questions (see Appendix A for subset of linked questions): • How do different social groups, especially indigenous communities, secure their identity and livelihoods under varying conditions? • How do the social processes and political strategies followed by indigenous communities affect their livelihoods and their forest ecosystems? • What competing values and discourses underpin negotiations over rights and access to natural resources? • Given the current forest development model, how do the forest management practices of the Mapuche and their relationship with the environment change over time? Designing the Case Study I make no claims that this is a fully “grounded” study. Rather, it evolved as time went on, and its conclusions, while consistent, are not necessarily definitive. This is, in the end, a thesis—that is, a proposition with evidence. By the end I will have outlined how and why certain events took place or outcomes resulted; what this means for our political and environmental understanding; and what remains unknown (and thus requires further study). Early on, I decided to study deforestation and reforestation as these processes are mediated by institutional arrangements, with a focus on the social and cultural dynamics of resource management. Without doubt, this topic was too broad. Too many different actors were involved (the state, the industry, environmental groups, politicians, academia, etc.), and social movements are difficult phenomena to track as they are constantly adapting to shifts in political circumstances. The Mapuche movement itself is multifaceted, and its strategies vary from one organization to the next. Many of its strategies involve indigenous leaders formally engaging with government departments, and these institutional arrangements are often augmented by political actions at the community level. In addition, institutional arrangements are usually 36  studied under the CPRM or Common Property and Resource Management literature, whereas in this case study most of the analysis relates to forests managed under regimes of private property, with access to and use of these resources linked to power relations rather than property regimes. In light of all this, I decided to adopt the theories and methods employed by political ecologists. In 2000 I carried out preliminary fieldwork in order establish a field site, gather preliminary data, and develop contacts in Chile. I decided to focus on the political strategies of one of the many organizations in the Mapuche movement: Coordinadora Arauko-Malleko. This group encompassed communities from the province of Arauco in VII Region and the province of Malleco in IX Region. In 2002, after internal in-fighting, this group fragmented. In the aftermath, I decided to work mainly with one of the resulting groups, Comunidades en Conflicto de Collipulli (Communities in Conflict of Collipulli; CCC), in the province of Malleco in IX Region. Soon after starting exploratory fieldwork, I found that I could not ignore my own role and social position. As a winka” (a white or non Mapuche in Mapudungun, the Mapuche language), I found it hard to gain access to the movement, which guards its strategies closely. In time, I became more interested in understanding the role of locally based indigenous organizations in mediating resource access and management, and in national and transnational discourses of development, indigeneity, and environmentalism. Here, the works of Geertz (1988) and Clifford and Marcus (1986) influenced me strongly, especially when it came to acknowledging the role of my identity and epistemological stance and the relative value of various modes of inquiry. Overall, and as challenged to do so, I have avoided the extremes of deductive/etic and inductive/emic and have adopted more recent paradigms that combine emic (insider) with etic (outsider) perspectives. As the critical realist stance points out, differences between insider (emic) and outsider (etic) views are negotiable. For example, Rappaport (1984), in his ground-breaking analysis of the ritual life and ecology of the Tsembaga people of New Guinea, illustrates how ritual practices help keep the environment in balance. Here, the etic function of the sacrifice is to solve the problem of too many pigs, while its emic function reflects the local rationale that one must sacrifice pigs to appease the ancestors. The alternation between operational (etic) and cognized (emic) models gradually uncovers the metaphorical overlay; this makes it more possible to articulate and delineate the boundaries of terms and categories—from our own background as well as that of the Other—as an exchange of ideas. 37  At this stage, a systematic review of the literature helped me build a theoretical framework; it also enriched my initial field experience (Wolcott 1995). Critical ethnography (Berglund 1997; Brosius 1999; Routledge 1996; Scott 1990) was central to my thinking as it helped me understand ethnography in a different way. Critical ethnography is the application of critical theory to anthropological research; it places at the centre of ethnographic studies questions of power and inequality, the political economy of symbols and actions in contemporary culture, and the social and ethical relationships between the interpreter and the one being interpreted. In my research I use critical ethnography as described by Thomas (1993): “as a way of applying a subversive world view to the conventional logic of cultural inquiry. It does not stand in opposition to conventional ethnography. Rather, it offers a more direct style of thinking about the relationships among knowledge, society, and political action. The central premise is that one can be both scientific and critical, and that ethnographic description offers a powerful means of critiquing culture and the role of research within it” (vii). In February 2002 I made a second trip to Chile in order to further my entry into one organization. I visited the CCC headquarters and spoke with its leaders to explain my purposes. I told them I would be focusing on the relationship between political mobilization and land negotiations. Thereafter, I restricted my investigations to the political strategies used by that group and their expected and unexpected consequences. I examined closely the political strategies followed by CCC for the purpose of analyzing the land recovery process in the region and the resulting changes in resource access and control. I spent two more months in Chile in 2003 and another two months in 2004 interviewing a broad range of actors and organizations, paying particular attention to CCC. My objective was to closely examine the political strategies that group was using in the context of environmental conditions and present-day development policies. Those policies related to land restitution, resource management practices, and resource access and control. I chose this particular case on the basis of three criteria: location, characteristics of the organization, and situation: Location • The zone had experienced severe and profound land use changes in recent decades. 38  • Different forest covers were found in the zone (native forests and exotic tree plantations). • Exotic forest plantations were being concentrated in the area, while native forests were disappearing. • The zone was facing environmental problems as a result of water shortages, drastic climate change, and low agricultural productivity. • Land claims were still unresolved. Characteristics of the group • The group’s leadership dynamics were driven by local interests. • Though the group was not represented in environmental debates, it was finding ways to affect resource management policy. • The group represented different communities with different strategies whose demands had been acknowledged by the state, albeit in different ways. Situation • The case could be compared to other cases around the world and thereby contribute to theory development in political ecology. • Unequal power dynamics were evident. The various actors had conflicting values on how to access and use resources. • The case had a high profile in the media and so would be easy to track. The Case Study: Comunidades en Conflicto de Collipulli As already noted, this case study is based on information provided by Mapuche organizations and communities in VII and VIII Regions. When analyzing land demands, resistance strategies, negotiation processes, and environmental changes at the local level, I will be focusing on CCC.17 This organization has a reputation as one of the most radicalized groups in the Mapuche  17 As previous noted, before the separation into factions the Collipulli communities were part of “Coordinadora Arauco Malleco.”  39  movement. As such, it stands in well for the problems and the opportunities that similar organizations have faced, and are still facing, in their efforts to secure their members’ livelihoods. The differences are mainly a function of strategy. The CCC’s stance has been that it will “negotiate not under the terms of reference imposed by the Chilean state but by their own means.” Its core aim is to pursue not just land claims but territorial sovereignty and—just as important—recognition as a distinct ethnic group or “nation” and their territoriality: “Our people [are] more aware of the problem, which is the territoriality of the Mapuche community ... We still recognize ourselves as a different culture and we still have in our collective memory the consciousness that we were and we are a first nation” (La seguda, March 18, 1999). In 1998,  the  “ Coordinadora Arauco Malleco” began coordinating communities in the provinces of Arauco in VIII Region and Malleco in IX Region. Then in 2001, six of the communities involved in CCC decided to continue their struggles independently. All six are located in IX Region in the Municipality of Collipulli (see map below): 1. Choin Lafkenche. San Jorge sector, 12 kilometres northwest of the Municipality of Collipulli. This group is led by lonko (chief) Luis Ancalaf and his brother, Victor. Victor Ancalaf is a former political prisoner and was recently sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment by the Chilean Supreme Court. The community has about forty members. Its territorial demands amount to 1,372 hectares. 2. Juan Ayllala Varela. Caillin sector, 10 kilometres northwest of Collipulli. This group is led by lonko Francisco Llanca and seeks 854 hectares of territory. The Chilean state has recently charged Llanca with usurpation of land. He is currently a fugitive. 3. Lonkomahuida Alto. Located 13 kilometres southwest of Collipulli. This group is led by lonko José Ignacio Neculpan. This community claims Fundos Los Copihues and El Mirador. At present, both parcels are held by large farm owners. These territorial demands total about 180 hectares. 4. Antonio Paillacoi. Huapitrio sector, 30 kilometres northeast of Collipulli. This community’s 220 members are led by lonko Ariel Tori Linqueo, an ex-political prisoner who is today being prosecuted for violating the Law on State Security. This group is claiming agricultural lands and irrigation channels. The lands are Fundo Rucañanco 40  (1,090 hectares), now held by the Forest Company MININCO, and Fundo Taitamito (400 hectares), presently held by the landowner Gerard Schmidt. 5. Katrio Ñancul. Huapitrio sector, 20 kilometres northwest of Collipulli. This group is led by lonko Domingo Millalen. It claims Fundo Santa Ema (460 hectares) and Fundo Araucanía (250 hectares). Both are property of the Forest Company MININCO. 6. Kolihuinka Tori. Huapitrio sector, 17 kilometres northwest of Collipulli. This group is led by lonko Jose Tori, who is being prosecuted by the Chilean state for violating the Law on State Security. Along with the community Antonio Paillacoi, it is claiming 1,500 hectares of Fundo Rucañanco.  Illustration 2.1 Indigenous communities in Collipulli municipal district   Most of the land transformations that have affected these communities have been implemented over the past three decades. Thus I will focus on the more recent privatization processes and on the economic incentives and subsidy programs imposed during the years of military dictatorship. I will also be discussing processes of environmental change as they relate to Chile’s emergence Catrio Nancul    Loncomahuida Aylla Varela Kolihuinca Tori Choin Lafkenche 41  as a significant actor in the neoliberal market economy. While I will be touching on policies and their consequences at multiple levels—from the local to the global—I will be focusing mainly on the local impacts of social, cultural, and environmental changes. This will include CCC’s (and other Mapuche organizations) history, leadership dynamics, and political strategies. This multilevel level analysis will suggest how local communities shape and are shaped by global developments, especially those pertaining to environmental health and human rights. The discourses of development in which processes of social and environmental change are embedded will also become visible through this study. The Collipulli communities are located in the zone with the largest indigenous population in Chile. That same zone has experienced significant land use changes over the past few decades. In Regions VIII and IX there are 1,693,286 hectares of native forest, which makes this one of the world’s largest zones of temperate humid forest. These regions, however, have been dramatically altered as a result of land use changes, selective logging, forest fires, and the introduction of plantations of exotic species of commercial timber. Put simply, this region’s native forests are disappearing and being degraded at an alarming rate. At the same time, exotic tree plantations are expanding dramatically. Intensive land use for agriculture and forestry has resulted in severe environmental problems; the region now suffers heavily from frequent droughts, followed by floods and the inevitable result—soil erosion. Methodological and Analytical Tools As has been the trend in anthropology, I let the fieldwork shape my project rather than the other way around. At times, my findings were quite unexpected, and as a result I had to struggle to adjust my theoretical framework—for example, by including human right issues and autonomist discourses. I often followed a discovery-oriented approach; that is, I identified key categories in my data and interview transcriptions and used them to generate still more categories, which influenced the direction of further interviews. I also tended to ask open-ended questions, especially when raising my principal research topic, which concerned the environmental criteria used during land negotiations. I asked, for instance, about accessibility to the lands, the resources in place (water availability, soil quality, tree species), and the productive potential of the lands to be transferred. I remember posing these questions to the CONADI official in charge of the FTA program. Laughing, he told me that “the 42  only criteria used is the political criteria … Many of those who first received land from CONADI were specifically those who fought against the dictatorship, there were some political commitments that influenced these decisions.” Data Collection To answer the research questions and while gathering data, I relied mainly on ethnographic methods—that is, I blended historical, observational, and interview methods. I participated as much as possible in local daily life while carefully observing everything about it. I made detailed field notes; conducted interviews based on open-ended questions; and gathered whatever site documents were available. The latter  included annual reports, memos, correspondence, newsletters, websites, court proceedings, posters, and minutes of meetings. I also examined secondary information: historical documents; news stories; statistical reports; official documents about environmental, indigenous, and forest policy; documents about institutional arrangements and the structure and functioning of public agencies; results of the national vegetation inventory; results of past studies of forest management; and results of the application of laws, economic incentives, and subsidies relating to reforestation. I also conducted twenty-nine individual interviews and three focus groups with various stakeholders (farmers, NGO program officers, lawyers, forest workers, researchers in the area, government officials, journalists, indigenous people, and forestry company executives). Informants were selected using a judgment and convenience sampling procedure, which took into account their accessibility, representativeness, and expertise in terms of the research. The interviews covered the various perspectives and positions of forestry companies, small forest owners, indigenous people, experts, NGOs, foundations, and public officials involved in forest management and indigenous communities. When interpreting and positioning these actors, I analyze the discourses of various sources, including the media, government reports, and the academic literature. Following Escobar (1995), and Foucault’s insights into discursive aspects of development, I take discourse analysis18 to mean close scrutiny of the words we use, the concepts they embody, and the rules that develop  18 From Hajer’s perspective, discourse analysis is a method for analyzing what language does, the politics of meaning that take place, the way in which language affects perceptions and cognitions, and the way in which language distributes power to some and less to others. This method helps illuminate how policy problems are constructed (Hajer 1995, 15). 43  within a group about what are appropriate ways of talking about things and the meanings so inscribed. According to Escobar, discourse is the articulation of knowledge and power whereby some claims become visible, even self-evident, whereas others become invisible and inexpressible. The early arguments (and discursive frameworks) in favour of expanding tree plantations will be taken from the book The Forest Debate in Chile, published in 1996 by the Association of Forest Engineers. This is a compilation of public dialogues on Chile’s forests (and especially on plantations) that were held in the media between 1992 to 1995. My other main source is The Tragedy of the Forest, a book published in 1998 by Defenders of the Chilean Native Forest, an environmental NGO representing the position of ecologists, scientists, foresters, writers, poets, musicians, artists, and other representatives of civil society, who contributed their perspectives on and hopes for Chile’s native forests. In addition, I examined thoroughly the different points of views offered by various sources. These included casual conversations, interviews, newspaper accounts, memos, and library and historical records. I also extracted some quotes and images from policy documents, the media, and the interviews to analyze the discursive nature of this conflict as well as representations of the Mapuche in the media. Online articles and other web-based data were key to this discourse analysis. Using different Internet search engines, I scanned relevant texts on websites from 1990 to 2007. I also analyzed Mapuche local newspapers as well as international journals dedicated to the forestry sector, such as Pulp and Paper International. For instance, when analyzing the campaign True Forest for Chile, which promoted plantations, I found that all of the images highlighted the importance of planting pine and eucalyptus trees. The following image (illustration 2.2), for instance, shows how indigenous land claims were delegitimated, with environmentalists being labelled as terrorists. As these sources will show, the current debate encompasses a dialogue not only about science but also about beliefs, values, and the validity of different knowledge systems. I will use three levels of analysis relating to the values, knowledge, and power relations that underpin the discourses used by the different actors involved in the debate.   44  Illustration 2.2 Front page of a local newspaper depicting Mapuche as terrorists  Some Native Americans have started protesting against development of the land, urged by the “greens.” Pulp and Paper International (February 2001) In addition to standard ethnographic methods, I used quantitative techniques to develop percentages or counts. For this purpose, I also used close-ended questionnaires and analyzed social and geographic surveys, such as the national vegetation survey and CASEN19. I also used a geographic information system (GIS) to analyze the extent to which communities had been affected by tree plantations—effects that included environmental change and the displacement of indigenous people. Time contraints prevented me from completing this task in time for the dissertation. To keep track of the research, I kept process notes (for day-to-day activities, methodologies, and decision-making procedures) as well as personal notes about motivations, experiences with informants, and so on.  19 CASEN is a tool designed to describe and analyse the socio-economic situation of Chilean families, including housing, education and labour characteristics. It is a cross-sectional survey, having the dual objectives of generating a reliable picture of socioeconomic conditions across the country, and of monitoring the incidence and effectiveness of the government's social programs and expenditures. 