There is no poverty here : community natural resource management, autonomy and self-development in Kuna Yala

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“There is no poverty here”

Community natural resource management, autonomy and

self-development in Kuna Yala

Oliver Cem Ayyildiz 10861289

MSc International Development Studies Graduate School of Social Sciences

University of Amsterdam June 24, 2015

Supervisor: Enrique Gomez Llata Second reader: Arij Ouweneel

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ABSTRACT

The relationship between Indigenous Peoples and natural resources has emerged as an important focus of debates on self-determination. This has grown under the rise of post-development theory, though it remains a politically loaded and evolving topic. This thesis presents the findings of a nine-week study in Ustupu in the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, Panama. Framed around a postcolonial approach, the aim was to unearth knowledge and tactics of self-development based on nature and participation in order to understand how the community sets alternative development strategies.

The research found that the main strand of discourse on Indigenous Peoples as guardians of nature who resist Western governmentality and anti-modernity only partly coincides with the experiences for the Kuna in Ustupu. Through an actor-oriented approach, the role of farmers, community representatives and knowledge brokers was analysed in relation to experiences with the land and political agency. The methods of data gathering included in-depth interviews, participant observations, transect walks and secondary quantitative information. Political speeches and rallies in both Ustupu and Panama City also lent themselves to building a more systemic view of Kuna self-determination and relative to the situation of other indigenous groups in Panama and globally.

Autonomy is hybridised and driven by territorialisation of the land and unstable relations with Panama. Knowledge formation and community mobilisation take place through access to the tropical forest and marine resources. Natural resource users, especially farmers, are important actors in this process and must negotiate a social contract and cultural traditions set by the community. In these efforts, nature, community participation and food production are positioned at the core of the Kuna cosmovision, and are driven by community representatives who harness networks and ties at multiple scales. The research implies that self-determination is dependent on territorialisation over the land. This interdependent relationship helps to support knowledge formation, food production and a globalised struggle, which subsequently encourages adaptive capacity and anti-modernity strategies.

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

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LIST OF FIGURES, TABLES AND MAPS

1 Contested power in Latin America 5

2 Population figures: Indigenous groups in Panama 9

3 Map of Kuna Yala 10

4 Map of tropical forest cover in Panama 12

5 Map of fieldwork site: Ustupu 12

6 Conceptual scheme 27

7 Métis Holistic Lifelong Learning Model 43

8 Vulnerability matrix linking nature, knowledge and food production 49

9 Multi-scalar power relations 50

10 Interface between community priorities 51

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LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND ACRONYMS

CAC Campesino-a-Campesino

CNRM Community natural resource management IITC International Indian Treaty Council

ILO International Labour Organisation KNC Kuna National Congress

KYGC Kuna Yala General Congress MNC Multinational corporation NGO Non-governmental organisation OAS Organisation of American States PDT Post-development theory

UN United Nations

UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNEP United Nations Environment Programme

UNDRIP United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples UNPFII United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues

UNREDD United Nations Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation Programme

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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

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PRELIMINARY REMARKS ON USE OF THE KUNA LANGUAGE

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

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1. INTRODUCING THE DEBATE

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

We affirm that indigenous peoples have the right to determine and develop priorities and strategies for exercising their right to development, based on their

security, of their lands, territories and resources (UN, 2015).

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

The political awakening of Indigenous Peoples has manifested through several key milestones, including adoption of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention 169 in 1992 and the UNDRIP in 2007. A number of working groups with a specific focus on legal redress and rights have also been created1_{, namely the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights, the UN} Working Group on Indigenous Populations (UNWGIP) and the UNPFII, among others. It is important to mention, however, that as yet no working definition of Indigenous Peoples has been implemented.2 States themselves remain wary of the potential for financial retribution, land claims and threats to their sovereignty (Meyer, 2012, p. 331).

Contemporary discussion on Indigenous Peoples can be traced to the rights laid out under the UNDRIP. Of these, there are several pertinent to this study, in particular that stipulated under Article Three, “Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely

1_{‘Rights’ is a problematic concept in indigenous discourses as it is rooted in a Western focus on the ‘individual’ rather than the collective.} 2_{While I have chosen to capitalise the term Indigenous Peoples throughout this research to highlight where the UN and other international}

institutions have not yet done so, let it be said that no working definition exists at the global level. Doing so has historically been problematic as it would mean that to be indigenous is ‘either-or’ and warrants a particular behaviour, worldview or set of cultural norms.

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determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development” (UNDRIP, p. 4). Self-determination for many indigenous communities has centred on natural resource management, particularly moves to secure autonomy3_{over a given territory. According to the ILO} Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention 169:

The peoples concerned shall have the right to decide their own priorities for the process of development as it affects their lives, beliefs, institutions and spiritual well-being, and the

lands they occupy or otherwise use, and to exercise control, to the extent possible, over their own economic, social and cultural development (Stavenhagen, 2013a, p.87).

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

1.2 Indigenous Peoples and development discourses

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

3_{Autonomy is context specific and often viewed as a structure guiding local communities in the management and control over specific}

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In many ways there is a dichotomy. On the one hand, Indigenous Peoples are confined to a colonial relationship with Western institutions who frame such groups as defenders of nature and are given a certain set of environmental responsibilities. On the other hand, the knowledge that indigenous communities command, as evident in the rich biodiversity among the land where many indigenous groups are living in, is a strong platform to increase voice and legitimise the territorialisation of natural resources. Through this, indigenous groups are increasingly able to conceptualise and operationalise nature on their terms. This agency has also covered international policy, as apparent from the Convention on Biological Diversity and the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, where indigenous groups are sharing their knowledge on ecology and biodiversity in the global arena.

