
The Nariño-based organization Corporación Chacana has sought to work toward the empowerment of the Awá. |
An organization that supports the Awá
Por: Dejusticia | May 20, 2023
By Carolina Mila*
A people on the verge of extermination
Edisson Canticus is a 30-year-old Awá youth from the Nulpe Medio Río San Juan reservation. His has been one of the ethnic communities most affected by the armed conflict.
Around the time Edisson was born in the nineties, the Awá territory, located in Nariño and a part of Putumayo, began to be besieged by guerrilla groups seeking control of the area, attracted by its proximity to the Pacific Ocean (ideal for direct trafficking) and the concentration of illicit crops.
At least three Constitutional Court rulings recognize the vulnerability of the Awá and demand their protection, including Order 174 of 2011, which decrees precautionary measures for their safeguard. But the situation is complex. “It has not been easy to live here,” says Edisson. “You have to be careful, not get involved with anyone, try to be neutral so as not to have enemies.” Over the last thirty years, the Awá have been victims of homicides, massacres, displacements, and confinements, as well as the forced integration of members of their community into armed groups.
In 2013, while Edisson was finishing high school in the municipality of Ricaurte, his reservation experienced a lockdown due to clashes between the Army and the guerrilla. The entire community concentrated at a single point for several weeks. The government brought and delivered food. “People would run, hide, it was complicated,” he recalls.
In the midst of the conflict, however, the Awá continue to resist. Edisson has not given up on his studies and, in addition to graduating from high school, he is now pursuing an undergraduate degree in financial administration and a specialization in project formulation. “There is a lot of work to be done here,” he explains. Among his projects, Edisson has in mind to revive the communications collective and the radio station he directed in high school, under the guidance of the Chacana social organization, which has been dedicated to supporting the Awa community since 2011.
“That was a very useful initiative,” Edisson recalls. “We would go out to the reservations to investigate and talk to our elders about our knowledge, to create pieces for the radio station.” Several young people who were part of the project continued their training in communications, including Edisson, who later completed a diploma with the International Telecommunication Union.
“In the territory, when people go hunting or work the land, they converse and talk about their stories,” explains Iván Rodríguez, a lawyer from the University of Nariño and a member of the Chacana organization. “And displacement breaks that intergenerational exchange. The idea of the radio program was to give them back their role as protectors of their traditions.”
For Lina Rondón, director of the Las Paces organization, one of the difficulties in addressing the violations against the Awá is the distance from the capital and the difficult access to the territory. “In the end, these are more compensated for by local organizations like Chacana than by the national government itself,” she adds.
The importance of empowering the community
The Chacana organization originated within a group of eight friends from different public university majors who shared the same interest in the protection of indigenous communities and their knowledge, and a special affinity for art and nature. “We had the dream of a different society,” recalls Ximena Ordóñez, an Industrial Engineer from the National University and one of the founders of the group, “with less conflict and less damage from war.”
The group decided to name their organization “Chacana,” in honor of one of the most important Quechua symbols: a square cross that is also a constellation and for the Andean indigenous people represents the balance between opposites, the feminine and the masculine, the divine and the earthly.
The first project Chacana developed with the Awá was funded by international cooperation in 2011, and it sought to help strengthen the women’s and family coordination of the Unipa (Indigenous Unit of the Awá People) and Camawari (the Awá Major Council of Ricaurte) organizations. “The idea was for women to learn about their rights and strengthen their capacities for leadership and community work,” says Mercedes Villota, a sociologist from the University of Nariño and the current legal representative of the organization.
But making contact with the community was more complex than they imagined. Visiting the reservations often involved several hours of walking through the coastal foothills—sometimes up to 9 hours on foot—as well as rethinking their strategies once they entered the territory. “They were thinking about their crops, their animals, whether it was going to rain or not,” Iván recalls, “so it was very complicated to approach them with master classes on rights.”
They also noticed that the Awá lived in a constant state of fear and it was essential to build bonds of trust with them. “We realized that it was important to get to know them in their daily spaces, like the kitchen, and fieldwork,” says Mercedes. “As well as during their journeys through the territory, an activity that is central to their life and culture.”
The members of Chacana also used tools they knew from the arts and theater to conduct their workshops. They delved into Awá cosmogony and myths and used clown techniques as well as puppets to explain issues such as prior consultation and to teach them to speak in public and maintain eye contact. Little by little, they earned the trust of this community, with whom they would continue to work on different projects to this day. And with whom they would continue to explore and learn different ways of doing so.
Leaders who replicate the work
When Chacana arrived in the territory, Doña Doris Gamez* was still mourning her husband, who had been murdered by the Farc nine years earlier. At that time, and after having isolated herself as a result of the tragedy, at 42 years old, she decided to start attending the organization’s workshops. “I liked the idea of focusing more on the community,” she says. “Because I had been very caught up in the home.”
Doris especially remembers the “Great Basket” booklet. A manual that Chacana created together with the community, which used the analogy of weaving a basket to explain women’s rights, as well as gender-based violence. The workshop attendees also learned how to explain the booklet to other women in other reservations.
Doris was with Chacana for a couple of years and then continued working on her own. Unbeknownst to her, her commitment has inspired other Awá women, including her own daughters: Doris says she will not forget the day her youngest daughter told her, upon returning from a visit to another reservation, that she wanted to continue studying. “She had been impressed with the workshop I had given and how people had expressed themselves and told me that she wanted to be a psychologist to help them.” And today her daughter is on that path to achieving it.
At 54 years old, Doña Doris has just finished high school and is now doing a technical degree in early childhood. Lately, she has been dedicated to advocating for a problem with the trans-Andean pipeline that caused an oil spill in the river. The community is working on a lawsuit with the help of a lawyers’ organization, although this has earned them several threatening calls.
For her part, Doña Isabel Linares*, who was the women’s and family advisor for Unipa when Chacana arrived in the territory, states that the support the organization gave them on the topic of gender was very good. “Before, gender-based violence was not talked about. Women kept silent. We didn’t know how to differentiate the different types of violence, and they were explaining it to us.”
With Chacana’s support, the former advisor also managed to establish a special space for women that is still standing: “The Awá Women’s House,” for victims of sexual abuse and mistreatment within the framework of the conflict and family life. The house is also a space for women to meet in confidence, as well as a rest stop for all those who must travel from one reservation to another to carry out organizational strengthening activities like those conducted with Chacana.
Like Edisson, Isabel and Doris know that the situation is difficult but they cannot stand by idly. Although conditions in the territory have not improved, but have even worsened after the Peace Agreement—”now the dissidences have several names and you can’t even understand what is happening,” Isabel says—they know they must move forward. And they are grateful for the work and support of organizations like Chacana, without which they would surely have very different stories to tell.
Related:
Pintadillo con primitivo: The women who care for Black tradition in Caquetá
*Names have been changed for the safety of those interviewed.
(**) Writer, journalist, and collaborator of Dejusticia
(***) This article is part of the special #TejidoVivo, a product of a journalistic alliance between the Dejusticia study center and El Espectador.