45  Data Analysis Procedures Following Bernard’s guidelines (2002, 430) for data analysis, I constantly checked validity by looking for consistencies and inconsistencies among my informants. In doing so, I made a point of switching back and forth between the emic and etic perspectives. This was especially relevant when analyzing essentialist and antiessentialist discourses relating to indigeneity and nature. I encountered several contradictions. For example, an argument the Mapuche use against plantations is that they cause natural and cultural loss. Yet the Mapuche also involve themselves in plantation projects and are willing to plant some pines and eucalyptus. Sometimes I asked my informants whether they would plant these tree species on their home territory. The answers were sometimes contradictory. Two things helped me understand these inconsistencies: first, cultural differences influence how people perceive forests and plantations; and second, views differ depending on who owns the land, who plants the trees, how many trees are planted, and the purpose of the forests. Typically, a handful of exotic trees were not perceived as a plantation when they were planted on the respondent’s territory. Thus, people would plant pines and eucalyptus on their lands even while protesting against plantations somewhere else. Small stands of native trees were generally not perceived as “forests”; rather, they were designated in terms of their cultural value and use as menoko (swamp forest), mallin (wetlands with herbaceous ground cover), mawiza (a patch of trees from different native species), monte huallizada (a patch of roble beech), tuwe (evergreen plains) wingkül (hills), or lil (ravine forest). Rarely are these places identified simply as forests or woodlands; rather, they are specific places from which are obtained medicinal plants or edible nonwood forest products, or they are sacred places inhabited by spirits. It is noteworthy that most of the respondents were aware of the contradictions just mentioned and had valid reasons for maintaining them. For example, co-optive government policies left the Mapuche little choice but to act as they did; the agricultural sector was collapsing; or they were too poor to turn down money for logs (especially when there were purchasing agents in every community). I analyzed the collected data throughout the fieldwork, constantly refining my questions as well as my data collection methods. Typically, I would conduct an interview or field visit, then read through (at least once) the field notes, interview transcripts, site documents, and any general data. I would then mark or code these initial data sets to indicate any patterns, connections, similarities, or contradictions. I then reduced the data set (which grew to considerable length) 46  and reconstructed it through a coding and sorting process. Coding is a systematic practice of establishing locally relevant and theoretically salient categories of meaning. These may include, but are not limited to, the terms informants use for particular things or actions that might turn out to be important for understanding land use change or political behaviour in reference to the field of political ecology. I also paid close attention to important issues as the informants identified them (and to what they considered unimportant). Following Glaser and Strauss’s (1985) grounded theory approach, I constantly summarized the data collected from interviews and returned them to the participants in order to ensure that my interpretations “fit” and were “relevant” to the issues they raised. I transcribed all interviews and coded each according to key emerging themes and analytical categories. As new themes appeared, I checked and rechecked “what was said” and “what was meant to be said.” Ultimately, all coded data were disaggregated and reaggregated into subcomponents of the thesis sections. I then reorganized them in order to develop a narrative. Tables, charts, and diagrams that helped illuminate results were used whenever possible. Problems of validity, reliability, and generalization were resolved according to conventional practice in qualitative work—that is, by triangulating findings across the various types of data gathered. The different themes were tested with alternative explanations for what I was starting to draw from the data. I also routinely presented my emerging or nascent conclusions to the informants for examination and debate. This sort of respondent validation helped ensure that the results were trustworthy and allowed informants to elaborate various points, often by offering further information. Outcomes of the Research The primary outcome of the research will be a greater understanding of resistance movements and how the strategies they use are affecting natural resource management and the environment. Over the past decade, many Mapuche communities have founded their own organizations, yet their demands are still being overlooked. This project will foster public debate around the Chilean forest development model and its local impacts. It will also expose the role played by indigenous movements in resource conflicts, how these movements work, and what the consequences of their political strategies and discourses are, especially for environmental 47  sustainability. The research will establish links between the resistance and adaptation strategies of indigenous communities and local processes of environmental change. This research has policy implications for governments and organizations involved in land restitution for indigenous groups. It also serves as a basis for further research into local responses to macrostructural factors, thus contributing to the expansion of conventional theories of resource conflict and political ecology. This research will be presented in seminars and conferences and lead to later publications. 48  Chapter 3.  Background The Mapuche People Mapuche means “people of the land.” Mapu means land, che means people. The Mapuche inhabit the south-central territories of Chile and Argentina. According to their own historical perspective (Ñanculef 1989) their ancestral territory has five distinct regions, which together comprise the Wallmapu (see Illustration 3.1). Those regions are Puelmapu (land of the east, now Argentina), Pikunmapu (land of the north, or central Chile), Gulumapu (south-central Chile, from the Andes to the Pacific Ocean), Lafkenmapu (land of the Pacific coastal region in the west), and Willimapu (land of the south). The Mapuche of these regions are identified accordingly—for example, as Lafkenche or Williche. As described in classic ethnographic works (Berdichewsky 1975; Faron 1968), the Mapuche originally included both sedentary and nomadic communities; depending on the region, they might be hunters, farmers, gatherers or fishermen. Their social organization has always been based on extended families, each known as lof and each under the authority of a lonko (chief). Traditionally, the Mapuche governed their internal and external relationships, as well as their relationship with the land and its resources, in compliance with their own system of norms known as the admapu (the law of the ancestors). After centuries of colonialism, Christianization, and modernization, the Mapuche continue to be a deeply religious people. In a syncretic way, they have incorporated some Christian practices into their earlier belief system. Their cosmology maintains that a celestial family that holds the power of nature created the world and all earthly beings. The spiritual leader, or shaman, is the machi, who still plays an important role in the internal decisions of each community (see Bacigalupo 2003). The most important ceremony is the ngillatun, which is held in a specially allocated area toward the east. This ceremony usually lasts two or three days. People also gather for community invocations and for harvests. However, under current political conditions such as those relating to land claims and demands for political rights, some ceremonies are being practised in other contexts for only few hours (e.g., during protests or within detention centres). The Mapuche language is called Mapudungun, which means “the language of the land.” There are a number of regional dialects, though the differences are slight. The ancestral belief is that the language emerges from listening to the land and all beings. Most of the place names on maps 49  Illustration 3.1.Mapuche ancestral territory Source: Comisión Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato 2004. 50  of central and southern Chile have Mapudungun roots. Many plant and animal names also come from Mapudungun. Many people continue to speak Mapudungun, especially during community ceremonies. However, many Mapuche children are growing up relying more on Spanish, and the great majority have stopped learning it at all, which is a great loss. The Mapuche are also known as the Araucano, a name assigned to them by the Spanish colonists. By the time the winkas20 (the Spanish) arrived in the sixteenth century, the Mapuche population had already fallen drastically as a result of diseases (introduced by Europeans) and territorial wars (Berdichewski 1975). A century after their arrival, in 1641, the Spanish signed the Treaty of Quillin, which defined the boundaries of the Mapuche nation. Historical Context: Land Exclusion and Cultural Denial When the Spanish arrived, in 1540, the Mapuche occupied most of what is now Chile, from Antofagasta in the north to Chiloe Island in the south (see Illustration 3.1). Today, however, they have lost control of and access to by far the largest part of their territory21  (COTAM 2003). After the Treaty of Quilin in 1641, the Mapuche were confined to their old territories south of the Bio Bio river, in an area of approximately 10 million hectares (see Box 1 for a chronology of Mapuche land tenure). The Republican Period The Spanish Viceroyalty was overthrown in 1810. Argentina and Chile declared their independence, at which time the Treaty of Quilin was abrogated. After independence, Argentina and Chile both took measures to take over Mapuche territory. By the end of the nineteenth century, the Chilean and Argentinean armies had occupied the remaining Mapuche territory and subjugated the indigenous population. This was a violent time, marked by an undeclared war, referred to by Chilean historians as the “Pacification of the Araucania” and by the Argentines as the “Campaign of the Desert,” during which both countries violated their original treaties with the Mapuche (see Villalobos 1992).  20 A pejorative term used by Mapuche to refer to the Spaniards; literally, it means “thief.” 21 A hectare is 2.47 acres. 51  Yet the history of Mapuche relations with outsiders and invaders is quite unique. They are the only indigenous group on the continent that succeeded in driving back an invasion by the Inca Empire. And even though they were defeated in 1869 by the Chilean army after a bloody struggle (Bengoa 1985), they have never admitted that they were defeated (“pacified” is the Chilean government’s term). The Mapuche prefer to call the war the “penultimate struggle.” Box 1. Historical Review 1540. Arrival of the Spaniards.  Mapuche territories  occupied from Antofagasta in the north to the Island of Chiloe 1641. The Treaty of Quilin (Mapuche will stay south of the Bio-Bio river). 1881–83. “Pacification” by Chile in 1883 (the “penultimate struggle”). 1860. Titulos de Merced (north) and “escrituras de comisario” (south); granted by the state, communal for possession and use, not for ownership (inalienability). 1927. Law #4.169. Subdivision of communal lands into individual ownership titles. 1929. 3,078 reserves on 525,000 hectares. 1972. Law # 17.929. Consolidation and increase in size of Mapuche land holdings and confirmation of communal ownership. 1974. Mapuche lands regained were expropriated again. Decree Law # 2568: “For the Indians Indian Lands, the Division of the Reserves and the Liquidation of the Indian Communities.” 1979. Division and liquidation of the Mapuche reserves (350,000 hectares). 1992. Constitutional reform in relation to indigenous people (rejected several times). 1993. Indigenous Law 19.253 is enacted; CONADI is formed. 1993 to date. Land acquisitions. Between 1881 and 1883, the Chilean army put down a major Mapuche uprising. The Chilean and Argentinean armies finally defeated the Mapuche nation in 1885. During these years, many indigenous people were either killed or driven from their homes to live impoverished lives in isolated villages or in the cities. Later they were settled on fixed reserves, called “reducciones” or “comunidades” (see Table 3.1). These reserves were much too small for the groups assigned to them and were generally separated from one another by areas settled by Chileans and European immigrants (Anaquod, Thomas, and Taylor 1984). The resettlement process continued until 1929, by which time 3,078 reducciones had been created—a total area of only 525,000 hectares—benefiting around 78,000 indigenous people. The total area allocated to the Mapuche 52  through these reducciones was equivalent to 6.39 percent of their traditional territory (Aylwin 1999). Having been forced onto lands that were too small to sustain them, the Mapuche were turned into poor farmers and forced to change their customs, forms of production, and judicial norms (Bengoa 1999). In effect, many Mapuche signed on for wage labour on nearby estates. By 1979, the date of the current law, which allows the division and liquidation of the Mapuche reducciones, this land base had been reduced even further, to only 350,000 hectares (Bengoa 1985). Table 3.1. Process of Mapuche’s forced settlement (1884–1929) Province No. of indigenous reserves % Land surface % Persons % Ha./pers. % of total territory ARAUCO 77 2.6 9,700.59 1.9 2,477 3.0 3.92 1.79 BIO-BIO 6 0.2 16,667.00 3.3 804 1.0 20.73 1.11 MALLECO 280 9.6 80,900.75 15.8 9,455 11.4 8.56 6.03 CAUTÍN 2.038 69.8 326,795.31 64.0 61,798 74.8 5.29 17.72 VALDIVIA 477 16.4 70,852.32 13.9 7,091 8.6 9.99 3.85 OSORNO 40 1.4 5,470.70 1.1 1.,004 1.2 5.45 0.59 TOTAL 2.918 100.0 510,386.67 100.0 82,629 100.0 6.18 6.39 Source: González (1986). In the 1860s the Chilean state began issuing the Mapuche “titulos de merced” in the north and “escrituras de comisario” in the south. The titulos de merced were lands conferred or considered granted to the Mapuche by the state. Title was communal, though generally in the name of the head of an extended family or community, and provided clear evidence of ownership. The escrituras de comisario were also communal; however, they were also inalienable—that is, these lands were granted only for possession and use, not for ownership. Thus the state retained ownership and prohibited sale of these lands to non-Mapuche (Anaquod, Thomas and Taylor, 1984). Since 1927, titles of individual ownership have been issued to Mapuche; as a consequence, communal lands have been subdivided into individual family holdings. The legal intrument for 53  this was Law 4.169 (slightly modified in 1961), which established the Special Court for the Division of Indian Communities in Temuco (Aylwin 1999). Under this law, inalienability must be renewed every ten years. Between 1943 and 1947, as a result of this particular clause, about 100,000 hectares of land were purchased from the Mapuche on highly unfavourable terms (ibid.). Allende’s Agrarian Reforms (1970–1973) In 1972, Salvador Allende’s socialist government restructured Mapuche land tenure by enacting Law 17.729. This law flowed out of conferences with the Mapuche in Ercilla in 1969 and in Temuco in 1970; the latter was attended by Allende himself, along with his agriculture minister, Jacques Chonchol. The government did not meet all Mapuche demands; even so, the legislation was essentially favourable to them. It provided tax exemption for their lands; it offered agricultural credits; and it cancelled debts as well as all expropriation decrees. Finally, the law put an end to further land divisions. Mapuche lands were to be inalienable, and any further divisions would have to be approved by an absolute majority of community members. Unlike all of the past legislation, this law was introduced not to divide lands but to consolidate them. Also, it restored lands to the Mapuche that had been taken from them, and it confirmed the principle of communal ownership (Berdicheski 1975). The same law defined “Indians”: they were those who spoke an indigenous language and who maintained distinctive cultural practices; and they were the owners or occupiers of lands referred to in the relevant legislation (since 1860). Law 17.729 made it clear that the “Indians” owned their lands, and it spelled out various procedures for them to recover lands that had been taken from them. This included lands that had been part of the original 525,000 hectares that had been granted in the 1880s. The same law even opened the door for an increase in the amount of indigenous territory. During the Allende years, through agrarian reforms, lands were expropriated from large landowners and public lands were allocated to indigenous people (ibid: 4). Allende established a new government agency: the Directorate of Indian Affairs (DASIN). Its main objectives were these: to promote the social, economic, educational, and cultural development of indigenous communities, while seeking their gradual integration with Chilean society; and to respect their distinct cultures. Accordingly, debts were forgiven and credit was extended; indigenous territories were exempted from land taxes; and the decrees of expropriation of Mapuche lands (1931 and 1961) were annulled (Awlyin 1995). During the brief period that 54  the law was in effect, the Mapuche regained a good deal of the land that the large landowners had wrested from them. Sometimes this was done according to the law; several times, though, the Mapuche took back these lands outside the law (Anaquod, Thomas, and Taylor 1984). The Military Regime and the Counter-Reform (1973–1989) Chile was the first Latin American country to carry out a complete neoliberal transformation. Soon after the military coup in 1973, a small group of economists in the Pinochet administration set about reforming Chile’s economy along free market lines. These economists were known as the “Chicago Boys” because they were disciples of Milton Friedman of the Chicago School of Economics. Their task was to decentralize economic and political power by designing government policies that would promote free markets. The resulting policies encouraged foreign investment by lowering trade barriers and let the market regulate both the economy and society. These neoliberal policies emphasized deregulation, a reduced role for the state, and the privatization of state-controlled industries and services. Furthermore, it called for the “titling and privatization of property rights in land, water, forests, fisheries, and other resources that had previously been commonly or state owned” (Liverman and Vilas 2006, 330). Yet for all of this to come about, the authoritarian regime would have to intervene in the economy. Market reforms did stimulate export growth, but so did direct and indirect government incentives and subsidies (Schurman 1996). Public resources were used to build the infrastructure for private business; this was coupled with fiscal subsidies and tax incentives. The forestry sector in particular benefited from special subsidies (e.g., Law 701), tax breaks, and other incentives designed to stimulate investment (Silva 2004). Neoliberalization was accompanied by social and political measures: cuts in social spending, restrictions on public participation, a rolling back of labour and environmental regulations, and the rewriting of laws and of the constitution itself (Barros 2002). The Mapuche were strongly affected by all of this. During the Allende years, their communities had gained title to about 500,000 hectares. After the Pinochet regime took power in September 1973, the gains made under Law 17.729 were reversed. The lands that Mapuche families had just regained were expropriated back. Even worse, the military promulgated new laws declaring that there were no indigenous people in Chile, only Chileans. In 1979 the military regime issued Decree 2568, which encouraged the division of Mapuche communal lands and their conversion 55  to private ownership. Decree 2568 stated “for the Division of the Reserves and the Liquidation of the Indian Communities”. This decree allowed the division of Indian lands at the request of only one person, an “occupant” of a community or reserve, and that individual did not even have to be an Indian or a resident. Following a division, the lands would no longer to be considered Indian, nor the people “Indians.” “Indians” were no longer defined in terms of language or culture, and no appeal of a judgment was possible. Finally, a land division could not be annulled or rescinded. As shown in Table 3.2, during the military regime almost 400,000 hectares were released to the market through Decree 2568. According to Aylwin and Castillo (1990), under this decree, by the end of 1990, about 2,000 Mapuche communities had been divided into more than 70,000 individual land plots or hijuelas22 with a total expanse of 463,000 hectares (approximately 6.4 hectares per hijuela). Table 3.2. Total of land (in hectares) of indigenous reserves seized during the military regime Year VIII IX X Total 1979 7.71  4,662.44 5,108.84 9,779.00 1980 5,892.45 38,869.75 14,919.43 59,681.63 1981  n/a 45,249.52  19,276.54 64,526.08 1982  n/a 39,613.90  14,370.53 53,984.43 1983 331.56  35,031.90  12,154.96 47,518.42 1984 194.07 40,034.45  4,686.59 44,915.11 1985 15.45  36,659.81  3,510.03 40,185.29 1986  n/a 39,731.76  1,415.74 41,147.50 1987  n/a 28,021.10  901.88 28,922.98 TOTAL 6,441.24  307,874.6 76,344.55 390,660.4 Source: INDAP/DASIN (in Aylwin and Correa 1995)  22 An hijuela is the land portion of a formerly joint property that is adjudicated to belong to an individual through a process of inheritance or division. Thus, if a person inherits a piece of property, the portion of the will indicating the specific inheritance is the hijuela. The model used for the division and privatization of community lands, then, was that of a division of a joint estate, and the document indicating an individual's share was called an hijuela. 56  Under the counter-reform, Mapuche lands were privatized. Most were then sold off to wealthy landlords and foreigners, who then received subsidies to develop them as part of Chile’s neoliberal project. By the end of the land division, the average Mapuche family had title to less than six hectares of land and was no longer considered indigenous (Aylwin 2004). Mapuche who had migrated to urban centres were not included in the land division, which divided Mapuche communities even more. Yet many Mapuche had no choice but to move to the cities. In their efforts to adapt to Chilean society, they faced difficulties with employment, education, and wage discrimination. Many changed their Mapuche names to Spanish ones and stopped speaking Mapudungun. The military counter-reforms were also accompanied by human rights violations. Between 120 and 300 Mapuche leaders were executed or disappeared. Several hundred more were imprisoned in the early years of the dictatorship (Saavedra 2002, 192). Indigenous Rights under Succeeding Neoliberal Regimes With the return to democracy in 1990, the Chilean government changed its policy toward indigenous people. In 1993 the government introduced Indigenous Law 19.253, the Indigenous Peoples Protection, Promotion, and Development Act.23 For the first time, the ethnic identity of indigenous peoples was recognized. This act obligated both the state and Chilean society to protect indigenous cultures and help them develop. One of the law’s main objectives was to put an end to further land losses and expropriations. It included provisions that recognized indigenous communities’ rights to lands they occupied or possessed (Anaya and Williams 2001). Indigenous lands were to be protected by legislation (article 13) and could not be seized, sold, transferred, taxed, mortgaged, or acquired by prescription, except between communities or between members of the same indigenous group. Lands owned by indigenous individuals could be rented or given to third parties for their use and administration, but for a maximum of five years, and even then only with the authorization of the National Corporation for Indigenous Development (CONADI). If government or private sector projects required that indigenous communities be relocated, those communities would have to be compensated with land of equal value—a process referred to as permuta (land exchange)—and only with the community’s free and informed consent. If the owner did not accept the permuta, no transfer would take place. Furthermore, if a single individual disagreed with the permuta, there could be no agreement.  23 Ley 19.253, publicada en el Diario Oficial el 05 de Octubre de 1993. 