Anti-modernity impulses, in terms of the resistance to monetisation and commodification of the environment carried out under the name of ‘development’, runs deep in indigenous discourses. Social and environmental justice continues to drive a number of indigenous social movements in Latin America. The Zapatista Army of National Liberation (Zapatistas), for example, have been an important architect in carving out alternative power structures beyond the state, in the process lending weight to Indigenous Peoples as agents of socio-political change. Other prominent examples can be mentioned from Bolivia, Peru and Chile, where indigenous groups have been at the forefront of confrontation over natural resources with the government and large mining companies. These acts of civil disobedience continue to elevate Indigenous Peoples onto the global stage as an actor that can affect power structures in development paradigms.

1.3 Research rationale and contribution to existing field of knowledge

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

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

1.4 Thesis outline

This study is organised according to seven chapters. It begins by presenting the main theoretical arguments of Latin America as a colonial project. I attempt to show Panama to be a territorialised space of neoliberal development, taking a historical and geopolitical stand in highlighting the territory’s subservient role to Spanish and US hegemony. Following a brief description of the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, the case of Ustupu is put forward as a decolonised space aspiring for an alternative development model centred on nature, local knowledge and collective action.

Chapter three unpacks this study’s decolonial position further by situating it within post-development theory (PDT). I trace the latter’s emergence within post-development studies to consider the power shifts taking place and Indigenous Peoples as actors in this process. In this analysis, I present community natural resource management (CNRM) and food sovereignty as drivers of self-determination and, importantly, anti-modernity undercurrents in PDT.

Chapter four introduces the epistemological and ontological perspectives shaping the research design. I will outline the methodology used to collect data from the fieldwork site, as well as the ethical and practical limitations I faced. Chapter five focuses on empirical experiences in Ustupu. This takes into account how participation, knowledge and food production intersect to allow the community to build a platform for self-determination and territorialise the land. Chapter six addresses the power relations, networks and scales linking the natural resource base and self-determination. In doing so, this study focuses on contested spaces of power and how Ustupu adapts to these threats and vulnerabilities. Chapter seven brings together the main findings and revisits the main research question and subquestions. I will take into account the methodological and theoretical limitations of this study, and outline future priorities related to Indigenous Peoples and development studies.

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2. EMPIRICAL FOCUS

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

Figure 1 – Contested power in Latin America

2.1 Coloniality and the ‘Latin’ America project

The Americas exist today only as a consequence of European colonial expansion and the narrative of that expansion from the European

perspective, the perspective of modernity (Mignolo, 2005, p. xi).

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

Latin America Panama Kuna Yala Ustupu

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Knowledge is a key arena in the struggle between the occidental and the ‘other’ (Mignolo, 2005, p. 115). As outlined in the following chapter, resistance to the “epistemology of colonial difference”, which has created lasting inequality in the distribution of power in the Americas, especially among Indigenous Peoples, has taken root in a number of ways.

The Zapatistas, for example, have been a prominent actor in reinterpreting the ontological and epistemological borders of Latin America. This is captured in their slogan, “A world in which many worlds fit”, put forward by sub-commander Marcos4_{(Escobar, 2010, p. 42).}

However, one of the main sticking points to achieving a ‘paradigm of coexistence’ – that is to integrate different ontologies, histories and constructs – is an inconsistency in the very notion of ‘Latin’ America. On the one hand, to reinvent ‘Latin’ America and delink the territory from the structures of power institutionalised through development agencies and national governments, is a struggle for Latinos. The ‘Pink Tide’, which has seen a number of governments across the Americas, from Venezuela and Brazil to Argentina and Nicaragua, root themselves in a discourse of populist socialism is an obvious, if general, example. For Indigenous Peoples, this ‘struggle’ is anchored in the idea of Abya Yala5_{, an} altogether separate cosmology with different historical motivations and, importantly, injustices. Ecuador and Bolivia are noteworthy examples here. Afro-Latin communities, meanwhile, are less anchored to territory and more to notions of slavery, which represents a third dimension to the ontological differences of paradigms of coexistence (Mignolo, 2005, pp. 129-130). I do not want to get mired in debates on race and identity, rather I want to attest that national governments in Latin America and international institutions alike have presented the project as a marginalising and narrow idea. As such, the effort to redefine history, knowledge and ideas beyond ‘Latin’ America is part of a move to create multiple ontologies and epistemologies, such that each world can have its own “dignity” and is able to “maintain the autonomy of local, non-dependent histories” (Mignolo, 2005, p. 144).

2.2 Framing Panama’s development agenda

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

4_{I have chosen ‘sub-commander’ to highlight the horizontal and communitarian structure of the Zapatistas.}

5_{‘Abya Yala’ is a Kuna term and relates to the land mass of the Americas, from Canada to Chile, and the Caribbean. It has recently been}

accepted by a number of indigenous communities as a preferred term to ‘Latin America’ which was coined after the conquest of Christopher Columbus in 1492. Aymara and Quechua communities have also coined their own term for Latin America.

