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"We must not be naive and must face reality"

Richard Caifal, executive director of the Indigenous Policy Center Rakizuam, was born in the Ricardo Rayin reduction in Freire, La Araucanía region. This lawyer realized shortly after graduating that the problems of Mapuche communities had a political background. Today, this former candidate for the Constitutional Convention offers a drastic analysis of past dialogue efforts and their outcomes.

The name of Richard Caifal Piutrín—a Mapuche leader, former governor of Cautín Province, and director at Enama—was recently proposed to join the Technical Secretariat for Indigenous Participation and Consultation. However, his name faced rejection from the reserved-seat Constituents in the Convention, highlighting the division of stances within the Mapuche political world.

Years ago, Caifal formed the Mapuche Territorial Alliance, a more dialogue-oriented group than the CAM, created to address political demands and public policies. It was the year 2000, and a series of projects were planned on indigenous lands, but the lack of legal awareness meant proper compensation was not secured. "There was precarious legislation that did not protect the Mapuche world, except for the Indigenous Law, but it failed to address socio-environmental issues until the enforcement of Convention 169." He faced intimidation, leading him to step away from indigenous issues for a time—but life had other plans.

He later joined the Enama Corporation, engaging in legislative matters, participating in dialogue tables, and various advocacy efforts such as the Indigenous Consultation Decree and the Bishop Vargas dialogue table. He proposed policies to the government, contributed to drafting the Reserved Seats Law, and served as a legal advisor for the 2017 constitutional process. "With Enama, the work has been more fruitful," explains this Evopoli member and former Governor of Cautín Province, where he witnessed the plight of rural violence victims. "Some people confuse and tarnish what could be a legitimate demand."

How would you characterize the conflict?

Violence, in one way or another, has been present since the State intervened in the region. Our education does not teach what happened in La Araucanía, so it remains a political debt—not just a demand for recognition, but a denial of history. We were never taught that a civil war took place in La Araucanía until 1883. Though over a century ago, collective memory persists. My grandfather was stripped of his land, given to settlers, forcing my family into a reduction with others. I didn’t read this in a book—my father told me. This led to famine, as we shifted from an individual to a communal way of life—by force, not by our own vision or Mapuche worldview. Countless violent episodes have marked the past century. Violence has long been entrenched; now, it gains visibility through media.

In this context, different scenarios emerge, including a radical stance represented by groups like Weichan Aucamapu, the Lafkenche Territorial group, and the Arauco Malleco Coordinator, which shifted from an autonomist to an independence discourse.

The second stance belongs to the Constituents who advocate for autonomy through institutional and democratic means, with left-leaning and disruptive positions but respect for democratic norms in a Rule of Law state.

Then there’s us—through Enama and the Rakizuam Corporation—who believe in freedoms, not the omnipresence of the State. We are another sector of the indigenous world that trusts institutions, freedoms, and the Rule of Law, pushing for demands without violence or weapons, which only bring destruction. People have died—we cannot condone killing those who disagree with a group’s impositions. We operate within institutional logic but differ from left-leaning Constituents who favor state omnipresence. We reject this because we know reality: where governments exert heavy state control, every action becomes slow, bureaucratic, and inefficient.

Chile is at a unique moment, drafting a new constitution and soon inaugurating a president with major reform proposals. Amid this, dialogue is often mentioned—but is it truly possible?

First, dialogue has happened before, but unfulfilled agreements also constitute violence, as Pope Francis said. The 1989 Imperial Agreement is a prime example, where then-presidential candidate Patricio Aylwin pledged constitutional recognition for indigenous peoples. Later, President Eduardo Frei launched "communal dialogues" involving 658 communities and over 3,500 people—so dialogue existed, but without recognition or rights enforcement.

The report delivered by the Historical Truth and New Deal Commission to then-President Ricardo Lagos on October 28, 2003, included many actions—most importantly, recognition—but none were fulfilled. Bachelet also called for a national indigenous debate, generating proposals from over 5,000 Mapuche across territories, with recognition as a key initiative. Later, Piñera initiated dialogue, followed by Bachelet II’s Bishop Vargas table. By 2021, recognition remained unfulfilled. Dialogue has existed, but broken promises erode trust, fueling extremism since 1997 and worsening the conflict.

What recognition is being sought?

This recognition has evolved. In the '90s, it was about multicultural recognition—acknowledging that Mapuche exist, that we’re not relics but present, with a living language, territory, worldview, and traditions. That was the basic demand, alongside reparations for historical injustices. Political will was absent, fueling frustration and anger.

Meanwhile, international legislation advanced. In 2007, the UN Declaration on Indigenous Rights established self-determination, self-governance, autonomy, and recognition—all endorsed by Chile.

We moved from cultural recognition to demanding a plurinational state, a model adopted by Latin American constitutions like Bolivia, Ecuador, and Colombia, which established autonomous territories with varying success. Autonomies exist in Panama, New Zealand, and Spain—international experience shows it’s possible but requires political will.

Can a new constitution end the conflict?

Today, over 70% of the Constitutional Convention members are left-wing; the right holds no relevance. Meanwhile, Gabriel Boric, elected president, seeks transformative policies—but Congress is split 50-50. Yet Boric may not need Congress; if the Convention backs him, he could dissolve it, establish a unicameral system, or redesign governance without legislative input.

This synergy could reshape Chile into a different country—with new political logic and administrative designs. Autonomy could redefine local governance; La Araucanía’s 32 municipalities might shrink if autonomous territories emerge, rendering elected deputies irrelevant.

The Convention also proposes enshrining land restitution rights, drastically altering the regional landscape. It suggests reviving treaties with Chile and Spain, which set the Biobío River as the territorial limit. If implemented, this would create an autonomous territory from Biobío southward.

Don’t you see this as positive, given the Mapuche pursuit of recognition and autonomy in all its diversity?

Honestly, it’s fantastic—everything longed for over centuries. We should rest easy, awaiting these sweeping promises, achievable not in five years but six months. But our logic? Even if this is progress, we see Chile as a ship where indigenous peoples were long confined to the boiler room, invisible. Now, they’re moving to the helm beside the captain—but if the ship sinks, we all drown, those below and above deck.

Such radical initiatives could economically cripple Chile. Land restitution holistically involves subsoil resources, water rights, marine zones, and northern mining. A transitional article in the Convention’s draft even proposes ending mining concessions in two years to address territorial demands—a move from economic development to cosmic rights, while basic needs remain unmet.

You shift from economic growth to prioritizing broad rights, yet face dire basic needs.

How do you view the forestry sector in these changes?

Forestry is key, but Convention proposals could devastate it. Land restitution alone would strip forestry of economic influence, as lands face expropriation or nationalization without their input.

The outlook is complex—not just for forestry but fishing, mining, etc. Another proposed constitutional right lets any person, group, or community legally halt investments under "rights of nature." Binding mandatory consultations would further complicate approvals, deterring investment.

There’s a vengeful tone—not just from a century of denial but three decades of broken pacts. Dialogue requires trust, which is absent.

I respect the Nansen Center’s long-term methodology, but changes may come in six months—the dream scenario for many. In politics, power comes first, then conversation.

The virtuous path is dialogue, but we mustn’t be naive. Today, a Constitutional Convention holds full power to reshape the system, backed by an elected president. Together, they have all the authority to design a new Chile.