57  Mapuche lands could no longer be sold to non-Mapuche, which meant that indigenous lands were effectively removed from the market. This law has not always been respected and enforced; even so, it was a sincere effort to resist pressure from large national and multinational corporations. In particular, it served as a roadblock to the forestry and agricultural sectors, since it prevented them from investing in new territories. Articles 18 and 19 of the new law recognized indigenous people’s collective rights to lands as established by their own customs, as well as the right of indigenous people to engage in collective activities on lands of cultural significance. However, the same law recognized indigenous subjects only as individuals. That is, the statute did not recognize indigenous communities per se.24 Instead, it assimilated those communities into a Western-based statute that allowed them to remain as “indigenous communities,” but only in the sense of being recognized as rural councils, indigenous associations, or indigenous corporations. In other words, indigenous communities were recognized as legal entities rather than as historical communities with distinct ancestral rights. At the same time, it prohibited indigenous communities from representing themselves collectively (i.e., indigenous federations were forbidden). The consequence is that indigenous people in Chile are not recognized by the constitution as a distinct ethnic group and cannot represent themselves collectively.25 The new civilian government implemented other measures besides. It established the National Corporation for Indigenous Development (CONADI), a stand-alone agency within the Planning Ministry. The participation of “indigenous advisers” in CONADI and the establishment of “legally” recognized communities and associations would ensure that indigenous peoples had a say in policies and programs affecting them. By 1997 there were 2,340 communities and 340 associations participating in local development plans. CONADI has been criticized for cronyism and for trading in political favours at the expense of democratic processes. It is widely viewed as a government department rather than a community  24 Federación Internacional de Derechos Humanos (FIDH), La otra transición chilena: derechos del pueblo Mapuche, política penal y protesta social en un estado democrático. Federación Internacional de derechos Humanos. Informe No 445/3 (Abril 2006). 25 Consejo de Todas las Tierras, El pueblo Mapuche. Su Territorio y sus Derechos (Temuco: Imprenta Kolping, 1997). Also see Boletin 5427-07 Reforma constitucional para el reconocimiento de los pueblos indígenas.   Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile.  58  organization. There are seventeen members on CONADI’s council, eight of them elected directly by indigenous communities and eight chosen by the ministry. The council’s president is appointed directly by Chile’s president. Mapuche communities have criticized the consultation process for ignoring their traditions. For instance, election processes have usually not been made public, with the consequence that the elected councils are not seen as representing community interests. Also, voting processes do not take into account the lonkos. More often, CONADI representatives are elected because of their political clout or their fluency in Spanish (Nesti 1999). CONADI has also established a ‘Fund for Indigenous Lands and Waters’ (FTAI), which negotiates over disputed lands and distributes state-owned lands. CONADI has been regulating the land with the goal of expanding and consolidating indigenous properties. However, much of rural Chile is under pressure to develop quickly according to the neoliberal model, and CONADI is always being criticized for defending development projects instead of protecting indigenous rights. Large-scale development projects that were launched under the Pinochet regime are ongoing. Roads are being built through Mapuche lands, including a highway around Temuco (where most indigenous communities in the south are concentrated) and a coastal highway that will benefit the fishing and forestry sectors. Forestry activities are damaging unique ecosystems on ancestral territories, and megaprojects such as the Bio-Bio Dam are being built on rivers these communities depend on. In the north of the country, mining activities are having a negative impact on the water resources (their quality and quantity) on which Aymara communities depend. A serious problem for Chile’s indigenous people is that the government in Santiago has not committed itself to international conventions for the protection of indigenous rights. Chile’s constitution does not recognize the rights or even the existence of indigenous peoples, and the government has not signed any existing international laws (such as International Labor Organization Convention 169) that protect and promote indigenous rights26. Until it does, indigenous groups will be unable to stop persistent violations of those rights.  26  This is at present the only instrument in international law which asserts fundamental rights for indigenous peoples and "tribal peoples” and which commit the signatory states with corresponding duties for their protection. The most important articles concern: the full granting of human rights and fundamental freedoms without hindrance or discrimination (Art. 2, 3); the right to cultural identity (Art. 4);the right to communal structures and traditions (Art. 4); the right to participation in the making of 59  The Overlaps between Indigenous Land Seizure and the Forest Development Model in Chile The forestry sector in Chile is concentrated in VIII and X Regions. Coincidently or not, that is where most Mapuche live, including the poorest of them. Those regions are home to 1,693,286 hectares of native forest—one of the world’s largest temperate forest zones. VIII Region has one of the largest concentrations of tree plantations, but only 17,624 hectares of frontier forests,27 of which 80 percent are unprotected. For its part, IX Region has 154,527 hectares of frontier forests, 60.8 percent of which are protected (Neira, Verscheure, and Revenga 2002). More so than the natural forests south of 40°S, these regions have suffered from logging, forest fires, changes in land use, and the conversion into mococrop plantations of exotic species. First, “clearance fires” open the land for wheat. Then, as wheat yields drop, livestock are moved in. As a result of this system, soil erosion and land degradation were visible by 1960s, and calls went out for agrarian reform (Klubock 2006). Between 1965 and 1973, the Chilean Development Corporation, CORFO, helped finance lumber mills and undertook extensive reforestation projects with Monterey pine (better known as Pinus radiata) and eucalyptus (Clapp 1995). Both are fast-growing trees that are not native to Chile. These plantations consist of even-aged, monoculture plots. Trees are planted in rows at an optimal growing distance and are later clear-cut on a rotational basis. The point of these plantations is to maintain a stock of exploitable trees for the pulp-and-paper industry. They have transformed entire rural areas, many of them inhabited by indigenous people, whose economies were previously dedicated to agriculture or whose territory was covered by native forest. These plantations—in effect, “industrial forests”—represent progress, which in fact is how the government promotes them. Forestry development is widely viewed as the Crown Jewel of Chile’s neoliberal economy (see Jelvez, Blatner, and Govett 1990; INFOR 1998). Yet this modernization project would not have been possible without the state’s economic and political support. As Angotti (1995) has noted, capital investments in Latin America favour export  decisions affecting these peoples (Art. 6); the right to making one’s own future (Art. 6, 7); equality before authorities and courts (Art. 2, 8, 9); right to land and resources (Art. 13-19); right to employment and adequate conditions of employment (Art. 20); right to vocational training measures and access to the means of communication (Art. 21). 27 “Frontier forests” are the world's remaining large intact natural forest ecosystems—undisturbed and large enough to maintain all of their biodiversity. 60  industries that are not closely linked to national and regional economies. The neoliberal model would have it that a “free” market should be the sole regulator of all economies; yet in practice, the forestry sector has been heavily subsidized by the Chilean state. This was especially the case during the Pinochet years, when Chile developed most of its incentives and subsidies. The Matte- Larrain and Angelini conglomerates, two of the largest industrial actors in Chile, have thrived largely as a result of economic programs launched during the Pinochet years (Fazio 2000). In the 1980s, Anacleto Angelini, who had been operating in VIII Region since 1974, merged with a New Zealand group, Carter Holt Harvey, and purchased 40 percent of Chile’s plantations and 63 percent of its wood processing industry. Around the same time, Matte-Larrain took control of more than 40 percent of Chile’s timber production and exports through CMPC (Compañia Manufacturera de Papeles y Cartones)28, one of the largest forestry consortiums in the country (Carrere and Lohmann 1996). In 1974, one year after the military coup, Decree 701 granted tax breaks to plantations and subsidized 75 percent of the costs of establishing them. This bill is part of the environmental legislation that assigns CONAF the authority to approve or reject management plans (article 10); supervise compliance with approved management plans; and reforest denuded lands (see Appendix C). Thus, Decree 701 contains both environmental provisions and enforcement obligations (article 31). It also provides a 75 percent subsidy for afforestation costs, as well as tax exemptions for plantations established after 1974. In 1978, subsidies for administrative costs (surveillance, and maintenance of fencing and fire lines) were also introduced (Lara and Veblen 1993). However, Decree 701 was not drawn up to benefit smallholders. Only 4 percent of its subsidies benefited small farmers (Quiroga 1996). Without the resources and technical capacity to manage their forests, small farmers cannot access these incentives, nor can they obtain the economic benefits of timber sales. Most of Decree 701’s regulations have benefited the large forestry companies. In addition to this, transnational corporations have been granted the exclusive right to participate in the formation of public policy, such as the forest law and its regulations. No significant changes have been made to this law regime in the years since Pinochet: Chile remains a neoliberal democracy, and Decree 701 remains in place. Meanwhile, a new proposal titled “Law for the Recovery and Promotion of the Native Forest” has been  28 For more information see 61  languishing in Congress since 199229. At present, subsidies are offered only to compensate producers for establishing new plantations and pruning existing ones. Other subsidies are still available for large companies—mainly for planting on fragile soils that are undergoing desertification. In 1998, Law 701 was renewed to cover the period through to 201130. Since 1974, and as of 2004, the Chilean government has paid $245.3 million in subsidies (Table 3.3). Table 3.3. Law 701 payment summary   Subsidy amounts (US$ million) Area subsidized (hectares)  Period Total Total Trimming 1983–2004 12.7 408,037 Management 1978–2004 28.2 7,108,259 Reforestation 1976–2004 204.3 1,145,303  Source: INFOR, 2005. Subsidies in Chile are the result of decades of lobbying by powerful business interests. Chile has a fairly strong presidential system, but presidents are constrained by party politics as well as by the corporate forces that dominate Chilean democracy behind the scenes. This ensures that the business elite and the dominant political ideology will be perpetuated. Present-day forest development is driven mainly by the private sector, but governmental assistance (influenced by corporate forces) takes different supportive forms of involvement. This is visible in the direct intervention of public agencies in technology transfers, scientific advancement, and road building. As well, government agencies such as the National Commission on Energy (CNE), the National Commission on the Environment (CONAMA), and the National Forestry Corporation (CONAF) readily authorize development projects. Also, many government departments— including the Education Ministry—have been actively supporting forest companies and their public relations campaigns. In general terms,, the forestry sector exerts strong influence on  29 Cámara de Diputados .1993. "Informe de las comisiones unidad de Agricultura, Desarrollo Rural y Marítimos y de Recursos Naturales, Bienes Nacionales y Medio Ambiente sobre el proyecto de ley de recuperación del bosque nativo," Boletín, no. 669-01. Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile. 30 62  government’s responses to indigenous claims, especially when such claims contest or intersect with the country’s economic development policies. In August 2000, faced with civil society’s rising concerns about the future of Chile’s native forests, the forestry industry with the government’s support launched an aggressive campaign to improve its public image. This campaign’s slogan was “True Forests for Chile.” The campaign, which cost an estimated US$6 million over five years, was carried by all the country’s media, including television, radio, and print. The TV spots offered the confusing message that the pine plantations were “forests for Chile.” The same ads showed a house, furniture, and other wood products over the mantra, “forests for Chile.” Meanwhile, CMPC implemented its “Good Neighbor Plan,” which included publishing a “Good Neighbour” bulletin, aimed primarily at indigenous communities, government organizations, and schools at all levels. All of this was interpreted by Mapuche groups and environmental NGOs as an attempt to co-opt communities and neutralize their opposition to unjust timber concessions.31 The same plan included the following programs and actions: annual fellowships for rural students; sponsorship of rural schools; extension programs for schoolchildren, including visits to the company’s high-tech facilities; knitting, sewing, jam-making, and cooking lessons; and courses on medicinal plants and greenhouse cultivation. The same campaign highlighted the jobs that forestry companies were creating (which favoured those who lived near the plantations, in other words, Mapuche communities); the firefighting training the companies were offering; and their open-door policy whereby thousands of families were permitted to freely scavenge firewood, mushrooms, and other items from company property.32 Having conducted several interviews in the targeted “benefiting communities,” I gathered that these programs had two objectives: • To co-opt communities so that they would abandon their political mobilization, or alternatively, to divide those communities by offering economic incentives only to some members.  31 This version was repeated during personal interviews with members of NGOs and indigenous organizations. 32 63  • To meet the requirements for forest certification (and/or ISO norms), especially those relating to social responsibility. The certification process for plantations has been criticized by environmental NGOs, especially with regard to the criteria established by the main international certification organization, the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC). The FSC’s Principle 10 states that “while plantations can provide an array of social and economic benefits, and can contribute to satisfying the world’s needs for forest products, they should complement the management of, reduce pressures on, and promote the restoration and conservation of natural forests” (see Appendix D). As it currently stands, this principle opens the door for unsustainable industrial tree plantations, especially in the South, by certifying them no matter what their negative social and environmental impacts.33 It is interesting that the debate in Chile revolves around privately owned forests and plantations (which is not the case in most other countries). This partly explains why the issue is not viewed as a social problem but rather as a conflict between interest groups. Only recently has the general public begun questioning the external costs of private plantations and the industry’s treatment of forests. After the return of democracy in 1990, the country’s environmentalists succeeded in launching a broad national debate over the 1974 forest law, which was doing much to decide the fate of Chile’s native forests. In 1991 the Government at that time introduced two pieces of legislation: a Reform of DL 701 to incorporate small land-holders and the Native Forest Recovery and Development bill.  The latter was stalled since 1992. This bill was introduced under Chile’s “extreme urgency” legal procedures, yet it was only approved in Deceber 2007, mainly because the various stakeholders and government agencies involved could not agree on its content. The media have been covering the topic extensively in recent years; as a result, the country’s forestry policies are being increasingly challenged. Their “successful model of economic growth” is being strongly questioned, and there is more acknowledgment of problems relating to how plantations are being managed, by whom, and at what cost. Forestry plantations have done more than generate environmental concerns. They have also heightened conflicts involving the Mapuche, the state, and the industry. The environmental movement is opposing the expansion of exotic tree plantations and the felling of native forests; meanwhile, indigenous groups are organizing themselves into a social movement. It would seem  33 World Rainforest Movement Bulletin, Special Issue, February 2001. 64  that the environmentalists and indigenous movement have a common enemy: the forestry sector. Yet they have not built strong alliances, for their demands and strategies are different. The Renaissance of a New Indigenous Movement As is the case with other indigenous movements in Latin America, the Mapuche movement has alternated between a class-based discourse and one driven by ethnic identity (Kearney and Varese 1995; Perrault 2001; Yashar 2005). During the military regime, the movement seemed to die out. During those years, the Mapuche allied themselves with peasants, miners, and the urban proletariat. As a consequence, their specific demands were buried under the class struggle being waged by leftist groups, who were trying to overthrow the dictatorship. Since the return to democracy, the Mapuche have largely abandoned their political partisanship in order to develop an indigenous movement, the goal of which is to promote their ethnic identity as a fundamental right. In the 1990s the Mapuche launched a strong campaign against the expansion of forest plantations on their traditional lands. Into that process they injected new forms of resistance and political discourse. Today, the Mapuche movement’s goals are to recover their territorial autonomy; to regain access to their land and its resources; and to preserve their integrity as a distinct culture. The indigenous struggle today is strongly linked to identity politics and involves an ongoing process of negotiation. Territoriality and identity, nature and culture, are constructed and negotiated in the context of colonialism as well as the neocolonial rhetoric that continues to delegitimize indigenous rights. Traditional territories have been reduced as a result of colonialism and the industrial capitalism that followed it. The Mapuche have been consigned to small estates and reducciones, where they are surrounded by forest plantations of immeasurable value to the global economy. Increasingly, they have found themselves deprived of their territories and fundamental rights. The landscapes and ecosystems that for centuries were tied to their culture are now being altered dramatically by the state and the forestry sector. Violent resistance exploded in 1997, when the Mapuche began openly claiming their ancestral territory and confronting the expansion of forest plantations. That year, two logging trucks were torched and Mapuche communities occupied two estates near the town of Lumako (IX Region). These events, however, took place only after years of peaceful appeals to the local government. The violence did not begin until the Mapuche had exhausted all democratic procedures. A week 65  before the trucks were destroyed, Mapuche organizations had travelled to Temuco in a last-ditch effort to negotiate with local authorities. Only when nothing came of this did the Mapuche leaders mobilize their communities. Some focused on local political engagement; others took advantage of the government’s own legal mechanisms for redistributing the land (specifically, the Land and Water Trust Program). Whichever strategy was followed, the goal was the same: to regain lands they considered historical or traditional property belonging to indigenous communities. 66  Chapter 4. The Significance of Temperate Forests: From Forest Ecosystems to Industrial Plantations The spread of monoculture plantations has triggered strong controversy, especially in the developing world (Cossalter and Pye-Smith 2003). Some contend that plantations will destroy the environment and displace small farmers; others, including environmentalists, note that exotic trees are replacing natural forests and damaging wildlife, water resources, and soils (WRM 2003). Local and indigenous communities complain that plantations are taking over lands that at one time had provided them with a livelihood.34 Meanwhile, those who support plantations contend that these forestry systems help protect natural forests and encourage economic growth. They argue that intensively managed tree plantations reduce the pressure on fragile forest ecosystems (Sedjo and Botkin 1997). Given the steady increase in the demand for pulp and paper, the planting of monoculture plantations is likely to continue for some time, and so too will the debate surrounding forests and plantations. In this chapter I discuss the social and ecological debates surrounding this controversial topic. In particular, I examine the contentious debates among timber companies, environmental groups, and social activists regarding what a forest is. I analyze the discourses for and against forest plantations as valid and legitimate each in its own right—which is not to favour one discourse over the others. Many questions need to be considered, not the least of which is whether plantations are replacing native forests. So I will be defining the terms “tree plantation” and “natural forest ecosystem” and discussing how monoculture plantations differ from other forest ecosystems. In this chapter I also explore the links between political and economic conditions affecting the current state of temperate forests, as well as the ways in which scientific knowledge intersects with forest policy debates. I then track the relationship between international perspectives on how forests should be valued, on the one hand, and the perceptions of local stakeholders on the other.  34 See Wendake Action Plan, presented by the participants of the Indigenous Peoples' Forest Forum to the World Forestry Congress, Quebec, 2003. 