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and the Pacific Ocean. This geostrategic location as an isthmus, or natural bridge, connecting two large land masses and two oceans has dictated, or darkened, its fortunes, both under Spanish domination and also under US global hegemony. Owing to the construction of the Panama Canal, the country’s social, political and economic history has been influenced by US efforts to anchor Panama in the West – geopolitical concerns and economic policy have gone hand-in-hand – with the Cold War setting the scene for an economic agenda driven by neoliberal policies and trade liberalisation (Ropp, 2014, p. 432). In many ways the country’s relationship with the US has been one of dependency and control.

In recent years, Panama has experienced rapid economic growth, with national GDP increasing by an average of 6.8 percent annually from 2000 to 2012 (World Bank, 2014). Central to this shift in the country’s economic outlook has been the planned expansion of the canal as laid out under the National Development Plan. At a cost of $5.25 billion, the Panama Canal expansion project is expected to be ready by 2016 and will see the capacity of the waterway almost double, in the process enabling much larger cargo ships to reach the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and thereby boosting global trade6_(Oxford Business Group, 2014, p.36). The canal already contributes significantly to national GDP, with $8.6 billion going to the national treasury in 2013 alone (ibid). While in 2012, the canal’s $2.41 billion accounted for 26.6 percent of total government revenues of $9.06 billion and 6.6 percent of national GDP, as per data from the World Bank, the Panama Canal Authority and the Ministry of Finance. The country’s pro-poor growth discourse, which is framed around large-scale infrastructure construction, expanding the service sector and curtailing abject poverty has been lauded by a number of development agencies in recent years, “Between 2007 and 2012 […] Panama managed to reduce poverty (using the national poverty line) from 39.9 percent to 26.2 percent, and extreme poverty from 15.6 percent to 11.3 percent” (World Bank, 2015, p. 1).

According to the most available figures, life expectancy at birth is 77 years, with a GNI per capita of $10,700 and GDP growth of 8 percent for 2013 (World Bank, 2014). The country scored 0.7807_{on the} UN’s most recent Human Development Report in 2014, placing it 65th among 187 states included in the study. The country’s growth story, however, remains blemished with vast disparities in income

6_{The Panama Canal is gaining even more economic prominence as planning for the Nicaragua Canal accelerates under negotiations between}

Managua and the Chinese-backed company financing the project. Panama could potentially lose a significant amount of government revenue if the inter-oceanic canal in Nicaragua is eventually realised (Foreign Policy, 2015).

7_{The Human Development Index}_{is a matrix used by the UN Development Programme that combines life expectancy, education and per capita} income to create a single score based upon four tiers of human development.

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distribution and environmental destruction8_{. Corruption and limited transparency in national} decision-making have been part-and-parcel of environmental degradation in pursuit of infrastructure development and economic growth. This has also hindered democracy and the inclusion of minority voices in national decision-making. Yet, the decision by the Supreme Court of Justice in early 2015 to approve penal proceedings in a major corruption case against former president and business tycoon Ricardo Martinelli has at least marked a turning point (Transparency International, 2015). The inauguration of President Juan Carlos Varela in July 2014 has injected optimism that the country might veer toward a more inclusive agenda that promotes the vision and voices of different actors in Panama, including the country’s Indigenous Peoples.

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

Panama is a constitutional democracy whereby the president, who is designated both head of state and government, is elected to a five-year term. The unicameral legislature, known as the National Assembly, is a 71-member legislature that is also elected on a five-year basis (Oxford Business Group, 2014, p. 13). Within this model, the comarca indigena, or indigenous region, is the main political and legal tool binding Panama’s Indigenous Peoples to the state – essentially a self-governing territorial entity enshrined under Panamanian law for indigenous communities to govern their own affairs (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 45). The separate indigenous regions and their year of establishment are listed below (Castillo, 2001): 1. Kuna Yala (1938) 2. Emberá-Wounaan (1983) 3. Madungandi (1996) 4. Ngäbe-Buglé (1997) 5. Wargandi (2000)

While Panama may have taken more wide-ranging steps than other countries in the region in granting indigenous communities de facto autonomy9_{to govern their own land and natural resources, relations}

8_{While Panama placed 44}th_{among 152 countries for global biodiversity per capita in the 2014 Worldwide Wildlife Fund’s Living Planet Report,}

deforestation has accelerated in sync with economic growth; an estimated 276,280 ha of tree cover was lost in the country between 2001 and 2013 (Global Forest Watch, 2015).

9_{I have written ‘de facto autonomy’ as the Panamanian State has absolute sovereignty over all indigenous regions in the country and can}

override local decision-making in the Constitutional Court. This is a particularly thorny issue where confrontation has arisen over mega-projects drawn up by the government in indigenous areas. Moreover, Panama prefers to use the term ‘region’ not ‘territory’ over fears that using the latter could open the way to claims for sovereignty.

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with the state remain fraught with differences in the interpretation of ‘development’ and what exactly this represents. The problem statement exists as to whether contrasting ideas of development and culture can coexist, and how effective autonomy is as an instrument to contain this struggle. A number of indigenous settlements remain threatened by large mega-projects and infrastructure construction directed by the state and multinational corporations (MNCs). This fallout has centred upon land grabbing, a lack of free, prior and informed consent10_{about environmental initiatives, forced} displacement, and the destruction of spiritual sites. Those groups recognised as ‘indigenous’ in Panama include the Ngäbe, Buglé, Kuna, Emberá, Wounaan, Choco, Bribri and Naso, and make up almost 7 percent of the 3.6 million population (World Bank, 2015, p. 1).

Population Amount Percentage

Total indigenous population 232,400 100%

Ngäbe-Buglé 149,898 64.5%

Kuna 58,100 25%

Emberá-Wounaan 20,916 9%

Naso 2324 1%

Bribri 1162 0.5%

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

Resistance to top-down and growth-driven development has manifested in a variety of forms, from international advocacy and litigation to political violence and kidnapping. In March 2015, close to the western city of David, Chiriquí, Ngäbe protesters staged a roadblock along the Pan-American Highway as part of ongoing opposition to a $78-million hydroelectric project11_{being built in the} autonomous indigenous region of Ngäbe-Buglé. The mega-project is part of Panama’s attempt to meet rising energy needs which have soared in line with the country’s rapid economic growth (Servindi, 2015).

10_{Free, prior and informed consent is a legal principle whereby a community has the right not to give consent to a proposed project on their}

lands (Forest Peoples Programme, 2015).

11_{The Barro Blanco Hydroelectric Power Plant Project includes finances from development banks in the Netherlands and Germany, and is listed}

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

2.4 Kuna Yala: Resistance to cultural imperialism

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

This next section presents a brief historical overview of the autonomous indigenous region of Kuna Yala, exploring experiences which have helped define this space, in particular socio-cultural and economic relations with Panama and Colombia. As one of the largest indigenous populations in Panama, the Kuna number around 58,000, with approximately 29,800 people living in Kuna Yala (Castillo, 2001). Although largely straddled along the Caribbean coast – stretching from the northern entrance of the Panama Canal to the western fringes of Colombia – there are also several Kuna settlements in Panama City and Colón, in addition to northern areas of Colombia (Howe, p. 81).

Spread across vast tropical forest and 365 islands (with more than 400 kilometres of coastal marine zone), Kuna Yala covers 3200 square kilometres and stands out from other autonomous indigenous regions in Latin America as one of the first spaces in which an indigenous group received the

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legal right to govern its own affairs (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 48). Moreover, previous research implies that Kuna Yala is one of the few examples of an indigenous group in Latin America with well-defined community-state interactions12_.

Based in Panama City, the KNC is the main political actor for the region, with representatives from the archipelago’s 49 communities13_{convening every six months, though emergency sessions are} called if a crisis occurs (Tice, p. 41). The saila (chief) for each community receives one vote in the KNC, while the Congress itself is steered by the saila dummad (grand chief), of which there are three in total (Herlihy, 2003, p. 318). The KNC is also responsible for a range of community organisations and non-governmental organisations (NGOs), covering recreational events to indigenous education to legal affairs (Howe, 2002, pp. 93-94). Although the KNC has one representative in the national parliament, which corresponds to other indigenous regions in the country, the state retains absolute de jure authority over land governed by the Kuna (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 45). This has proven a sticking point for relations with Panama City, especially where the government has pushed for the construction of military bases in the area to monitor cocaine smuggling from Colombia and prevent the incursion of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia14_{and the Colombian military into Panamanian territory (Howe.} 2002, p. 88). Kuna Yala has also needed to repel government attempts to exploit the region’s extraordinary natural beauty with tenders for tourism projects, as well as the appropriation of land for mining and gold exploration. Nonetheless, the Kuna have (arguably) been the most politically vocal and economically organised of Panama’s indigenous groups. This is visible with mola, for example, a traditional Kuna embroidery craft patented under international intellectual property rules (World Intellectual Property Organisation, 2001). Further, the decision by the Kuna in June 2013 to reject the UNREDD programme on the grounds that they had not been fully informed about negotiations for the carbon-reduction scheme, is testament to political mobilisation in the territory (Redd-Monitor, 2015).

Land ownership for the Kuna is enshrined under the local constitution (1945); accordingly, non-Kuna cannot rent or buy land in non-Kuna Yala (Tice, p.41). This association with natural resources and representations of self-determination position the Kuna as a valuable case study for PDT, if not to answer the proposed research question. In line with Law 41, the General Environmental Law endorsed by the Panamanian legislature in July 1998, Indigenous Peoples hold, “The right to control and develop

12_{Despite a once acrimonious relationship, direct confrontation between the Panamanian State and Kuna Yala has been rare. The Kuna have}

nevertheless challenged Panamanian authority around issues related to land rights and resource management.

13_{There are 38 communities on the islands, nine communities along the mainland coast and two inland communities (German Federal Ministry}

for the Environment, Nature Protection and Nuclear Safety, 2003).

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lands and resources, engage in autonomous development, and retain profits from development carried out by others within the comarca” (Wickstrom, 2003, p. 46). As indicated in the map below, indigenous regions in Panama contain some of the best preserved and most biodiverse forest in the country15_{, a} situation used by the Kuna to assert and legitimise political bargaining with the government over issues around natural resource management and autonomy.

Figure 4 - Tropical forest cover in Panama (Source: Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, 2015) 2.5 Case study: Ustupu

I have selected Ustupu as an empirical case to elaborate on self-determination and anti-modernity approaches to development in the context of the Kuna. This section therefore provides an overview of the demographic, social and political characteristics of the fieldwork site. By population Ustupu is the largest of Kuna Yala’s 49 communities16_{. It is} also the historical birthplace of the 1925 Kuna

15_{Kuna Yala is part of a primary tropical forest zone set up by the local government in 1985, the first of its kind by an indigenous group in Latin}

America (German Federal Ministry for the Environment, Nature Protection and Nuclear Safety, 2003).