67  When I began this research I explored the parallels between forestry practices in Chile and those in British Columbia. This comparison helped me understand how temperate forests are valued and managed. Both places are home to a variety of old-growth temperate forests, including the world’s largest virgin temperate rainforests. Yet both governments, Chile’s and Canada’s, are currently allowing forestry companies to clear these unprotected ecosystems at a rapid rate. This is highly relevant, when we consider that most of the world’s forest policies and regulatory frameworks35 do not take into account the uniqueness of forest ecosystems and the social, economic, and political contexts in which they are managed. In light of this, I will be analyzing the political economy of tree plantations and the role of Chile’s forestry sector in the global economy. For this purpose, I will be focusing on pulp, which is Chile’s principal forest export commodity. My goal is to explain the impact of that particular commodity at the local level. The last section of this chapter explores the various competing values assigned to forests. The social, economic, and ecological dimensions of forests often collide with one another, so I will be examining the conflict between native forests and monocrop plantations, paying particular attention to the role of values, knowledge, and power in this controversy. I will argue that these controversies cannot be resolved through conflict resolution based on scientific evidence or statements of values (though both are certainly important), but only through the capacity of interest groups to mobilize resources to defend certain arguments represented in scientific debates. Local and Global Perceptions of Temperate Forests: A Comparison between Chile and British Columbia Forests are generally viewed as a global asset and thus of global concern, yet typically, the uniqueness of temperate forests is insufficiently recognized. In recent decades, tropical rainforests have attracted international attention owing to their importance to biodiversity. Yet temperate forests are important in just the same ways. Many temperate forests have developed a high degree of endemism and thus represent an important source of biological diversity (Ehrlich  35 The international policy dialogue has been dominated by discussions of tree-specific management regimes, in which forest-related discussions tend to focus on criteria and indicators of sustainable forest management and certification schemes for sustainably produced timber. Among the international processes that impinge on forest policy and management are the Convention on Biological Diversity, the Montreal Process, and the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change. 68  1996). In addition, temperate forests are receiving greater attention for their carbon storage capacities and for their fibre supplies. Chilean temperate forests are considered the most biologically diverse temperate forest ecosystems in the world (Wilcox 1996). This is partly because of their topographical and climatic complexity and biogeographical isolation. Chile’s forests are exposed to an extremely heterogeneous environment, one with great variations in altitude and latitude. This heterogeneity is a function of Chile’s dynamic environment, which is characterized by glaciation, landslides, fires, volcanism, and climate extremes. Furthermore, Chile’s forests are bounded by the Pacific Ocean to the west, the Atacama Desert (the world’s driest) to the north, and the Andes Cordillera to the east. As a consequence, Chilean flora and fauna have evolved in isolation, more so than other temperate forests. As a result of these factors, and the river valleys that cross Chile from west to east, the local forests have maintained a high degree of endemism in their gene pools (ibid.). According to Arroyo and his colleagues (1996), Chile’s temperate rainforests are home to more than 70 percent of Chile’s forty-four tree species and are the most biodiverse regions in the country. Fifty-one percent of Chile’s native plant species, 77 percent of its amphibians, 80 percent of its bryozoans, and 92 percent of its of hemiptera and heteroptera species are endemic (see Armesto 1996; Marticorena and Rodriguez 1995; Bustamente and Simmonetti 1996). Despite efforts by many specialists to increase their knowledge of Chile’s biodiversity, many gaps still exist. For instance, while important studies of Chilean natural history have been conducted (Bustamente and Simmoneti 1996), there is also a lack of systematic taxonomic research in some regions of the country (Gajardo 1995). Similarly, there is little information at the ecosystem level. In terms of biogeography and climate, the temperate forests of southern Chile and the Pacific Northwest are remarkably alike. They share many ecological characteristics, especially their coastal rainforests and their deciduous and evergreen forests. However, while Canada’s forests are characterized mainly by gymnosperms (“needle leafs”), Chile’s temperate forests are rich in angiosperms (Kellog 1993). As noted by Armesto and his colleagues (1996), Chile’s temperate forests are mixed evergreen forests; specifically, they combine broadleaf and needle-leaf species such as southern beech (rauli, roble, coigue), cordilleran cypress, mañio, lenga, and alerce. Temperate broadleaf deciduous forests are found in both hemispheres (Armesto, Rozzi, and Caspersen 2001b). However, Chilean temperate deciduous forests have a greater number of 69  species and biological types. There are also some variations in the forest seral stages (which relate to the mix of even-age second-growth forests and remaining old-growth forests). For instance, in southern Chile’s native forests, such as beech deciduous forests, the old-growth forest emerges in the canopy layer (see Pollman and Vebler 2004). Below that layer is often found a second canopy characterized by shade-tolerant species; below again, a layer of shrub; below again, a layer of herbs. This spectrum of tree layers encourages the growth of a wide variety of epiphyte plants (i.e., plants that grow on trees). The creepers in these forests are highly abundant as well as vital to the biochemical cycle. Galloway (1996) has described Chilean temperate forests as one of the world’s great biodiversity centres for creepers. Unfortunately, these species are highly sensitive to human disturbances and are being affected by forest degradation, logging, pesticides, and herbicides. Primary formations from the remaining original forests have been destroyed. In Chile, some efforts have been made to protect these ecosystems; however, when forests are not managed by the National System for Protected Areas (SNASPE), the threat looms that they will be replaced by plantations or cleared for agriculture. As Wilcox (1996) notes, the coastal rainforests of southern Chile and the Pacific Northwest are remarkably similar; the topography and climate (characterized by rain, fog, wind, and shade) produce specific growing conditions that only a handful of species can tolerate. Those species depend on natural disturbances to create gaps in the canopy. Often, the giant Sitka spruce and the southern beech cannot achieve second growth unless there has been a catastrophic disturbance. Natural disturbances such as floods, landslides, fires, volcanic eruptions, or strong gales may allow them to shoot up relatively quickly when these create an opening in the canopy. Plant communities can then occupy the disturbed area, replacing the former vegetation until a mature forest takes hold (ibid.). In vast areas of the world's forests, however, this ecological succession has been altered over time by human activity. Afforestation with exotic species and the large- scale manipulation of natural disturbances have together altered the natural processes and climatic conditions that are necessary to maintain the complexity of temperate forest ecosystems (Wilson et al., 2005). The late successional stages of forests—stages that in temperate forests rely heavily on species diversity—have been interrupted by human activities. This threatens biodiversity. As Odum (1996) argues, this forest type does not have as great a diversity of species as tropical forests. However, the individual trees are larger, and some of them are the world's longest-lived 70  tree species. Some trees in these forests are thousands of years old; the alerce can reach the age of 4,000 years. The alerce is the largest tree in the Southern Hemisphere and the second-longest- living tree in the world after bristlecone pine. Like the redwood of the Pacific Northwest, the alerce has very thin growth rings and produces a straight-grained, rot-resistant, reddish-brown fibre (Wilcox 1996). In the southernmost part of Chile, lenga, an exceptionally common deciduous tree, often grows in heavy snowpack above the true rainforest, much like the mountain hemlock in the Pacific Northwest (ibid.). How Temperate Forests Are Valued. State, Assessment and Trends. Temperate forests are currently evaluated mainly in terms of their timber production. The concept of “sustainable yield” or “maximum sustainable yield” is assumed to be a sufficient measure of their sustainability (Vehkamäki 2005). Sustainable yield is a valid measure when the primary concern is commercial; however, broader concerns should also be considered, such as biodiversity, environmental protection, and social values (including the cultural needs of first peoples). The conservation of species and genetic variations has been identified as crucial for both economic and environmental reasons. As noted earlier, temperate forests are generally paid less attention than tropical forests, though they, too, are of vital importance. According to Dudley (1992), temperate forests—especially temperate rainforests—have areas of great natural wealth, and the biological and genetic diversity of some temperate forests can approach that of tropical ones. Temperate forests are among the world’s most endangered ecosystems. They are home to many endangered species as well as to many indigenous groups, most of whom have suffered severely in recent decades as a result of forest mismanagement by outsiders. According to Dudley (1996), the following groups in particular rely heavily on temperate forests: the First Nations groups of North America, the Inuit of the boreal regions, the Sami of Lapland, the Maori of New Zealand, some aboriginal groups in Australia, and indigenous groups in South America, including the Mapuche. Too often, the societal and economic benefits of preserving temperate forests are not considered. Some examples: • Temperate forest cover reduces soil erosion and the risk of landslides, thereby protecting hydrological systems and the aquatic species that spawn in them. 71  • Temperate forests help regulate the local climate and are important carbon sinks for mitigating global warming (Myers, 1997). • Temperate forests provide a wide range of commercial products besides timber, including foods and medicinal herbs (Armesto et al. 2001a). • Temperate forests are important recreational areas, especially but not exclusively in the wealthy countries. In many developing countries, tourism has become an important source of income. According to Prado (1997), the quality of temperate forests is difficult to assess, since at least four factors must be considered: • “Authenticity” as it relates to species composition, size and age variations, the presence of dead timber, the continuity of forest cover, integration with the landscape, and the “absorption” of natural phenomena such as fires and winds. • Forest health—that of both flora and fauna. • Environmental quality as it relates to biodiversity, soil and watershed protection, and the impact on the local and global climate. • The forest’s resource value in terms of timber, but also in terms of non-wood forest products such as medicines and foodstuffs, as well as recreation. Generally, assessments of the quality of temperate forests focus almost solely on the economics of logging them. Little heed is paid to forest ecology. Nor are forests assessed in terms of their environmental benefits to society, such as the biological diversity they offer, the protection they provide to streams and soils, and their ability to capture carbon (Silva 1997). Because this sort of research is lacking, and given the complexity of forest ecosystems, it is difficult to predict the impact of disturbances (be they natural or human) on the structure, functions, and diversity of forests. These sorts of data are vital to the development of forest policies, which, as presently configured, tend to treat all forests the same. In the countries of the North, especially in Europe, there has been a trend toward establishing forest management policies that heed both environmental and social issues, including soil and water protection, recreation (including hunting), and non-wood forest products (Nilsoon, 2005). 72  Canada has recently been abandoning its reliance on maximum sustainable yields36 in favour of sustainable management practices that consider environmental, social, and cultural values as well as market values. “Ecosystem management” and “adaptive management37” are the new paradigms in forestry policy. In Chile, this trend is only just emerging where it is visible at all. As noted by Prado (1997), a past director of CONAF, sustainable timber yield has long been the only factor his country has considered (most often in terms of the ratio between harvested wood and volumetric forest growth). The properties of ecosystems have been left out of all equations. The reasons why Chile has lagged behind have mostly to do with conflicting social values and political mindsets as a result of which ecological concerns tend to be trampled. For instance, present-day forest certification programs refer to good forest management practices, yet the politics involved in establishing certification standards are bitter. As an example, some countries classify plantations as forests, other do not. Several NGOs have recently asked the FSC to withdraw its approval certificates from forestry companies in a number of developing countries, including Chile, on the grounds that they are violating the FSC’s mandate, which is to promote “environmentally appropriate, socially beneficial, and economically viable management of the world's forests.” This is evidence that these countries are facing critical problems in terms of monitoring and enforcing their forestry policies. In 1997 the World Rainforest Movement published a detailed critique of the shortcomings of FSC’s Principle 10, which focuses on the social, environmental, and economic importance of importance of strong forest plantation management (see Appendix D). Similar debates are taking place with regard to carbon sequestration and the Kyoto Protocol. Scientists involved in climate change research have widely divergent views regarding conservation, biological diversity, and the restoration of forests and watersheds; and this doesn’t begin to touch on important issues of social equity (Bachram 2004; Bäckstrand and Lövbrand 2006). Many so-called carbon-fixing projects are viewed as colonialism through the back door— that is, as utilizing climate policies to remove CO2 even while promoting and subsidizing large- scale plantations that cannot be sustained. An example of this is Mikro-Tek, a Canadian  36 This term can be defined as the amount of harvestable material that can be removed from an ecosystem over a long period with no apparent deleterious effects on the system (Dearden and Mitchell 1998). 37 An approach  that develops policies and practices to deal with the uncertain, the unexpected, and the unknown. It approaches management as an experiment from which we learn by trial and error (Dearden and Mitchell 1998). 73  company that has been helping Chilean companies and landowners plant more than one million trees. According to the Kyoto Protocol, this comes under the rubric of Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) projects, which means that the associated carbon credits can be sold forward to Canadian greenhouse gas emitters, brokers, or investors (  Reedy 2003). Yet most of Micro- Tek’s projects focus strongly on pine and eucalyptus and involve planting genetically modified (GM) seeds. As Bäckstrand and Lövbrand point out (2006, 71), tree plantation projects developed to mitigate climate change risk reinforcing the top-down model of global environmental governance. There is no scientific consensus regarding the role plantations play in offsetting carbon emissions. Yet entrepreneurial companies are charging ahead with plantations in the South, all the while propagating the notion that consumers need not change their lifestyles and can even become “carbon neutral” by planting trees (Bachram 2004). A recent study by the Carnegie Institution’s Department of Global Ecology indicates that planting trees in temperate regions may do nothing to mitigate global warming. According to Bala and colleagues, tropical forests help keep the land surface cool by evaporating a great deal of water; northern forests tend to increase temperatures because they absorb a great deal of sunlight without losing much moisture. In one simulation, the researchers covered much of the northern hemisphere (above 20°N) with forests and observed an increase in surface air temperature of more than 6°F. The replacement of grass and croplands with forest plantations may in fact lead to a mean global warming of 1.3°C—almost 60 percent of the warming produced by a doubling of CO2 concentrations (Gibbard et al. 2005). What are the implications of all these different perspectives on temperate forests and their management? Recent conferences offer some insights,38 especially relating to the value of forest ecosystems. Environmentalists emphasize the uniqueness and irreplaceable value of old-growth forests; to this, logging companies reply that they are fostering social and economic well-being by complying with forest regulations such as annual allowable cuts (AACs). Foresters rely on science to manage forest ecosystems without risking their ecological integrity; to this, many First Nations people and some environmentalists reply that such methods do not take traditional knowledge into account. According to Kimmins (1997), the better we understand forest  38 Second Annual B.C. Ancient Forest Conference, March 4–5, 2000, University of British Columbia, Vancouver; Twelfth World Forestry Congress, September 21–28, 2003, Quebec City. 74  ecosystems, the less chaotic and the more predictable they turn out to be. Armed with these insights, foresters can actually mimic nature; it follows that logging has the potential to increase diversity of species as well as their distribution. Kimmins, here, is acknowledging that forest ecosystems have complex dynamics, but he seems overly optimistic about the capacity of scientists to understand those dynamics. He seems to be relying mainly on the inherent capacity of forests to recover over time: “This inherent stability results from a large number of ecological processes … They [forests] are resilient, they are elastic: they bounce back, unless the mechanisms of recovery have been damaged” (1997, 20). The question is this: What are the mechanisms of recovery that must be maintained in forest ecosystems? Still more questions arise from this debate: Who has the right to manipulate forest ecosystems? Are they indigenous property or state property? Should they be protected in the world’s interest? This is not simply a matter of science, or of reaching consensus on forest ecosystems. Just as much, it is a political matter in that it concerns the right of individual countries to manage and protect their own forests. Forest Policy and Management Practices It is now recognized that some form of management will be necessary if we are to protect the world’s remaining native forests (Ehrlich, 1996). Also recognized is that most current forestry practices are environmentally damaging (WRM 2003). Plantations and intensive management are transforming the world’s natural forest ecosystems by reducing species variety as well as genetic variations within species. This process is beginning to accelerate as monoculture plantations grow in size, pushing out native species. The present day’s forest management practices are also degrading wildlife habitats through poorly managed afforestation schemes. Those same practices are accelerating soil erosion, with negative effects on hydrological cycles, and increasing the risks of fires and insect plagues. All the while, artificial fertilizers, herbicides, and pesticides are being introduced into natural systems. Finally, industrial plantations are destroying the landscape and creating severe social problems for the forests’ original inhabitants (Garforth and Mayers 2005). In Chile, forest harvesting is regulated through Forest Management Plans. These plans must be approved by CONAF before harvesting begins, and after the harvest at least as much land must be reforested as was cut. However, many of Chile’s forests are being logged illegally. Because of 75  legal loopholes and a lack of consensus as to what constitutes a “forest,” a “degraded forest,” or a “native forest,” forestry laws and regulations have been under review since 1992. The biggest lawbreakers seem to be the state itself, transnational corporations, and the larger forest companies (Carmona, 2002). Forestry regulations are supposed to control logging activities but are not strong enough to do so. Because of a lack of enforcement and institutional capacity, 60 percent of the activities denounced as illegal in IX and X Regions have gone unpunished (Defensores del Bosque Chileno 1998). Court records reveal that illegal fires and clearcuts can be attributed mainly to the larger forestry companies.39 The Chilean government’s own agencies are highly vulnerable to political pressure and lack the resources to enforce policy. Forest Endowments and Land Tenure Systems Most of Chile’s forests are in private hands. Less than 7 percent of Canadian forests are private property (Canadian Forest Service 2002), whereas in Chile, the forests are controlled mainly by a handful of conglomerates. Four Chilean companies account for more than 70 percent of the country’s forest exports; they and seven foreign-controlled companies account for more than 80 percent of the country’s forest exports (Bellisario 2007). Just two of the largest holding companies, Arauco (the Angelini group) and CMPC (the Matte group), own 50 percent of all tree plantations in Chile and 75 percent of pulp production. They are also the two largest exporters of lumber. Together they control the country’s largest sawmills, pulp mills, and packing factories. Besides this, they have invested heavily in energy, shipping, mining, and financial services40 (Catalan 1999). CMPC produces 90 percent of Chile’s paper. Forests in Chile are considered private property, which means that these companies own both the land and the trees. This distinction between suelo (land) and vuelo (trees) is a controversial one in Chile because many plantations now “owned” by these companies were planted before the agrarian counter-reform. Indigenous communities are now claiming the right to harvest those trees.  39 In first place is the Angelini Group, owned by one of Chile’s wealthiest and most influential families, with forty-three infractions. It is followed by Celco with twenty, then Forestal Valdivia with fifteen and Bosques Arauco with eight (Also see Revista Que Pasa, January 3, 2000). 40 Four of the Chilean entrepreneurs that belong to these economic groups are on Fortune Magazine’s list of the two hundred richest people in the world. 76  Industrial Forestry in Temperate Forests: The Chilean Case The radiata pine was introduced to Chile from California in the early 1900s as an experiment in preventing soil erosion (Klubock 2006). These trees were so fast-growing that they were soon being planted on a large scale. Ironically, the United States now considers radiata pine an import risk because of the pests associated with that species. In 1997 the United States tried to impose non-tariff barriers on timber imports in order to protect its own forestry sector. Though Chile complied with all American regulations, the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) determined that Chilean wood did not comply with American phytosanitary controls.41 After long battle, the courts ruled in Chile’s favour. Frequent changes in American regulations and non-tariff barriers continue to vex foreign companies that are trying to compete with the United States. Figure 4.1 illustrates the evolution of Chile’s radiata plantations since their introduction in the early 1900s. Figure 4.1 Evolution of radiata plantations in Chile      Import substitution, domestic market  export oriented economy 1930 1940 1950 1960 1974 1978 1980 1985 1990 1995 1998 2000  The introduction of exotic species is only one concern for Chile. Another important issue is the sheer scale of production. Industrial forestry is undergoing radical technological changes, with severe ecological impacts: native and old-growth forests are being heavily logged; other forests are being micromanaged (this includes the spread of plantations); and the pulp industry is polluting the environment (Unda, Paschen, and Stuardo 1997; Carrere and Lohman 1996;  41 “Catastro Nacional sobre Barreras Externas al Comercio–Versión 1998,” Ministerio de Economía de Chile. Pine radiata is introduced in Chile Million tons.  of wood pulp are exported to the US 10,000 ha/per year were planted Radiata pine imports are banned in US by the APHIS The Chilean State implements export oriented forest economic policies 300,000 ha. of pine were planted  77  Garforth and Mayers 2005). Technological advances are trimming the industry’s workforce and contributing to the specialization of production. On top of all this, most of Chile’s timber is being turned into pulp or chips. This is greatly increasing the pressure on the country’s forests, since a far broader range of tree ages and species can be utilized. Forests that were once not worth harvesting are now being cut, and the rotation times of plantations have been drastically shortened. Meanwhile, the timber industry is falling into the hands of fewer and fewer large companies (Morales 2005). This has been accompanied by vertical integration, with companies involving themselves in all stages of production from tree cutting to the marketing of end products. And all the while, sources of timber are shifting from the North to the South (see Carrere and Lohmann 1996).  Now that tropical hardwoods are being exhausted, companies are expanding their holdings in temperate countries and implementing plantation programs in tropical areas as well. Forest preservation policies in the countries of the Northern Hemisphere have reduced deforestation rates to almost zero; the result, though, has been sharp increases in harvesting rates in the Southern Hemisphere. This has been accompanied by the expansion of monoculture plantations, especially in the developing world. As Chapter 5 will discuss, the social and ecological impact of these developments has been profound. In this regard, Chile serves as a case study for what is happening around the world. Countries with large plantation programs, such as New Zealand, Portugal, Spain, and Chile, are becoming increasingly important on the world stage; other countries (including Canada) have increased their harvest rates to keep up with cheap exports of plantation timber or to develop domestic industries. Environmental groups are working hard to protect native and old-growth forests, yet these continue to be logged in many countries. Especially at risk are north-western North America (including British Columbia, Alberta, and Alaska); northern Russia (including Siberia); Chile; Australia (including the eucalyptus forests of Tasmania); old-growth forests in Eastern Europe and the Baltic states; and forests in China, lowland Nepal and parts of northern India and Bhutan (FAO 2000). Chile is far from competing with Canada, which holds 10 percent of the global forest cover and is the world’s largest exporter of forest products. Nevertheless, over the past two decades Chile has often been considered a model of a successful forestry practices, mainly because of its tree plantations (see Figure 4.2). 78  Figure 4.2. Cumulative plantation area in Chile, 1978–2000  (Source: INFOR 2002)  This, even though much of Chile's timber production has involved destroying native forests. According to Lara and Veblen (1993), between 1974 and 1992 more than 200,000 hectares of native forest were replaced in some areas of Chile. Chile has planted more pine plantations than any other country except New Zealand and is the world’s third-largest exporter of wood chips (FAO 2000), with 6 percent of the world market. Yet these measures of success often conceal powerful ecological impacts. Replacing uneven- aged stands that contain diverse species with even-aged single-species plantations is a costly practice in environmental terms, however marketable the resulting products. Chile’s temperate forests are especially vulnerable to the demand for pulp; radiata and eucalyptus plantations are spreading rapidly (Armesto, Rozzi, and Caspersen 2001). Of the 2 million hectares of trees recently planted in Chile, radiata pine accounts for 68 percent, eucalyptus for another 24 percent42  (Table 4.1).    42 INFOR 2006 79  Table 4.1. Total Chilean radiata pine and eucalyptus planting            Region Eucalyptus Radiata pine I   309           – II 2           – III 1,325             1 IV 1,39 6 V 36,340  11,013 Metropolitan  10,968 993 VI 24,786 63,204 VII 24,934 369,932 VIII 187,276 608,374 IX 150,825 253,976 X 86,453 117,070 XI - - Total * 525,057 1,424,569 * December 2005, in hectares. Note:  Limited planting has been done in XI and XII Regions. Source: INFOR 2006. Chile’s forest ecosystems are being transformed, and species composition and abundance are changing dramatically. Industrial logging reduces biodiversity by destroying local species of plants and animals. Moreover, many logging practices increase forest fragmentation (Bustamante and Simonetti 2005) thereby “trapping” species on islands of old growth (which has the further effect of subjecting large areas to climate change). Valuable habitats, including dead standing trees and downed logs, are lost (Dudley et al. 1996). Clear cutting also increases the risk of soil erosion and watershed destruction. Especially damaging, according to local people, is the pushing of roads through forests. Old-growth logging seems to be on the decline, since there are fewer such forests to cut. Logging regulations are generally too weak to provide sufficient environmental protection. Saving remaining areas of temperate old-growth forest has been identified as a conservation priority (Dudley 1992; Neira, Verscheure, and Revenga 2002). Many proposals for mitigating the damage done by the forestry sector have been offered over the years. An example is the one floated by the Montreal Process in 1993.43 Generally, these initiatives seek to balance the industry’s objectives with environmentalists’ priorities by following practices based on patterns of “natural disturbance.” For example, some trees could be  43 The goal of the Montreal meeting was to develop a scientifically rigorous set of seven criteria and sixty-seven indicators for evaluating forest ecosystem sustainability. 80  left standing after a clear cut to maintain age variety; dead wood and debris could be left as is; and an interconnected network of old growth could be maintained, perhaps along firebreaks such as rivers and ridgelines. But these proposals remain controversial, especially regarding biodiversity factors and differences in how natural and “managed” forests must be managed. The Montreal proposals made it quite clear which ecosystem attributes counted most but did not explain how “criteria and indicators” (C&I) were to be interpreted (Raison, Brown, and Flynn 2001). The role of Chile’s Forest Industry in the Global Economy: Forests for Pulp According to data obtained from INFOR and the USDA Foreign Agricultural Service, 133,783 hectares were planted in Chile in 2005. Just over 73,000 of these hectares were plantations, almost 61,000 involved reforestation.44 The same year, Chile’s forestry sector accounted for about 3.4 percent of the national GDP and 8.8 percent of total exports.45 In 2006, Chilean forest products had a value of US$3,890 million, an 11.3 percent increase over 2005.46 For analytical purposes I will focus on wood pulp, which is the country’s main export (see table 4.2). Table 4.2. Chile's forest exports by major commodity, 2005 (US$ Million) Wood pulp 1,205 Sawn wood (pine) 714 Paper, paperboard, paper products 417 Wood continuously shaped (pine) 262 Fibreboard  234 Plywood (pine) 208 Wood chips (eucalyptus) 161 Doors and frames 95 Other woods and wood products 92 Printing products 39 Furniture 28 TOTAL 3,455 Source: Aduanas de Chile, 2006  44 INFOR 2006.  El Sector Forestal Chileno en una mirada. Also see Hennicke 2006, “Chile, Solid Wood Products”, Annual 2006 USDA Foreign Agricultural Service. GAIN Report (Global Agriculture Information Network). 45 ODEPA, Agricultura y mercados - Ministerio de Agricultura 2006 46  accesed Feb 2007 81  In 2005 the country exported 2.6 million tons of pulp worth more than US$1,200 million (INFOR 2006). According to Bull (2000), worldwide there are about 123 million hectares of forest plantations for fibre production. Chile is one of world’s biggest pulp producers and is planning to grow this part of its economy, mainly by planting more industrial plantations. During the 1990s, Chile’s wood pulp production increased an average of 12 percent per year; by 2000 Chile ranked tenth in total pulp production and fifth in market pulp production (INFOR, 2002). New projects will double Chile’s pulp-producing capacity in the coming years (Hennicke 2006). In contrast to Brazil, which specializes in short-fibre pulp from eucalyptus, Chile has always focused on long- fibre pulp from radiata pine. However, because eucalyptus trees grow to maturity twice as quickly, Chile is now diversifying toward short-fibre pulp (see Illustration 4.1). Illustration 4.1. Chile’s pulp production by type, 1990–2010  Climate, soil, and water conditions in Chile allow radiate pine trees to grow more quickly and with higher density than in other countries (see Table 4.3). As a result, industrial plantations are able to shorten their cutting cycles. Between 1996 and 2002 the average planting rate was 90,000 hectares per year and the annual harvesting rate was 25,000 hectares (Hennicke 2006). However, the Chilean government’s policy decisions do not consider long-term social, environmental, and economic sustainability. 82  Table 4.3.  Annual growth rate for radiata pine Country                Growth rate     (M3/ha/yr) Chile                       24.0 New Zealand                       20.0 United States                         3.0 Sweden                         2.9 Canada                         2.2 Source: USDA Foreign Agricultural Service, GAIN Report 2006 (Hennicke 2006). Patterns of Consumption and Demand The world’s annual consumption of pulp has increased significantly since the Industrial Revolution (Carrere and Lohmman 1996). In recent decades this has not been the result of rising literacy; rather, demand is being fuelled by commodities such as shopping bags, shipping cartons, drinking cups, building materials, and laser and inkjet paper. Even more recent items, now almost indispensable to modern life, include diapers, tissue paper, and Tetra Paks. Many of these products are part of daily life, yet most people do not associate them with their environmental and social impacts. Over 40 percent of the world’s paper production in 1991 went to packing and wrapping paper; 13 percent to newsprint; and less than 30 percent to printing and writing paper (ibid.). The main consumers of paper and importers of pulp are the United States, Germany, and Japan (Pulp and Paper International 1995). Almost half the world’s production is consumed by these three countries, with the United States alone consuming 32 percent (Carrere and Lohmann 1996, 39). These three countries are also among the biggest producers of paper. The North’s growing paper consumption and the removal of commercial barriers have attracted transnational corporations to Chile, where they form consortiums with powerful economic groups on the local scene. During the Pinochet years, forestry activities were privatized and deregulated, and this process has continued since the return of democracy (Silva 2004). The state’s role in that sector has declined, while private sector influence has swelled. In particular, the pulp-and-paper companies have been exerting their influence in the political arena. Today the pulp industry is implicated in a network of inequalities regarding how the industry’s costs and 83  benefits are distributed. The CIBC World Markets Report (2005) notes that “prices of pulp in Chile, Brazil and Australia are one-half to one-third of that prevailing in many of the main producing regions in the northern hemisphere (2005, 12). Chile’s forestry companies broadcast their comparative advantage and growth potential. Meanwhile, workers in that sector are kept in a cycle of poverty and debt by the current global economy, which thrives on the exploitation of cheap labour. According to Hawkins Wright (2003), Chile is by far the world’s lowest-cost producer of bleached softwood kraft pulp (BSKP). Chile’s cost advantages are a function of labour costs (see Illustration 4.2). Wood is 55 percent of production costs for Chilean producers; even so, it is far cheaper for them to obtain relative to their Swedish and Finnish competitors. Chemicals, which are priced similarly to what competitors spend, are 21 percent of costs. Labour is, again, much cheaper for Chilean companies—from one-half to one-third of what other countries pay.47 Illustration 4.2. Comparative advantages of pulp production (BSKP only) Source: Hawkins Wright (2004) and CMPC reports48. According to Carrere and Lohman (1996), regional and global trade agreements are making it easier for the industry to exploit these cost disparities by shifting production to the South. As  47 “Guide to Business in Chile,” 48 84  Table 4.4 indicates, buyers from around the world are seeking Chile’s pulp; they include major consumers such as the United States, which leads the world in both per capita consumption and commercial pulp production. According to Pulp and Paper International  (1995), the United States imported 5 million metric tons of pulp in 1993. That was 17 percent of the world’s imports.  Table 4.4. Chile’s forestry exports by destination 2003 (US$ millions)  Country  2000  2001  2002  United States  466.6  512.0  622.1  Japan  302.2  274.7  222.7  China  144.9  241.0  219.3  Mexico  64.2  94.6  152.8  Italy  152.8  91.4  108.2  South Korea  90.3  75.2  87.6  Peru  78.5  83.5  84.7  Others  1,065.7  833.2  803.7  Total exports  2,365.2  2,205.6  2301.1  Source: Instituto Forestal (INFOR), 2003  According to the Chilean Wood Corporation, CORMA, Chile’s investments in the pulp industry have led to a doubling of capacity over the past few years. Production of wood pulp was 2.4 million tons in 2000; by 2010 it is expected to be 3.5 million tons (Azzopardi, 2006). Projected exports for 2010 are 3 million tons, with the balance supplying the domestic market. Clearly, this growth is linked to infrastructure investments and the opening of more land to tree plantations. New plantations and mills in Chile are a reflection of export growth. Large American corporations such as Boise Cascade and Trillium are investing massively in Chile (and in other South American countries). 85  According to data from Prochile (2000) and the Central Bank of Chile, in 1999 forestry exports to the United States increased to US$487.2 million (i.e., by 39 percent). That made the United States the primary market for Chile’s forestry products. The strongest exports were coniferous wood strips and mouldings ($139.1 million in sales). Other exports included coniferous boards, doors, and door mouldings. Also in 1999, the United States was the destination for almost half of the country’s exports of wooden furniture and parts. Many of these products were imported into the United States free of duty under the Generalized System of Preferences program (Prochile 2000). According to INFOR’s statistical reports, radiata pulp accounted for 20.4 percent of total forest exports in 2006.49 Other factors influencing the rapid diversification and expansion of the Chilean forestry industry are trade agreements signed recently with South Korea, Mexico, Canada, the United States, Mercosur, and the European Union. These trade policies have significantly reduced import duties and eliminated tariffs (Sedjo and Simpson 1999; Clapp 1995). Yet the benefits of this growth never reach workers or local communities; the exporters are the sole beneficiaries. The areas with highest concentrations of tree plantations are also those with Chile’s highest poverty rates (Newbold 2004). In addition, forestry activities have marginalized farmers (Unda and Stuardo 1997), who have not benefited from state subsidies for forest plantations. Neither have they received any direct benefits from the rising investment in pulp exporting. According to the interviews I conducted, most small farmers sell directly to contratistas (intermediaries), who then sell to the pulp exporters. The contratistas are known to take advantage of small farmers, paying them below-market prices and keeping a high percentage for themselves. In contrast, the large forestry companies usually process and export their own harvests, which are then sold at the prices set by the international buyers. Small farmers lack the means to process their wood for pulp. As a consequence, importers purchase pulp from established exporters and large plantation owners. The importers provide a crucial service to large exporters (technology, pesticides, advice, etc.). Because many plantation owners rely on these services, American importers wield a great deal of influence over management practices in Chile.  49 INFOR 2007, Mercado Forestal N°24 Enero-Febrero de 2007. 86  Controversy: Tree Plantations and Native Forests in Chile Next I consider the competing values attached to Chile’s forests: social, economic, and ecological. I describe how social and ecological considerations have influenced the debate on the future of temperate forests. The greatest challenge in forest management policy is how to balance competing interests; thus I will be discussing the importance of temperate forests in terms of policy and management practices as well as the impact of industrial forestry in recent decades. Scientific findings sometimes conflict with popular perceptions; moreover, many claims remain contested because there is still a great deal of uncertainty about the impact of fast-growing tree plantations. Science has not been able to settle key questions relating to ecological health or the ethical, political, and social consequences of the forest plantations. As Clapp notes (1998b, 5), since 1990 a broad national debate has been conducted over the law to replace Decree 701,50 which was promulgated in 1974 and is still the most important law relating to the future of Chile’s native forests (see Box 2). The military government introduced Decree 701 to encourage forestry exports, in large part by subsidizing plantations (up to 75 percent of their costs) and exempting them from taxes (Clapp 1998b; Kay 2002). The subsidy provided an incentive for small forest property owners to replant and reforest; but according to studies conducted by the Chilean Fund for Agricultural Research (FIA), those incentives have focused mainly on large, corporate plantations, and small property owners have often been displaced as a result. Between 1975 and 1995 only 28% of the properties that received subsidies corresponded to small farmers with less than 200 hectares; this, despite the fact that small owners represent 76% of forest lands. On the other hand, lands over 1000 hectares (which represent only 5% of forests lands) concentrated more than 35% of the subsidies (CONAF 1998). The National Forest Corporation (CONAF) estimates that 800,000 hectares have been replanted under the incentive program; less than 4 percent of the replanted properties are of less than 50 hectares. The decree was in effect for twenty years, starting in 1974; then in 1994 it was renewed by the Frei government, whose goal it was to encourage small landowners to establish forest plantations (CONAF 2000).  50 Decree law 701 establishes the legal framework with regard to forest lands and lands suited for afforestation, published in the Official Gazette, November 28, 1974, amended by Law 19.561. 87  Box 2. Chronology of the Controversy  1987. The first shipments of wood chips to Japan. Terranova, a Swiss–Japanese joint venture, projects a large clearcut of native forests, which will be replaced with eucalyptus in eight-year rotations. The company obtains permission during the military regime (later, it will seek final approval from the incoming democratic government). CODEDD, an important environmental NGO (which survived the military regime), strongly opposes this approval and seeks international support. This triggers a major change in how sustainable forest development in defined in Chile.  1991. Woodchips became Chile’s largest timber export by volume. A cabinet committee rules out large-scale clear cutting and substitution with exotic species. Meanwhile a letter from forty- one ecologists, conservationists, and foresters appears in the press, asking the government to clarify its forest policy and demanding that the planting of exotic species be rejected. Terranova suspends its operations, declaring that without a free hand in deciding where to clear-cut and where to substitute, projects will no longer be commercially viable. 1992. During the Aylwin administration, the Native Forest Recovery and Development bill is introduced to Congress. 1994. President Aylwin extends National Monument status to five endangered species. CORMA complains that the forestry sector will be affected by the new regulations protecting native forests because from now on any species could be declared at risk or a National Monument. 1995. Since 1990 the volume of woodchip exports has increased at an annual rate of 40 percent. In October a controversial national environmental report is released to the media. The report had been conducted by the Central Bank to meet the UN standards for national accounts adjusted to reflect resource depletion and environmental degradation. It estimates that by 2025, half of Chile’s remaining native forests will have disappeared. This projection generates heated debate. The economist who has exposed the environmental effects of large forestry projects is fired; the industry accuses him of harming the national economy. 1995. “Defensores del Bosque Chileno” launches a massive ad campaign to spread the controversy to the general public. 1998. The National Vegetation Survey, requested by all parties, is completed. In this context various questions arise: Who has the right to forest resources (including plantations)? What are the competitive advantages of pine and eucalyptus plantations? What are the effects of replacing native forests with exotic plantations? And finally, how can Chileans negotiate among disparate knowledge and value systems as they relate to the country’s forests? 