16_{The population is estimated at around 2000 to 3000, though the numbers are not precise.} Figure 5 – An aerial view of Ustupu (Photo credit: Dad Neba)

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Revolution, where activists led by Iguaibilikinya17_{ousted the Panamanian military from the area in a} short, violent confrontation. In the aftermath, the Kuna resisted numerous military campaigns by Panama to recapture Ustupu and other islands nearby, with a peace agreement eventually signed which paved the way for Kuna Yala becoming an autonomous indigenous region in 1938 (Howe, 2002, p. 86). At the time of my fieldwork, a number of visitors from across the comarca and Panama, including political figures and indigenous chiefs from Canada and Guatemala, descended upon Ustupu to commemorate the 90th anniversary of the Revolution. This was an interesting period of the research, with political sentiment very strong and community organisation very visible.

The island itself is somewhat spatially separated, with Ustupu to the south and Ogobsucun to the north. Although there is no ethnic divide, each community has its own administration and saila18_. During my fieldwork I also interviewed people from Ustupu now living in the Kuna communities of Dagar Kun Yala and Veracruz in Panama City. I also travelled through a number of settlements and islands in Kuna Yala when I made the six-hour voyage by boat along the coast from Carti to Ustupu.

A Kuna settlement in Panama City

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

17_{Iguaibilikinya is also known by his Spanish name Nele Kantule.}

18_{Ogobsucun has historically been more closely affiliated to Colombia than Panama, with the population migrating from Kuna areas in}

Colombia during the mid-to-late 19th century.

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3. MOVING

INTO

THE

NEW

PARADIGM

We went from the 16th century characterisation of ‘people without writing’ to the 18th and 19th century characterisation of ‘people without history’, to the 20th century characterisation of ‘people without development’ and more

recently, to the early 21st century of ‘people without democracy’ (Grosfoguel, 2010, p. 68).

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

3.1 The emergence of post-development theory

Discourses of post-development are connected to broad relations of power – economic, political and cultural – and the structures, institutions and actors contained within. As a contemporary discipline, PDT can be viewed as part of an ongoing attempt to reinterpret development: from the rise of welfare-based approaches to sustainable livelihood approaches to anti-growth trajectories. While post-development is sometimes used loosely as an umbrella term to reject normative development paradigms, taken fundamentally it links the unequal distribution of power and a hierarchy of knowledges to an alternative model, one that moves beyond these hegemonic relations to redistribution and empowerment (Pieterse, 2000, p. 176). This has manifested in a variety of ways, some of which are discussed below and have been selected strategically to capture the main concepts and themes relevant to this study.

In many respects, the discipline is closely linked to decolonial thought and anti-modernity epistemologies19_{. Mignolo, a prominent critic of the power structures that underlie the semantics used} by international institutions and development agencies, argues that to think decolonially means to untangle oneself from thinking “disciplinary” at the sociological, economic, anthropological and artistic level (Mignolo, 2010, p. 11). Coloniality is taken to be all-encompassing and hierarchical, and involves the political and economic domination of people of colour and women. He argues that, “Knowledge

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systems are relegated to the periphery and taken to be ‘backward’ or ‘traditional’” (Mignolo, 2010, p. 17). Quijano asserts that decolonial perspectives anchor themselves in overthrowing the “colonial matrix of power”, made up of control of the economy, control of authority, control of gender and sexuality, and control of subjectivity and knowledge. Only by rebalancing these domains can a person or a system truly be considered ‘decolonised’ (Mignolo, 2010, p.3). Other contributors to PDT include James Ferguson where he highlights the power of language and discourse. In his analysis of Lesotho he criticises the World Bank for constructing the aforementioned as a “lesser developed’’ and “traditional” society primarily on the basis that the society is primarily ‘rural’ and ‘agricultural’ (2009, p. 58).

Urban and rural social movements are important drivers of PDT. These have gained momentum in recent years through efforts to contest the social contract between citizens and the state, in particular around land reform, stronger governance arrangements, and grassroots participation in steering development priorities. In this regard, and in a Latin American context, Indigenous Peoples have been key architects in transforming power relations via social movements.

Closely linked to community development and self-governorship, post-development orients itself as localised and participatory, and fundamentally beyond the language of poverty and growth obsessively used to categorise societies as developed or not. For Escobar, it implies local knowledge and popular power (1995, p. 215). Rahman, meanwhile, highlights “the primacy of human dignity” and actions that avoid reliance on external agents, even where it means a “slower pace of economic development” (1990, pp. 306-307). Discussion can also be placed more broadly within inclusive development debate in terms of efforts to “discover and invent new paradigms” for marginalised societies (Sachs, 2004, p. 1802).