88  To answer these questions I will draw from discourse analysis (detailed in the method section). I will explain that in Chile, most of the controversies surrounding plantations and native forests will not be resolved solely through conflict resolution techniques; another factor will be the capacity of interest groups to mobilize resources. Policy decisions in Chile are shaped by processes of advocacy and bargaining, with stakeholders forming competing coalitions on the basis of shared values (Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith 1993). This explains why certain perspectives are elevated in the scientific debate whereas others, such as traditional knowledge, are ignored (Sillitoe et al. 1998; Dove 1996; Kraus, Malmfors, and Slovic 1992). Actors’ Positions, Their Values, and Discursive Frames The Industry Chile’s forestry industry views itself as having the legitimate right to appropriate nature. As noted earlier, almost all of Chile’s forest plantations are in private hands, with almost 50 percent of them owned by two companies. Roughly 70 percent of the country’s native forests are held by small and medium-sized owners; the remaining 30 percent are managed by the state through the National System for Protected Areas (SNASPE). Overall, the forest companies are driven by the assumption that as legitimate landowners, they have the right to exercise rational choice in the governance of their holdings. During an interview, Juan Eduardo Correa, the former vice president of the forestry companies’ association (CORMA), told me that social and environmental values (including biodiversity) should be protected through the SNASPE, not the private landowners. CORMA’s position is that the state should protect landowners’ freedom of choice, even when that choice is to convert native forests into exotic plantations where the economics make sense (Raga and Sierralta 1995). As an alternative, CORMA (1994) asserts that the state could compensate landowners for lost economic opportunities. In a group interview with CORMA representatives they said: “The restrictions and possible immobilization of the resources contribute to evaluation of the forests by their owners because, like it or not, they do have owners and they don’t belong to all the society … unless they are legally expropriated and the costs of this assumed by all Chileans”. A coalition formed by forestry companies, professional foresters, and the state has insisted that Chile must use its native forests or lose them and that the country is too poor not to exploit all of 89  its natural resources as fully as possible (Clapp 1998b). CORMA’s position, in particular, has been amplified by a publicity campaign promoting commercial forestry51 and arguing strongly for property owners’ rights. The forestry sector’s spokespeople contend that “the solution to deforestation lies in freer markets and more of them, not in regulating land use.” As Clapp (1998b) has noted, that sector has also suggested that because the Chilean state is relatively weak, industry must take the lead in economic development—which here would involve the commercialization and commodification of public lands: “Expanding markets for native woods will lead landowners to manage their forests for wood production. In the absence of [timber] markets, forests will be cleared to gain access to the productive potential of the underlying land… Because of the limited state capacity, the native forests must be converted into commercial forest because otherwise the state will lack the resources to protect them” (Revista Chile Forestal 1991 in ibid:23). The forestry sector also argues that given recent uncertainty about interest rates, returns on investment cannot be calculated to a certainty (Leslie 1987). As Clapp (1998b) notes, when future returns are discounted, it makes economic sense to extract natural resources rapidly, since doing so converts natural capital into economic capital, which can then be invested in more ‘secure’ industries. CORMA representatives have been also emphatic regarding the need to convert native forests to industrial schemes; doing so, they contend, will make it easier to manage them rationally. It is worth remembering here that Article 12 of Decree 701 subsidizes the following: forestry activities in areas that have fragile soil or that are undergoing desertification; forestation of degraded land, as well as activities aimed at recovering those lands; and the afforestation of suitable lands (see Appendix C). Yet as mentioned earlier, many of the industry’s premises and tactics are highly questionable; for example, forestry companies have been known to assign the label “degraded” to native forests. The forestry sector invariably sees native forests as an extractable resource, and as non- renewable and therefore as not worth the effort to maintain in anything close to a pristine state. Indeed, CORMA has stated that Chile’s native forests were exhausted as early as 1965 and has recommended that they be replaced entirely with exotic plantations.52 According to Clapp (ibid.),  51 A national campaign, “True Forests for Chile,” was launched in 2000 on radio and TV. 52 A report from the FAO mission to Chile in 1991 in fact recommended converting old native stands to young stands, if necessary by replacing native species with exotics (Clapp 1998a). 90  pulp industry representatives and the forestry industry association describe native forests as “disorderly” and are calling for them to be replaced with single-species second-growth forests, in order to homogenize the environment, thereby reducing production costs. This argument is rooted deeply in the principles of economic rationality. From that restricted perspective, it is logical to homogenize forests in order to simplify production, transportation, and marketing. Given that economic interests dominate the present-day debate over natural resources, the economic perspective has been adopted almost wholesale, such that the only benefits and costs being considered relate to markets, never to ecosystems (or biodiversity more broadly). Questions about how to define “costs” and “benefits” have largely been dismissed, along with questions about how both are distributed among the Chilean polity. And all of this is complicated further by the fact that not all costs and benefits can be identified, quantified, measured, or priced (Kalof and Satterfield 2005). The forestry industry spokespeople whom I interviewed felt that they had been falsely targeted as the villains in land conflicts with the Mapuche. In their view, it was up to the government to resolve the Mapuche problem as a societal problem (i.e., not an economic problem). According to the forestry sector, the problems facing the Mapuche are endemic poverty, unemployment, and lack of education, and assimilation is the only way to overcome their marginalization—land rights will not do it. The forestry companies maintain that the lands being disputed will almost certainly never be farmed again using traditional methods. In their view, the Mapuche should be brought into the forestry sector as small entrepreneurs associated with large companies. The Government In the years since the end of military rule, the primary mission of Chile’s democratic governments has been to show the Chilean people that democratic governments can combine economic growth with social justice and redistributive measures. Chile’s success as an exporter has been based heavily on the exploitation of just a few natural resources, such as fish, wood, and other primary products. In this set of new political priorities, the environment has not been viewed as a significant social benefit; indeed, environmental protection has been perceived as incompatible with development. At the start of his term (1993–97), President Eduardo Frei declared that “no investment project will be blocked on environmental grounds.” 91  In an effort to soften public discontent with forestry policies and regulations, the government has established several multistakeholder forums to discuss sustainable forest management.53 The government’s goal in this is to regulate the forests democratically by involving the various stakeholders, and to do so in a way that does not violate the property rights conferred by the constitution. Yet forestry policies continue to be paternalistic—a mindset that can be traced back to the military regime. The state continues to subsidize timber companies and to fund silvicultural research. And the primary goal of that research is to increase the economic viability of exotic plantations. Environmentalists Compared to the industry and the government, Chile’s environmentalists take a variety of positions. At one end of the political spectrum are the radical ecologists, including Defensores del Bosque; these groups are proposing that native forests be turned into national parks in which no human intervention will be permitted. Other, “softer” environmental groups, such as CODEFF, are in favour of managing the native forests. For example, they are calling for restrictions on exports of raw timber and for “slower” (i.e., more careful) management of pulp exports. More radical NGOs, such as Defensores del Bosque, have not been included in stakeholder negotiations, having been dismissed as “too emotional,” as green fanatics with no scientific arguments to offer, and as impediments to the rational use of resources. Yet Defensores del Bosque has achieved a great deal. It was able to negotiate an agreement between environmental activists and the Chilean timber companies to stop logging native forests. Instead of resorting to the courts and the legislature, it launches boycotts and protests against corporations (such as Home Depot, an American company). It persuades large retailers to pressure their suppliers and business partners to change their practices, in this way generating a “green” domino effect (Carlton 2004). At the end of 2003, Chile’s largest forestry companies, under pressure from Defensores del Bosque in alliance with Forest Ethics (US based environmental NGO), signed an agreement under which Chilean logging companies would take  53 Since 2001 a series of organizations from different sectors have been participating in a forest round table, Mesa Forestal. Among these are government bodies such as the Agriculture Ministry, CONAMA, CONAF, and INFOR. The forestry sector is represented by CORMA. There are also NGOs represented, including Terram, CODEFF, RENACE, Defensores del Bosque, and  MUCECH, as well as academic groups such as Agrupación de Ingenieros Forestales por el Bosque Nativo (AIFBN) and  Sociedad Ecológica de Chile. 92  stronger conservation measures; in return, the environmentalists agreed to stop calling for a boycott of the big pulp-and-paper companies. Around the same time, a group of somewhat less radical environmental NGOs received the endorsement of prominent biologists and ecologists (Sociedad de Biología de Chile 1996); this raised public awareness that Chile’s forests are ecosystems serving multiple functions. Organizations such as RENACE and CODEFF are advocating integrated management practices based on an “ecosystem approach,” “adaptive management,” and “multiple-use management.” Whatever their differences in tactics, broadly speaking the country’s environmental groups have two principles in common. First, all advocate careful stewardship of private forests and assert that economics must not be the sole factor guiding the development of forest policies. The “stewardship” concept aims at protecting the environmental values (and other public values) of all the country’s forests. This will require that limits be placed on landowners’ decision-making freedom (Arnold 2003, 322). Second, they oppose all conversion of native forests into fast- growing exotic plantations. As Clapp (1998b) notes, the first of these principles is the thornier of the two. Indeed, CORMA’s president has responded by demanding total freedom in decisions relating to forest management on private lands; CORMA is even demanding that this freedom be extended to native forests, which (as already noted) the industry has described as overmature, degraded, and worthless. It has proposed that these forests be thinned of old-growth trees in order to “rejuvenate” them.(ibid) Indigenous People Despite their lead role in the opposition to the expansion of tree plantations, the Mapuche have generally been sidelined from most negotiations between the forestry sector and the environmentalists. Chilean history has unfolded in such a way that Mapuche political discourses link land seizures to discrimination. Land claims and resistance to the intrusion of industrial forestry reflect the values that indigenous people attach to their traditional territories, which are being converted into plantations that solely benefit capitalism. Further their claim is not one of compensation for lands lost but for specific sites or ancestral territory. For the Mapuche, land use specialization and the concomitant relocation of indigenous groups when nonindigenous societal interests are at stake (timber or energy needs) do not constitute a legitimate basis for action. 93  Land, in this sense, is said to have a “use value’ but not an ‘exchange value’ per se, which cannot itself be compensated or transacted in monetary terms. Mapuche activists have sometimes allied themselves with specific environmental NGOs and human rights organizations such as the Institute for Indigenous Studies and Environmental Conflict Watch. In doing so they have garnered the support of a network of scientists, who are documenting the impact of plantations on their communities. Using participatory community research methods, Frias (2003) has documented how individual Mapuche have been affected by plantations and how they been intimidated when they try to resist. Many Mapuche are working to bring historical accounts and everyday experiences—including traditional knowledge—into the ambit of “expert” knowledge, in the hope of participating in scientific debates about Chilean forests. However, the timber companies, the state, and even environmentalists tend to dismiss Mapuche claims as “political” and their knowledge as “anecdotal.”  Small-Scale Foresters and Peasant Farmers In recent years a previously low-profile sector has activated itself and forged alliances with other sectors. That sector is the peasants and small farmers who own small forest tracts. For instance, the Chilean Peasant Farmer Movement (MUCECH) has recently been injecting itself into debates about forest policy.  Its main goals are to modify Decree 701 (Silva 1999) and to implement preferential afforestation schemes for small-scale farmers (MUCECH 1998). MUCECH has done much to recast many of the regulations that had long prevented its members from benefiting from Decree 701. In fact, it was MUCECH that explained to the Agriculture Ministry and CONAF what those mechanisms were in the first place. As a result of MUCECH's involvement, clauses have been deleted from Decree 701 that had long blocked the participation of smallholders (Silva 1997). In 1998 the decree was amended so that it showed more favour toward small producers. Small farmers are now refunded for up to 90 percent of planting costs for the first fifteen planted hectares and for 75 percent of the rest. Later pruning and thinning costs are also subsidized up to 75 percent of costs. Also, the larger producers can apply for a 75 percent refund for the costs of afforesting ecologically fragile and degraded soils as well as for planting wind breaks.54  54 94  The Legal and Conceptual Battles: Reading Between the Lines In the climate of escalating controversies, several drafts of a new proposal titled “Law for the Recovery and Promotion of the Native Forest” have been circulating. The first of these came before Congress as early as 1992 (Clapp 1998b). Though not yet approved, the drafts of this bill and the ensuing discussions have brought forth the concept of “commercial” native forests. To a degree this reflects the industry’s own project, which is to open up native forests to commercial extraction followed by conversion. But the proposed law does not go all the industry’s way. In particular, the law calls for incentives, subsidies, and prohibitions that together would encourage reforestation with native species on cleared land. On the other hand, the conversion of old stands would continue. Early drafts of this law permitted the conversion of “degraded forests” to exotic species; however, agreement has yet to be reached regarding what constitutes a degraded forest. Nor is there agreement yet regarding what watersheds and wildlife habitats are and how to protect them from the impacts of timber extraction. Environmentalists told me that the lack of reliable data on forests is being used as an excuse not to protect the remaining stands of native forests. Chile’s new forest law is frozen in Congress in part because it is still full of holes that allow for myriad interpretations. Debates about the state of Chile’s forests were largely on hold until the results of a national land use survey were published in 1998.55 This survey, conducted between 1994 and 1997, made it possible to quantify the different classes of land on Chilean territory (see Appendix C). It thus provided an empirical base that was essential for land-use zoning; it also detailed who owned Chile’s lands and the value of those lands. None of this, though, helped reconcile environmental values with industrial ones. Long before this survey was completed, the director of this ambitious project was aware of the ongoing debate over how forests were to be defined. As the survey’s director stated, “We are going to arrive at figures for the native forest greater than the historic figures. In our maps, what was blank space now has vegetation” (Chile Forestal, in Clapp 1998b). Until the survey was published, almost no information was available about the status and quality of Chile’s forests. So the survey has been significant in that regard. Yet the debate continues over  55 The survey was prepared by CONAF, CONAMA, BIRF, Universidad Austral de Chile, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, and Universidad Católica de Temuco.“Catastro y Evaluación de los Recursos Vegetacionales Nativos de Chile.” 95  how much forest should be left for productive as opposed to protective purposes. For example, there is no clear way to determine the number of plantations that exist, because the survey defines native forests and plantations in a manner that differs from what was established by Decree 701 and its regulations. The survey defines “native forest” as an ecosystem in which the tree strata are comprised of native species more than 2 meters high with treetop coverage of over 25 percent. Yet Article 2 of Decree 701 makes no clear distinction between natural and artificial ecosystems and defines a forest as “a place populated with vegetal formations–with the predomination of trees–that occupy an area of at least 5,000 m2, with a minimum width of 40 meters, and with a treetop coverage of over 10% of the total area in arid and semi-arid conditions and 25% in more favorable conditions” (see DL 701, Appendix B and C).  That is the definition applied by CONAF in relation to the management plans it requests and oversees. However, companies are not required to report the development of plantations to CONAF unless a subsidy is being requested. Though the law does not allow the clearing of native forests for substitution, it does allow the clearing of “degraded” forests for agriculture. Also, Article 12 of Decree 701 allows for the subsidizing of forestry activities on fragile soils and in areas undergoing desertification; for the afforestation of degraded lands, and for activities aimed at recovering those lands; and for afforestation of lands suitable for forestry. The subsidy is generally 75 percent of the costs of the forestry activity. All of this means that plantations are allowed on degraded land, but again, there are no uniform criteria regarding what constitutes a “degraded” forest. Thus, how to define “forest” has become a key aspect of the controversy, and the lack of a definition has made it impossible to halt illegal cuts. Decree 701 allows for the substitution of “unproductive land covered with shrubs,” which leaves native forests in a vulnerable position. Under these criteria, ten species are considered “degraded” simply because they lack “commercial value.” The most vulnerable species are evergreens. This explains how CONAF can approve management plans that convert vulnerable forest ecosystems into exotic plantations. Roughly 40 percent of the forest areas approved for agricultural use are in fact destined to become exotic plantations (Emanuelli 1997). In sum, then, the definition of “degraded forest” is being used to justify new plantations; this is an additional concern because many lands defined as such provide more benefits to local communities (shelter, firewood, food, medicines, etc.) than the plantations that replace them (Kuaycharoen 2004). 96  According to CONAF, negligence and lack of resources are two further obstacles to native forest conservation, and local authorities have made no progress in this respect. Fines against landowners are being overturned, which reflects a lack of consensus that forest protection should ever trump the clearing of forested land. On the Way to Sustainable Forest Management … Whose Knowledge and Values Count? The concept of “sustainable forest management” is perceived in different ways by different sectors. After the Brundtland Report (1987), the concept of sustainable development grew in popularity because it promised to reconcile ecological concerns with economic ones. However, as noted by Clapp (1998b), Chile’s foresters, the government, and environmentalists have not been using this concept in any sort of consistent way. Sustainable development in Chile has been invoked to justify the conversion of old-growth forests to tree plantations56 but also to oppose any forest clearing at all.57 Obviously, the concept has different meanings for different stakeholders: some refer to the need to ensure sustainable timber production or sustainable economic development (thereby increasing profits and levels of employment), others to the need to ensure sustainable natural ecosystems and to develop local communities. The questions asked vary with their underlying assumptions (Keyfitz 1995). Members of the Chilean government’s own advisory committees present evidence that could be true in the context of one discipline but not in the context of another. Following Keyfitz for example, an economist who might assume that all goods are substitutable and that the market will ‘naturally’ express the limits to sustainability by driving up the price of wood. Harvests, by this logic, will be limited as a species of wood becomes rare and/or until a substitute is found. Conversely, a biologist might argue that species cannot be substituted for one another and that biodiversity values are irrevocably lost when a species vanishes, by which time it is far too late for any market response to save it. More broadly, it is human nature for people to treat concepts differently according to their different frames of reference. Clearly, the concept of “wilderness” provides one example of this. Say the word “wilderness” and foresters will see timber resources; ecologists will see an  56 Hartwig 1991. 57 Defensores del Bosque Chileno 1998. 97  ecosystem; geographers will see a landscape; and politicians will see the collective good. The point is that our perceptions of nature do much to determine whether we protect it or exploit it. Moreover, we bring those perceptions to environmental discourses. A final point in this vein: public discourse is one of the most powerful influences on people’s perceptions of nature. In other words, value is not only a relational concept but also a dynamic one. As Brown (1984, 233) notes, it is “neither a concept held by the subject nor something attributed to the object. Value is not an intrinsic quality of the object; rather it is the result that arises from the preference of a subject for an object in a given context.” Values change over time as preferences change. Instrumental, moral, and aesthetic values can all underpin the framing devices that environmentalists and policy managers use to formulate public discourses, but in the end, it is the power dynamics among the different actors that drive policy making. In addition, the Chilean citizenry at large is exposed to media that are tightly linked to the private sector, the forestry sector in particular. Powerful economic groups are resorting to aggressive public relations campaigns to inform communities about the benefits of their activities and to undercut rational public concerns. Forestry companies have links to most of Chile’s media, which means they are able to control what is published about plantations—and the Mapuche, while they are at it. When indigenous people take a stand against exotic plantations, their claims are belittled and they are labelled as “terrorists” or as dupes of the environmentalists. For example, Pulp and Paper International had this to say about indigenous people’s efforts to protect their territories: “Some of Chile’s Native Americans have started protesting against development of the land, urged on by the greens” (February 2000, 42). Local residents have tried hard to alert the public authorities about the risks associated with tree plantations. An example: “The smallest streams have shrunk or simply disappeared, and as a result the flow of the larger watercourses and the water supply for rural populations do likewise … Streams dried up when plantations were established, reappearing only when the trees were felled. Wells, too, have dried up during the summer months, depriving local residents of water both for themselves and for their livestock. In some cases families have been forced to abandon their houses when water supplies dwindled” (in Catalan and Ramos 1999). 98  Yet their concerns are not being considered in the debate. Instead, their arguments are dismissed as lacking “scientific evidence.” The Chilean government does call for public participation in policy decisions. However, it views the public merely as a political actor and not as a source of “scientific” evidence. Thus, when scientific evidence comes from the state apparatus it is considered neutral and objective and therefore irrefutable, whereas when renowned scientists represent citizens’ interests, those interests became part of what Gross and Levitt (1994) define as the “academic left.” That is, they represent a hybrid mass of environmentalists, feminists, postmodernists, sociologists, and anthropologists, who supposedly are driven by emotional presumptions or left-wing thinking (ibid). This polarization is not far from what Snow (1959) described as the division between the scientific culture and the culture of the humanities. But should physicists, architects, sociologists, or literary intellectuals be viewed as antiscientific simply because their answers to questions are not rooted solely in economic values? In this vein, consider that the scientific evidence offered to legitimate industrial expansion is driven almost solely by economic values. Research funding in Chile has prioritized studies of the commercial use of native trees; little research is conducted on forest ecosystems. Many Chilean NGOs and scientists are cautious with their opinions and even reluctant to oppose forest conversion without hard data to support their arguments. Without such data, opponents of logging will inevitably be labelled radical environmentalists. When Marcel Claude, head of the Environmental Accounts Department of Chile’s Central Bank, released a study asserting that native forests would disappear in Chile within twenty-five years, the government and CORMA both rejected the study, calling him “alarmist,”58 and the Central Bank fired him. Soon after, a CONAF report came out stating that the area covered by natural forests had in fact expanded from 7.5 million to 13.4 million hectares. This study, though, defined native forests differently. CORMA took an even stronger position, declaring that Chileans understood almost nothing about environmental issues and that environmentalists were poisoning their minds. CORMA even demanded that environmentalists compensate them for damaging the forestry sector’s public image. Today, forestry companies are being stigmatized as environmental raiders (see Gregory, Flynn, and Slovic 1995) because of their heavy investment  58 According to the business group, the 1994 statistics include 3.8 million hectares of very young trees, the result of either human  reforestation efforts or natural reproductive processes. The group hoped to use those figures to discredit the claims of environmentalists, who were accusing the logging industry of eliminating coniferous trees to plant exotic species with rapid growth rates (Gonzalez 1999). 99  in plantations and pulp mills, and are being compelled to invest in green campaigns as well as public relation exercises such as the Good Neighbour program.59 Environmental debates like this one “are not merely zones of contestation but zones of constantly shifting positions” (Brosius 1999, 283). In this regard, current arguments about preserving the native forest are very different from those of a decade ago. The conceptions, assumptions, and interpretations relating to environmental peril tend to be a function of specific situations. For instance, the concerns and predictions that emerged from the Central Bank’s 1995 report could be linked to the sense of urgency felt by various actors. When the report stated that Chile’s remaining native forests would be destroyed by 2025, environmentalists perceived this as a statement of great urgency, whereas CORMA dismissed the study out of hand. Similarly, perceptions vary regarding how much action must be taken how soon. At the same time, debates this controversial often twist and turn as they take on a life of their own—thus, arguments about the future of Chile’s forests divide and morph into arguments about indigenous rights, forestry practices, resource development, free trade, and so on. Perceptions of issues are strongly conditioned by the positions, values, and interests of individual actors. Public debates are not result of misunderstandings, of misreading the available information (Powell and Leiss 1997); in fact, they are forms of social mobilization, and they are rooted in the historical, social, and political contexts in which knowledges and beliefs are embedded. Those are the contexts in which the public draws conclusions. Conclusion To a large extent, the arguments in favour of industrial tree plantations (an unsustainable development model) rely on the confusion between plantations and forests. Chilean forestry companies well understand this and are paying close attention to how tree plantations are depicted in the media. They have launched PR campaigns with the goal of cleaning up their image in the public discourse. Tree plantations of any species, be they natural or exotic, are described as no different from natural forests and social environmental necessities. And even though most tree plantations cannot be called “natural forest ecosystems,” industrial plantations  59 In 1999, Mininco decided to set up the Good Neighbour program to improve its relations with the community. 100  are usually compared to the coniferous forests of the developed countries of the North. What is more, the word “forestry” is being used almost exclusively in reference to timber production and plantations. Campaigns supporting plantations also claim that plantations are “reforestation,” even though they are logged and replanted in short cycles. Besides, many of these plantations are in fact afforestation schemes on land that was previously used for agriculture. The Chilean state and the forestry sector are promoting the present-day model as a success—as a generator of economic growth that has reduced pressure on native forests. This obscures the negative impacts. Some people see fair trade and certification as a solution. The question, though, is this: How does certification, especially the certification of plantations, address environmental and social issues? Environmental campaigns in the North have had an impact on the forestry sector. The pulp industry in North America has been severely affected by the high costs of production, and meanwhile, environmentalists have been targeting old-growth logging operations. Yet all the while, the demand for pulp and paper is increasing. Because the South offers fewer environmental restrictions and greater cost advantages, that is where investors in the forestry sector are turning. The problem reflects the unequal power relations among the different actors involved in the debate over what forests are, who owns them, how to manage them, for whom they should be managed, and, indeed, whether they should be managed at all. The Chilean public has not been extended a genuine voice in decisions relating to the development of natural resources. The evidence presented by stakeholders is not considered reliable, and as a consequence, decisions are invariably reached in terms of the politics involved, which almost always favour economic interests. Obviously, this hard presses Chile’s indigenous people, who in addition to all this are affected by representations and discourses that perpetuate colonialist constructions of the “Other.” They have no legitimate voice in decisions about resource development, nor do they profit when the resources they once owned are extracted by someone else. The Chilean controversy on forests seems to be far from resolution. Conflicting perspectives on forest values are among the reasons why the country’s forestry law has been stalled in Congress since 1992. Little progress has been made in reform because of the many competing assumptions, interpretations, and values that have beset the negotiations. For obvious example, the environmentalists contend that plantations are not forests, and the forestry sector contends 101  that they are. For the latter, if trees have no commercial value, they should be replaced with “productive forests”. When we start to analyze this controversy, we soon find evidence of the relations among values, knowledges, and power. The discourses of both industry and the government reflect the position that free markets by their very nature require resource development and that forests’ sole value is economic. As a consequence, the Chilean forestry debate has come to be “dominated by ‘economism’ and ‘developmentalism,’ the idea that material incentives and economic values ultimately determine human action with the excuse that the country is too poor not to make each natural resource yield its fullest economic potential” (Clapp 1998b, 4). This points to a problem that arises whenever the environmental good is measured solely in terms of monetary values. As Kelman (1981, 31) notes, those who allow cost–benefit analyses to provide the sole guidance for public decisions assume that there is no difference between how people value certain things in private individual transactions and how they would wish those things to be valued in public decisions. He suggests that some things are “priceless” or have “infinitive value.” These terms, however, can be assigned different meanings. As this study shows, the analysis of power relations is key to the study of conflicts in values. It is certain that the various stakeholders’ discourses will not be resolved through conflict resolution based on scientific evidence. Furthermore, the scientific claims that underlie the definitions of forest and plantation are economically and politically derived. The future of Chile’s forests will remain bleak as long as the dominant discourse values economic profit, as long as those profits are unfairly distributed, and as long as so many stakeholders are left out of decision making. 102  Chapter 5. Ecological and Social Transformations in Indigenous Territories: An Environmental Racism Perspective This chapter examines landscape transformations in Mapuche ancestral territories from the perspective of environmental racism. Chile’s VIII and IX Regions are home to the poorest and most rural Mapuche communities (Mideplan, 2002); they are also where most of the country’s tree plantations are located (INFOR 2005, 2006). As I will explain, the recent expansion of plantations into areas claimed by indigenous populations has had a series of social and ecological impacts at the local level; one of these is that both the Mapuche and their environment have been racialized. Landscape transformations are driven not only by economic and geographical factors but also by transformations of communities in ways that can be described as environmentally racist. In southern Chile, landscape transformations and resource appropriations (lands, forests, and fisheries) need to be understood as more than a political economic process. As Sundberg (forthcoming) notes, race does much to shape control over resources, exposure to environmental risks and natural hazards, and access to environmental benefits. According to Sundberg, race is also decisive in determining who counts when policies are being formulated, implemented, and enforced, besides doing much to demarcate legal access to rights and resources ever since colonial times. In this chapter I argue that the state has prioritized plantations and privileged export-oriented economic growth to the benefit of non-indigenous people and at the expense of the Mapuche, whose claims to contested lands have been delegitimized. Ever since colonial times, nationalist ideologies and homogenizing patterns of development have been producing both a racialized people and a racialized landscape by imposing ideological and legal systems that maintain the privileged status of Chile’s non-indigenous people. With this study I hope to provide new insights into the following: how environmental racism operates; how discriminatory actions are carried out “under the radar” against the Mapuche; and how these actions are threatening not only Chile’s landscape and natural resources but also Mapuche cultural survival. I will draw from the environmental racism framework to analyze the case of the Mapuche, as it offers a powerful approach to understanding many of the current indigenous struggles in Latin America. Besides social discrimination, most Latin American indigenous groups—including the 103  Mapuche—are suffering the consequences of systemic and institutionalized forms of racism— forms that make inequalities and injustices socially and even legally acceptable. Next, I define “environmental racism” and show how it operates. As Pellow (2000, 581) notes, a number of conceptual, theoretical, and methodological issues have been debated in the literature on environmental justice. The environmental justice movement grew in the 1990s, raising many questions that have also inspired my research. First, is race (or class) responsible for discriminatory actions against marginalized groups such as indigenous people? Second, if vulnerable groups tend to be disproportionately located in or near hazardous environments, did they move in before or after the site became degraded (Pulido 1996, 2000; Bullard 1990, 1999)? Third, is there a causal link between environmental degradation and the presence of minorities in the developing world (and in the United States, for that matter)? And fourth, with regard to indigenous communities invaded by garbage dumps, pollution, and other environmental hazards, where racism interacts with various economic forces, can it be said that relations of production and regimes of accumulation lead to oppression (Pulido 1996)? Chilean statistics on poverty and internal migration indicate that the country’s indigenous people are not benefiting from development; indeed, the costs of development are being imposed on them. This raises yet another question: Does it indicate racism that indigenous communities such as the Mapuche are disproportionately represented among the ranks of the poor? Remember here that they are subject to unequal distribution of wealth and that they enjoy less protection from environmental risks, all as a consequence of depressed land values, underpaid jobs, and limited political power. A second point relates to discrimination. Some people question whether an act or outcome can be called racist if the targeting is unintentional. This, in fact, has long been a key argument against the existence of environmental racism. As Ross (1999) notes, one cannot deny that racism exists simply because it is practised “by no one in particular against no one in particular.” He challenges the idea that white people can be considered innocent simply because they do not actively discriminate against people of colour. Put differently, to look for intent is to ignore the “unconscious nature of racism.” Systems of privilege—and the dominant ideologies that support them—are invisible practically by definition; that is how racism, however irrational it is, can come to be seen as normal. As a result of that invisibility, discriminatory acts become part of culturally accepted belief systems that defend the privileges of white society, within which discourses and practices shape non-white lives and environments to the detriment of both. 104  The Social Construction of Race and Forms of Racism In the present day, race is widely understood as a social construct; in biological terms, it cannot be said to exist.60 A useful approach to the subject, then, is to trace how groups come to be racialized. Race is politically and culturally constructed insofar as it is a function of power. According to Haney Lopez, “race is neither an essence nor an illusion, but rather an ongoing, contradictory, self-reinforcing, plastic process subject to the macro forces of social and political struggle and the micro effects of daily decisions.” He defines race as a “vast group of people loosely bound together by historically contingent, socially significant elements of their morphology and/or ancestry” (Haney Lopez 2000, 193). In the Mapudungun language, for instance, peñi (brother or Mapuche) and winka (Westerners/whites/non-Mapuche) are social constructs and do not refer to genetically distinct branches of humankind. Furthermore, these constructs are relational; thus, efforts to racially define the conquered, subjugated, or enslaved are at the same time efforts to racially define the conqueror, the subjugator, or the enslaver (see Crenshaw 1988). Racism is also part of a social tapestry that includes gender and class relations. One result is that the meanings surrounding race change quickly. Races are constructed around physical criteria; in this way, categories of difference and inferiority are produced that exist only in society and that have profound social consequences. These categories are produced by many conflicting social forces; they overlap and inform other social categories; they are fluid rather than static and fixed; and they make sense only in relation to other social categories, having no meaningful independent existence in themselves (Haney-Lopez 2000, 200). The American Anthropological Association, drawing from biological research, currently holds that “the concept of race is a social and cultural construction … Race simply cannot be tested or proven scientifically." Moreover, “it is clear that human populations are not unambiguous, clearly demarcated, biologically distinct groups. The concept of ‘race’ has no validity … in the human species” (AAA Statement on Race, May 17, 1998). Race is not absolute, natural, or essential; but because of the inevitable visible differences within any phenotype, so-called racial  60 Paradoxically, different political positions are often driven by the same philosophical argument. Genetic explanations of social and cultural behaviours are often denounced as racist, yet genetic, biological, and physiological definitions of race are essentialist ideas—that is, they are part of commonsense discourses. The problem is that we only acknowledge biological definitions of race, not the un-biological aspects associated with race. 105  features are used as a signifier for race. As Hall (1997) notes, these signifiers offer cultures a classification system that enables racial meanings and practices to develop. Things gain meaning not because of what they contain in their essence but in the shifting relations of difference that they establish with other concepts and ideas in a shared social context. Hall and Jhally (1996) explain that racial signifiers (such as skin colour) are never fixed; rather, they depend on cultural context and in that sense are discursive constructs or “floating signifiers.” They are always relational, never essential. They are subject to redefinition and appropriation and are constantly being resignified, made to mean something new in different cultures, in different historical processes, and at different points in time. Thus racism must be situated in its broader social, cultural, and historical context. What matters here are the systems we use to make human societies intelligible—that is, to organize differences into systems of meaning that render the world understandable. How, in this regard, do ideas about difference organize human systems and practices? After all, race may be a social and ideological construct, but it has strong material effects. Everyday individual practices as well as social practices at an institutional level—most obviously in public policy (housing, health, education and employment, environmental protection)—reinforce existing prejudices and actively reproduce both unequal social relations and racist ideologies. As framed here, (cultural) ethnicity and (biological) race belong to the same discursive practices of generating difference. The point is not to deny differences but rather to emphasize that their significance is conditioned by the social and material circumstances in which they are seen to exist. Among the various kinds of differences in the world, only some are selected as axes along which power is covertly exercised. So it is important to analyze what the axes are and which of them are taken into social practices and organizations as means of imposing hierarchical or binary divisions and of distributing wealth, resources, knowledge, and opportunities. This is the lens through which one can analyze how people impose their power and, in so doing, gain access to and control over resources. Which brings us back to how racist practices can result in landscape transformations and natural resource management: the state creates privileged conditions for non-indigenous people to control and access resources; as a consequence, indigenous communities lose their rights to land and resources. 