As already mentioned, power rests at the crux of post-development discussion, specifically efforts to transform social, cultural and political relations from coercive forms of ‘power over’ – or domination – to power ‘with’. Rowland describes ‘power with’ as, “Productive power in which creativity enables actors to exercise their agency to achieve their objectives” (De Haan, 2012, p. 350). Biekart and Fowler summarise this more concisely as, “The synergy which can emerge through partnerships and collaboration with others, or through processes of collective action and alliance building” (2013, p. 536). This is not to say that power has been downgraded as a domain to analyse post-development approaches. Rather, it is to posit that the networks and alliances being formed at the grassroots level are more heterogeneous, thus power must be looked upon as a more horizontal and multi-scalar phenomena. A number of thinkers regard power as being increasingly contested through interactive governance, that is the involvement of multiple actors and different arenas in decision-making

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

3.2 Autonomous rural communities as agents of change

This section will situate PDT in relation to autonomous rural communities and consider the power dynamics, networks and actors which play a key role in manifestations of determination and self-organisation in a rural setting. Before moving further, however, let it be said that autonomy is a context-specific and contested term. If autonomy is an outcome of the redistribution of power, then ‘the community’ and ‘the local’ are vehicles steering power away from top-down processes to those that are horizontal in nature and heterogeneous in terms of actors, voices and input in local decision-making.

The Zapatistas are a salient example to draw upon, establishing autonomous socio-economic organisations known as Los Caracoles, or indigenous community assemblies, to create their own forms of social, political and legal organisations . These structures are not based on Western models nor do they reflect monetised and commodified practices advocated by large development agencies, rather they an attempt to recreate Mesoamerican structures – an “indigenous ethos” (Mignolo, 2005, p. 128).

Autonomy can be linked to ideas of self-development and necessitates looking at the community as a space to manage resources and encourage collective action. The cultural, economic and political agency exercised through this process of self-organisation is important. Agency at the collective level has been referred to as, “A group of individuals acting as agents not only to improve their own living conditions but also to bring about changes in their societies” (Pelenc et al, 2013, p. 88). To understand autonomy as a collaborative practice also requires considering roles, responsibilities and relations among actors, as well as forms of exchange through different networks. Within PDT, tools and strategies to build alternative development models are looked upon from a context-specific approach, specifically in terms of how they are conceptualised and utilised at a local level. Furthermore, the effectiveness of the community in leveraging these tools and strategies is partly shaped by

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vulnerability20_{and the level of adaptability achieved through capacity-building mechanisms within the} community (Gallopin, 2006, p. 300).

For autonomous rural communities and self-determination paradigms, participation is a key instrument to enhance adaptive capacity and renegotiate dominant power relations. This can be traced to a wide body of literature on participatory development. Thinkers such as Paulo Freire have written extensively on the role that active and deliberative participation can have in all areas of social and political life, including development initiatives. Latin America exists as one of the main laboratories for participatory development, especially grassroots initiatives such as participatory budgeting, which snowballed across several cities in Brazil during the 1980s and 1990s. Yet, participation has also taken shape in the form of urban social movements in efforts to upgrade rights and entitlements.

Concurrently, participation has also been criticised as a neoliberal instrument of governmentality, especially at the rural grassroots level where communities driving their own development agenda(s) are vulnerable to governments withdrawing from investment in community services (Cornwall, 2006, p. 72). This study is not concerned with the impact of participatory approaches to projects set by development agencies, rather the focus is on how autonomous communities in an indigenous setting adopt participatory strategies to rank local priorities and create inclusive spaces among the population. As defined under Article 18 of the UNDRIP:

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

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

20_{Vulnerability analysis is extensive and complex. For the purpose of this research and clarity, I refer to vulnerability loosely as increased risk}

and reduced security where transformation exists within a particular system (Gallopin, 2006, p. 294). Throughout this study I apply the term interchangeably in an economic, social and political context.

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

3.3 Rethinking nature

Buen Vivir, which translates as the ‘good life’ or ‘to live good’, is an important strand of PDT connected to Latin America and Indigenous Peoples. Esteva regards Buen Vivir as part of a shift in development studies from economic well-being to social and environmental paradigms, and communities re-establishing alternative ways of life and government at the grassroots level (2010, pp. 66-67). At its core, it is (arguably) an attempt to interpret nature beyond a human-focused perspective. According to Gudynas, the community holds an instrumental value for well-being in terms of the social bonds within and among, while the intrinsic and spiritual value of nature functions to embed community structures in an environmental framework (2011, p. 441).

The emergence of nature in post-development discourses has, in recent years, been energised by changes in Ecuador, whereby the ‘Rights of Nature’ have been enshrined in the National Constitution. As outlined by Alberto Acosta, ex-president of the Ecuadorian Assembly, in 2008, “There is no conception of a linear process that establishes a past or future state. There is no vision of underdevelopment to be overcome. And neither a state of development to be reached” (Pinto, 2012, pp. 228-229). The Rights of Nature raises a central question of what lens should be applied to linking nature and human well-being. One argument has been that rights for the natural world are a way to outline the “responsibilities of human beings towards nature and of securing restraint on human behaviour” (UK Environmental Law Association and Gaia Foundation, 2009, p. 4).

The attention on agency and justice in environmental debates has partly been shaped by the rise of ‘sustainability’ and ‘ecosystems’ discourses by development agencies and international institutions21_{. Through taking nature to be an owned and exploitable object, its value has been} conceptualised as a resource to be conserved for future human generations, once again following an anthropocentric approach. Some thinkers stress that the international community must pursue ‘Earth Jurisprudence’, that is, “The philosophy of laws and regulations that give formal recognition to the reciprocal relationship between humans and the rest of nature” (ibid).

21_{The green agenda has gained momentum under efforts by development agencies to link overpopulation, depleting natural resources and}

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

3.4 Natural resource management as a platform for resistance

The right to land is a means for subsistence and social reproduction, but also a means to regain human dignity and attain higher levels of autonomy

(Vergara-Camus, 2014, p. 91).