106  Commonsense Privileges: Making Power Systems Invisible Notwithstanding that public discourses generally reveal a desire for the world to be “non-racist,” cultural and social systems continue to teach and reproduce racism in the form of complex individual and collective choices that racially segregate our schools, neighbourhoods, workplaces, and lives (Delgado 1995, 29). Racial stereotypes pervade our language and media coverage in a number of manifestations. In the media, academia, and even the sciences, as well as in everyday speech, it has come to be seen as “common sense” that people can be divided into separate races along biological and sometimes cultural lines. Few people fit snugly into any one category, yet this sort of reductionist thinking has been able to establish the idea that they can be, thereby shielding discrimination from plain sight. The way we think and talk about categories and subcategories of people obscures the patterns of domination and subordination that we impose on people (Wildman and Davis 2000), thereby making systems of power invisible, along with the privilege associated with that power. Members of privileged groups can choose to ignore the struggles of the oppressed. This is what the authors refer to as “the privilege of silence.” Whites are also racialized, yet they generally enjoy the luxury of ignoring their own race. By contrast, those who are subject to racism perceive race as a filter through which they are constantly required to view the world. As Wildman and Davis note, privilege is rarely visible to those who hold it; thus, they can enjoy their privilege and ignore the existence of oppression it engenders. White society is not subject to scrutiny and criticism because that society is the conceded norm—as defined, of course, by the privileged group. According to Grillo and Wildman (1991, 405), “many whites think that people of colour are obsessed with race and find it difficult to understand the emotional and intellectual energy that they devote to the subject.” For Ross (2000), denials of racism are crucial to the rhetoric of innocence—that is, crucial to those who seek to reject or severely limit corrective measures such as affirmative action. Social discrimination is never defined with any precision in white discourse; at best, the result is the admission to an ephemeral, abstract sort of discrimination that is committed by no one in particular against no one in particular. The problem with this weak sort of admission is that it does not demand that something be done to distribute society’s burdens and benefits more equitably; after all, this mindset views the dominant as innocent. Pulido (2000) maintains that white privilege is a form of racism that underpins institutional and overt racism; it can be defined as the hegemonic structures, practices, and ideologies that reproduce whites’ privileged status. 107  The Environmental Racism Framework Under economic globalization, conflicts over natural resources have intensified. Some authors view environmental conflicts as the most distinctive feature of the new global environment; they see it as reshaping the geography of conflict, as displacing traditional conflicts in that regard and placing indigenous territories on the strategic map because of the vast natural resources they contain (Peluso and Watts 2001; Le Billon 2001). New struggles are taking place over key resources, especially the ones that industrial societies require in order to maintain the prevalent economic model. These conflicts are inevitably linked to exclusionary and discriminatory environmental practices that, although not new, have yet to be critically examined. The links between racism and environmental actions, experiences, and outcomes are still contentious. Only recently have environmentalist discourses extended their message to social justice issues, thereby bridging human rights to the environmental movement. It is now being conceded that human rights issues overlap with environmental ones. Sachs (1995) has pointed out that human rights organizations focus mainly on civil and political rights, and that they hesitate to defend broader rights such as economic, territorial, and cultural rights—which are at the core of environmental justice movements—for fear of weakening their own effectiveness. Furthermore, environmental campaigns have been known to succeed at the expense of local inhabitants’ territorial and costumary rights, especially as these relate to protected areas. Grassroots movements and human rights organizations have tried to give ecology a human face, but it remains the case that most conservationist approaches are not people oriented (Chapin 2004). During the 1980s in the United States, environmental justice activists began to emerge from within the civil rights movement (Roberts 1998). The growing visibility of hazardous waste sites gave rise to studies carried out in 1983 by the U.S. General Accounting Office that established patterns of environmental discrimination. Later, other national and regional studies (United Church of Christ in 1987; Bullard 1990) demonstrated that people of colour were about twice as likely as whites to live in polluted areas. By the 1990s, grassroots activists fighting institutional racism were allying themselves with environmental activists to fight the use of toxic chemicals; in this way, the antitoxics movement grew into the environmental justice movement (Szasz, 1994). 108  Taylor (2000) points out that the environmental justice paradigm emerged as an ideological framework to link concerns over labour and social justice with environmental ones. These concerns developed into six principles: ecological health, justice, and environmental rights; autonomy and self-determination; justice in corporate–community relations; policy, politics, and economic processes; and the need to build social movements (ibid.). As the environmental justice movement emerged, activists transformed environmental discourses and extended them to people of colour and the poor, introducing key ideological components relating to social justice and inequality. The environmental justice framework attempts to unpack the assumptions that foster unequal protection. According to Bullard (1998, 10–11), that framework embraces the following principles: • It incorporates the principle of the “right” of all people to be protected from environmental degradation. • It adopts a public health model of prevention (i.e., elimination of the threat before harm occurs) as the preferred strategy. • It shifts the burden of proof to polluters/dischargers who do harm, who discriminate, or who do not give equal protection to people of colour, low-income people, and other “protected” classes. • It allows “effects” as opposed to “intent” to infer discrimination. • It redresses disproportionate impacts through “targeted” action and resources. This framework has been challenged on both conceptual and methodological grounds. Various definitions of environmental justice have been used, reflecting different approaches, but there is plenty of overlap among them. Bryant (1995), for instance, defines environmental justice as follows: “Those cultural norms and values, rules, regulations, behaviours, policies, and decisions to support sustainable communities where people can interact with confidence that the environment is safe, nurturing, and productive. Environmental justice is served when people can realize their highest potential … Environmental justice is supported by decent paying safe jobs; quality schools and recreation; decent housing and adequate health care; 109  democratic decision-making and personal empowerment; and communities free of violence, drugs, and poverty. These are communities where both cultural and biological diversity are respected and highly revered and where distributed justice prevails”. (1995, 6) Similarly, Bullard (1999) merges the term justice with the idea of fairness. He defines environmental justice as follows: “The fair treatment and meaningful involvement of all people  regardless of race, colour, national origin or income with respect to the development, implementation and enforcement of environmental laws, regulations and policies. Fair treatment means that no group of people, including racial, ethnic or socio-economic groups, should bear a disproportionate share of the negative environmental consequences resulting from industrial, municipal or commercial operations or the execution of federal, state, local and tribal programs and policies”. (1995, 7) “Environmental injustice,” by contrast, arises when a particular social group is burdened with environmental hazards. To complicate matters, the environmental justice movement was once referred to as the “environmental equity” movement (Szasz and Meuser 1997). The term justice later replaced equity, environmental justice activists having considered that justice is a more inclusive term, one that incorporates the notions of equity and impartiality. Environmental equity stresses the importance of procedural fairness in the resolution of ecological conflicts as well as the achievement of social justice (Hoban and Brooks 1987; Mandelker 1987) in the way in which clean-up plans, regulated by the government, are distributed among communities (Zimmerman 1993). “Environmental quality,” by contrast, incorporates both good and bad elements as they are distributed across communities, nations, and the planet (Low and Gleeson 1998, 102). More recently, Beck (1999) has focused on the distribution of environmental quality or the threat to human health and ecological well-being posed by industrial capitalism. “Environmental inequality” offers another perspective in that it draws attention to the intersection between environmental quality and social hierarchies (Pellow 2000). In so doing, “the concept addresses structural questions that focus on social inequalities—the unequal distribution of power and resources in society—inequalities that in turn contribute to the unfair distribution of environmental burdens” (ibid., 582). According to Pellow (ibid., 597), “the environmental 110  inequality formation (EIF) perspective stresses three major points: the importance of process and history, the role of multiple stakeholder relationships, and the life cycle approach to production and consumption”. Furthermore, whereas environmental justice is based on problem solving, environmental racism is based on problem identification. It attempts to identify situations in which racial factors have influenced outcomes. Environmental racism is an example of environmental injustice; however, environmental injustice does not necessarily involve a racial or ethnic group. Definitional nuances aside, environmental racism (the preferred construct for this case) generally emphasizes non-whites’ disproportionate exposure to pollution. Following Taylor (2000), environmental racism is “the process by which environmental decisions, actions, and policies result in racial discrimination.” By her definition, environmental discrimination is the result of three linked factors: prejudicial beliefs and behaviours; the power held by individuals and/or institutions to enact policies and actions reflecting their prejudices; and privileged people being given unfair advantages (2000, 536). Thus, environmental racism or environmental discrimination describes the racial disparities in a range of actions and processes, including but not limited to the following: 1. The increased likelihood of being exposed to environmental hazards. 2. Disproportionate negative impacts of environmental processes on some groups. 3. Disproportionate negative impacts of environmental policies, for example, the differential rate of clean-up of environmental contaminants in communities composed of different racial groups. 4. The deliberate targeting and siting of noxious facilities in particular communities. 5. The environmental blackmail that arises when workers are coerced or forced to choose between hazardous jobs and environmental standards. 6. The segregation of ethnic minority workers in dangerous and dirty jobs. 7. The segregation of the environmental workforce. 8. The segregation of housing and communities. 9. The segregation of facilities and public conveyances, for example, parks, beaches, and transportation systems. 111  10. The lack of access to or inadequate maintenance of environmental amenities such as parks and playgrounds. 11. Inequality in the delivery of environmental services such as garbage removal and transportation. 12. The appropriation of land, the destruction of indigenous cultures, and the abrogation of traditional treaty fights. 13. The expulsion or removal of people from a territory.  Bryant defines environmental racism as an extension of racism: “It refers to those rules, regulations, and policies of government or corporate decisions that deliberately target certain communities for least desirable land uses, resulting in the disproportionate exposure of toxic and hazardous waste on communities based upon prescribed biological characteristics. Environmental racism is the unequal protection against toxic and hazardous waste exposure and the systematic exclusion of people of color from decisions affecting their communities.” (ibid 1995,6) While Bryant’s definition presumes “deliberate targeting”, Pulido (2000) focuses on differences in environmental patterns and the racist nature of the processes by which these patterns evolve. She argues that racism has been narrowly defined without considering the historical and broader processes of inequality that produce environmental racism. Thus, racial inequalities that cannot be attributed directly to hostile, discriminatory actions are not acknowledged as such but rather, perhaps, as evidence of individual deficiencies or choices (ibid., 13). Typically, environmental inequity refers only to the disproportionate exposure to pollution—probably by non-whites— whereas environmental racism is only conceded if malicious intent on the part of the decision makers can be proven. Coinciding with Pulido’s approach, racism could be understood from the other side: reflexive pondering over white privileges may be the basis for efforts to name a social system that works to the benefit of whites. Dismantling Environmental Racism in Chile Colonialism and nationalism, working in tandem, have led to sharp inequalities in land holdings between European immigrants and indigenous peoples (Solberg 1969). As Boccara (2003) has 112  noted, after the Republic of Chile was founded in 1810, the state developed a series of assimilationist policies; all land policies become regulated once the Civil Code was passed in 1857. To this day, that code is the foundation of the juridical order. Among other things, it established a regime for registering private property. In 1866, Chilean lawmakers passed a law that declared the lands south of the Bio Bio river to be public; in effect, this meant that the state had the right to allocate them to individuals for colonization. Around the same time, a commission was established to settle lands on indigenous communities that were able to prove possession (Aylwin 1999). Then, between 1880 and 1883, after a blood-soaked military campaign, the Chilean state took over those lands (Bengoa 1985), thus opening them to colonization. During this same frame, the country’s dominant political groups received extensive European financial support to expand the country’s southern frontier, which they did; in the process, they reduced Mapuche autonomy and wrested away their territories (Ruiz-Esquide 2000). The country’s new policies encouraged immigration; the new arrivals settled on Mapuche traditional lands. This was systemic racism, rooted in and reproduced by hierarchical colonial and postcolonial structures. The Mapuche were relegated to small reducciones (reserves), most of them isolated from one another by areas of white settlement (ibid). Chilean society today behaves as if colonialism has been vanquished, or never existed in the first place. In doing so, it is forgetting its own history. The Chilean nation wants to embrace a homogenous white or Euro-Chilean identity from which other forms of identification are excluded. To that end, it has long promoted patriotic values based in nationalism and conservatism (Sznajder 1998), with little consideration for the poverty and racism faced by many of its indigenous people. State policies, with the help of the media, have quite deliberately excluded indigenous people from civil society and erased them from public affairs and the national imaginary. Amolef (2005) has studied the media’s treatment of the Mapuche conflict, especially in the country’s “newspaper of record,” El Mercurio. She describes how that paper is heavily influenced by political and economic groups that have lined up against the Mapuche; one result is that El Mercurio’s coverage has fostered negative perceptions of indigenous groups. As the Mapuche author Rosamel Millaman explains, racism is easy to discern in the behaviours, 113  images, and attitudes that characterize Chilean society and its institutions.61 That racism expresses itself in all layers of society, across social classes, and is embedded in religious and political values. It is also visible in how land rights and property rights are conceived. As a consequence, when land and resources are negotiated in the present day, privileged Chileans can declare that they own their lands based on inheritance, and the Mapuche are cast as wanting lands “that belong to others.” This thinking is manifest, for instance, in the words of a large landowner from Temuco: “Like it or not, these lands now have legal owners. After getting this far in the history of integration, we can’t go back now. We can’t allow any kind of political, administrative, or territorial autonomy in our country.” Racism is not always open or intentional; often it is masked by social attitudes and behaviour. Official discourses, the language of the educational system, and the country’s social symbols constitute an ideological mosaic that is saturated with systemic racism. For instance, when El Mercurio conducted a citizens’ poll to ask how land conflicts with indigenous people should be resolved, many respondents described the Mapuche people as drunken, lazy, communist, and so on62. As Merino and Quilaqueo (2003) note, these descriptors point to a national legacy of racism—one, moreover, that does not acknowledge that many Chileans are mestizos (i.e., of mixed white and indigenous background). This is a consequence of Chilean society’s monocultural world view, which encourages people to deny their mixed heritage or at least emphasize their European heritage. This attitude has affected not only the Chilean national identity but also the Mapuche identity. Fearing discrimination, over the past two decades more than 960 Mapuche have changed their names to Spanish ones. This number would likely quadruple if we factored in relatives.63 In addition, the Chilean state has long promoted a static conception of Mapuche culture, one that denies its continuity. Thus, politicians and academics talk of indigenous people as mythical  61 Recent discussions on racism include a paper presented by Millaman to the Preparatory Committee of the World Conference Against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Related Intolerance, Durban, September 2001. 62; 63 La Tercera, August 27, 2000. 114  figures of the past, and then go on to describe present-day Chilean culture as having achieved an essentially monolithic state. All of this serves to deny that the Mapuche are legitimate actors who can make their own decisions and reconstruct their own identity. The conservative historian Sergio Villalobos, for instance, argues that idea of self-determination for indigenous people is “very dangerous, because it would weaken the juridical and geographic unity” of Chile. According to him, “the indigenous project of self-determination is based on “demagogy” and is creating confusion … Indigenous people have been voting in elections along with the rest of Chilean society for the past century, and accepting proposals for them to have their own representatives would amount to giving them privileges, rather than opportunities.”64 Ideas about modernization and development have strengthened Eurocentric imagery at the expense of Mapuche identity. In colonial times, the prevalent idea was that empty lands needed to be developed; this was tantamount to declaring that traditional Mapuche lands were uninhabited forests. The colonial system then privileged foreign settlers, who assumed ownership of those lands, their resources, and even Indian labour. According to Bengoa (1999), the Mapuche already occupied those lands, but white Chileans were under illusion that those lands were empty. They felt pressure to develop the country and thus found it convenient to forget that Mapuche already lived there. This was explicit in the slogan of the time that was used to promote colonization in the south: “A southern Chile without people, and a vast territory without owners” (Bengoa 1999, 40–41). These conceptions live on today in the form of land management policies; it is as if indigenous people have never had the right to develop the land and its resources in appropriate ways. According to my field observations, the state’s regulation of Mapuche land holdings considers only the small agricultural plots surrounding Mapuche homes and does not include other components of the land that are essential to their survival, such as hillsides, rivers and forests. The impact of racism in Chile was discussed in Chapter 4, which described how forest expansion is perceived as the only possible development policy. In other words, the official line is that forestry must be developed on the disputed lands, which are unlikely ever to be farmed again by traditional methods. CORMA’s chairman, José Ignacio Letamendi, has stated categorically:  64 Also see Espinoza, 2003. Wallmapu: A 'New Deal' for Indigenous GroupsRights-Chile: A 'New Deal' for Indigenous Groups. Inter Press Service, November, 29, 2003. http://www.mapuche- 115  “On no pretext and under no circumstances will we return the land to the Mapuche, who are incapable of cultivating it.”65 The private sector has all but erased the capacity of Mapuche to use, “own,” or otherwise occupy those lands. In its view, the only role the Mapuche might play would involve them in forestry activities as small entrepreneurs associated with large companies. Once they accept that role, they will no longer be recognizable as Mapuche (personal communication with CORMA representatives). Loss of Territory and Neoliberal Expansion Since the Mapuche were incorporated into the Chilean state, their territories have been reduced and various forms of racism have developed. Under the banner of “Civilization and Christianity,” the state has divested the Mapuche of their land, attacked them militarily, and confined them to reducciones (Pinto 2000). Richards (2005) notes that “this process of containment was considered necessary by the Chilean state to promote national development; not only did the appropriated lands expand Chile’s geopolitical territory, but much of it was deeded to Chileans and European immigrants for agricultural production” (2005, 207). These measures reinforced the vision of a united and monolithic Chilean national identity while portrayin