This study needs to consider post-development in the context of linking autonomy with natural resource management. Escobar asserts that communities on the periphery are adopting more creative strategies in challenging entrenched power structures (1995, p. 217). To this effect, natural resources have become a key medium for Indigenous Peoples22_{to mobilise around and demonstrate agency. This is an} area of tension however, as from a decolonial lens nature has been contested as an exploited and monetised object under the control of human domination. This does not fit neatly into the discourse of indigenous self-determination, in that to defend and promote a cosmology that does not give Man hierarchy over nature, indigenous communities must territorialise the land. This appears somewhat of a contradiction: good stewardship of the forest as an endeavour for political gain. Nonetheless, this is the reality that indigenous communities face: they must ‘play the game’ so to speak. That is, a game whose rules and power structures are set by international institutions and national governments. According to Pinto, the move toward societal well-being and natural systems demands looking at nature from a new angle beyond property rights to “protecting the resources themselves” (2012, p. 229).

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

The indigenous approach to self-development is based on the principles of respect for and preservation of land, natural resources and all elements of the natural environment […] including sovereignty over land, resources and the environment

under natural law (Stavenhagen, 2013a, p. 94).

CNRM has largely been framed around how networks and partnership among different actors function to form knowledge and awareness on strategies to preserve and protect nature, and the material benefit this can have in facilitating sustainability and collective good (Armitage, 2005, p. 709). The notion of ‘community’ is, of course, a complex term. It can be viewed both through the lens of a spatial unit as well as a homogenous social structure. It is also constructed upon the premise that people live in harmony among one another with shared beliefs, values and practices, thus overlooking competing interests and power dynamics (Agrawal and Gibson, 1999, p. 630). Indigenous communities are often framed within a narrative of stark similarities among the population, namely assets and common characteristics such as ethnicity, religion or language, factors which contribute to homogeneity and reduced hierarchy (ibid, p. 634). In this vein, ‘groups’ are regarded as more efficient in terms of distributing resources and power; likewise they are important in how they affect individual preferences and behaviour (Stewart, 2005, pp. 188-190).

The capacity of groups to thus shape the behaviour of their members regarding perceptions of the local environment is crucial for understanding indigenous cosmovision of nature and engagement from the local population. Institutionalising the intrinsic importance of nature through norms and values therefore necessitates the community, or a group structure, as a domain for capacity-building. Murphy goes as far to say that territorial forms of self-determination create a space which allows Indigenous Peoples to develop resource models that protect and promote the capability of their community (2014, p. 326). Beyond this, however, a larger unit can also equip Indigenous Peoples with a more robust tool – in terms of available skill set and local knowledge – in defending against external threats to the region and the natural resource base (Agrawal and Gibson, 1999, p. 636). Moreover, networks and scales among community actors facilitate the transfer of knowledge and ideas where nature is prioritised as central to local livelihoods. Networks reveal the bonds and bridges, and level of homogeneity among the

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

3.5 Feeding self-development

To understand the relationship between self-determination and PDT further, this section will touch upon food production – an area of contention for development institutions and social movements alike in recent years. The global relevance of food debates is apparent with “End hunger, achieve food security and improved nutrition, and promote sustainable agriculture” being listed as one of the Sustainable Development Goals for the UN in its post-2015 development agenda (UN, 2014). Among other things, concern has mounted following increasingly volatile global food prices and an unequal distribution of harvests. Indeed, communities with limited autonomy over food production have shown themselves to be vulnerable to external shocks, as witnessed by the political instability and social unrest triggered by food shortages in Egypt, Haiti and Cameroon in 2008 (Adam, 2008).

According to PDT, global food production is enmeshed within the power structures of international institutions, financial banks and government think-tanks, whose mandate is set by rigid trade rules and control over intellectual property by national governments and large corporations (Martinez-Torres and Rosset, 2014, p. 983). For the purpose of this study food production needs to be interpreted in the context of self-determination, and the power structures, scales and forms of knowledge (agricultural or not) nested within.

Non-integration into global food production (value) chains can essentially be viewed as a form of resistance and self-organisation. Food sovereignty can be accepted as an expression of local autonomy which manifests in, “Local demand, local production-consumption cycles, and farmer-to-farmer networks that promote agro-ecological innovations and ideas” (Altieri, p. 607). Taken further, and from an indigenous lens, the Declaration of Atitlán23_outlines:

Food sovereignty is the right of Peoples to define their own policies and strategies for the sustainable production, distribution, and consumption of food, with respect for their own cultures and their own systems of managing natural resources and rural areas, and is considered

to be a precondition for food security (International Indian Treaty Council, 2010, p.5).

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

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Rural and urban social movements have been prominent forces in tackling unequal power relationships in food production, and have been driven by harnessing local knowledge in agricultural practices. Community-based agriculture projects and the consumption of local produce have been just two strategies in this drive. In many ways, achieving food sovereignty depends on land rights. “Access to land not only allows families to produce food for self-consumption, it also represents a way to regain control over their own life and hence be in a position to collectively practise an active form of citizenship” (Vergara-Camus, 2014, p. 90). Claims for land rights and autonomy can thus be legitimised and accelerated through independent food production, whereby working the land, feeding families and sustaining lifestyles can only be achieved through asserting a claim to the land. The Zapatistas stand out at a prominent example in this regard.

La Via Campesina, or ‘the Peasant’s Way’, is an important case for Central America of a rural social movement empowering local communities in autonomous food production. Though founded in Belgium in the early 1990s, Via Campesina makes a basic claim that farmers need land to produce food for their own communities through greater access to and control over soil, water, and biodiversity (Altieri and Toledo, 2011, p. 607). The movement is comprised of different networks (local and transnational), activists and farmers, knowledges and knowledge-sharing platforms, and advocates a powerful message of anti-modernity against the ownership and commodification of nature (Martinez-Torres and Rosset, 2014, p.984). By advocating the struggle against a “system which dominates people and nature” the movement as managed to globalise its cause (ibid).

Via Campesina is part of a growing trend of rural social movements that have emerged in Central America in recent years, with Campesino-a-Campesino (CAC), or ‘Farmer-to-Farmer’, another example. CAC asserts that communities are better able to self-organise and sustain through separating themselves from the global market and engaging in agroecological practices, which they regard as more efficient and conducive to increased biodiversity (Altieri, 2011, p. 602). Roman-Alcala places ‘decentralised natural resource management’ at the heart of successful environmental and social outcomes, arguing that food sovereignty and strong ecological principles are highly supportive of one another (2014, p. 16).

The rise of transnational movements in debates on food sovereignty also implies an important role for networks, bridges and transnational alliances. While food self-sufficiency may be the goal, the input of different cosmologies and types of knowledge, as well as resource-sharing and solidarity through international platforms, is vital to strengthening resilience at different scales and, ultimately, creating greater adaptive capacity.

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Concluding remarks

In this chapter I have explored some of the themes and debates contested by PDT. I have presented these arguments in a way that I believe provides a lens for analysing the case of Ustupu, Kuna Yala. By unpacking decolonial thought and the alternative ideas and strategies which have manifested in challenging dominant power structures in development, I have attempted to show that self-determination and autonomy are at the root of these processes. Nonetheless, they are also complex and fluid ideas. In the case of Indigenous Peoples, natural resources and food sovereignty exist as contested spaces for self-determination in resistance and mobilisation against neoliberal dominance. I have sought to capture the importance of networks, alliances and agency in building capacity at different scales to allow for the movement into a new paradigm, not least the ideas of ‘community’ and ‘knowledge’.

The following chapter outlines my research process in more detail. I present my ontological and epistemological approach, and how it has rendered my choice of methodology and data analysis thereafter. In addition, I highlight some of the ethical and methodological predicaments encountered during the fieldwork and what measures I took in response.

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4. ARTICULATING MEANING FROM USTUPU

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

4.1 Research question and subquestions

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

1. How is the community organised and mobilised in local development strategies?

2. What are the main vulnerabilities and threats to the natural resource base and how is the community adapting to these?

3. What role does food production play in practices of autonomy?

4. How is local knowledge maintained and reproduced, and in what way does it relate to participatory forms of community development?

4.2 Epistemological and ontological perspectives

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

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

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Western cultural, economic and political thought, the epistemic implications of which are ‘theory’ or ‘truth’24_{produced within the boundaries of eurocentrism and colonialism (Escobar, 2010, p. 39).}

The stories gathered during my fieldwork in Ustupu and Panama City reflect that there is more than one reality. There is no hierarchy among the responses from interview participants, nor observations made by the researcher or secondary quantitative information compiled through discourse analysis of policy and legal documents. In taking modernity and universalism as two edges of the same sword, my research does not intend to elevate itself as an answer to the ills of development. Though I do claim, however, that alternative knowledge(s) need to be prioritised or given space to affect.

I have taken steps to factor in the epistemic and ontological impact of the physical environment of Ustupu and Panama City in how it affects the creation of knowledge. I have tried to make best use of shifting between rural and urban settings in Ustupu, Panama City and Amsterdam, by triangulating25 different methods of data collection and analysis, including qualitative and quantitative approaches, as a I believe that physical space shapes your awareness and conscious idea of reality.

It has long been said that there are multiple mental constructions of reality, whereby realities are not fixed, but alternate according to experiences and social experiences. Each participant included within this study is treated as having their own reality which can be considered as equally valid to the findings. This research design therefore encourages subjective thought, as well as interaction, in order to allow participants and the researcher to become the architects of the findings. The physical environment of Ustupu, a small but densely populated island far removed from a large population centre, encouraged this active and participatory approach to data collection. It allowed me to build rapport and familiarity with local residents.

Throughout the course of my fieldwork I refrained from accepting ‘reality’ as a system of cause-and-effect laws, neither do I bow down to the orthodoxy of Western science of nature as fixed, mechanical and purposeless, and based on materialism (Quijano, 2010, p. 24). Rather, my research serves a subjective purpose to uncover perceptions of reality, not universal law. By following a more qualitative focused research design I believe I can better search for better meaning among the individuals I interviewed in Ustupu and Panama City.

The obsession of uncovering ‘truth’ in development-oriented research and being able to comprehend and theorise everything around us has brought detrimental consequences for Indigenous

24_{The idea of establishing ‘truth’ is rooted in Western thought, and is not the objective of this thesis.}

25_{‘Triangulation’ describes when two or more methods have been used in a research design (Integrated Approaches to Participatory}

There is no poverty here : community natural resource management, autonomy and self-development in Kuna Yala