Displacement by Force: Strategies for Surviving the Expropriation of Native Territories
In the unfolding day-to-day happenings, a group of women huddles in a community center, busy with the common task of preparing food for a gathering. Meanwhile, nearby, children and adults study in the local school. It may appear as simple community life, but the air is thick with anxious uncertainty in Wiwinak. Their land is under threat by colonizers, lurking just a few kilometers away.
The seclusion of Sagnilaya, a Miskito community nestled around Rio Wawa, a mere 60 kilometers from Puerto Cabezas, demonstrates similar fear. Indigenous communities live with the constant dread of disappearing, as land-hungry colonists notoriously persist in their relentless advancements and threats. Felix Lavonte Centeno, a local resident, nostalgically recalls the serenity of life before the arrival of the colonizers. The forests, the teeming wildlife, and countless fish are rapidly vanishing.
Crossing the Rio Wawa is essential for the locals to work, harvest rice, beans, and cassava. But lately, armed colonists patrol the area, patrol that has led to the closure of the usual crossing points from the riverbank. "They claim the entire territory, including the river, for themselves. They have been on these lands for a long time and have even built homes if you venture into the mountains," a community member explains.
Apolinar Teylor, a native of Sagnilaya, refuses to abandon the land he has cultivated. He has faced colonist aggression. Back in 2020, they torched his home and those of four fellow community members. Despite suffering such a setback, he remains steadfast in his quest to ensure that they rightfully acquire legal title to their farmland.
The resolute spirit of indigenous communities is a constant thorn in the side of their adversaries, which is clear from the tales of violated communities filtering throughout the region. For instance, in 2020, the community of Alal was burned down by armed men, and six guards for the forest were cruelly murdered in the chaos. A year later, on August 23, 2021, another news story broke amid countrywide shock: colonist invaders massacred nine Miskitos and Mayangnas who were peacefully engaged in artisanal mining in the Kiwakumbaih hill, a mere ten kilometers from the Musawas community.
When it comes to the perpetrators, the local population saw a gang led by Isabel Meneses Padilla, commonly known as "Chabelo," stalking them. However, spectacularly, the Nicaraguan justice system falsely convicted four Mayangnas for the Kiwakumbaih killings. Conversely, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACHR), in response to a plea for help, granted provisional measures for the unjustly imprisoned individuals. The State of Nicaragua was directed to immediately release the detainees and reinforce their protection.
A fresh wave of violence washed over the landscape in March 2022. This time, the community of Wilu, a Mayangna Sauni As indigenous territory, was targeted. A vicious group of armed colonists stormed the village, leaving behind the horrors of five slaughtered community members, two wounded, and 16 homes, along with a church, torched.
"We face an ethnocide—physical, cultural, and geographical—of our communities," a Miskito leader exclaims.
The vulnerable indigenous populations along the banks of the Coco River experience the consistency of life on a small boat, the cayuco, as they work and wash.
The relentless pressure has forced entire families to relocate. However, when migration is involuntary, the dynamics of community life are disrupted. "The root cause is fear, the need to safeguard life, and the search for sustenance," a community leader warns.
The most affected communities are Francia Sirpi, Santa Clara, La Esperanza, Río Wawa, and Wisconsi, all part of the Wangki Twi Tasba Raya territory. The vicious cycle of invasion and violence, induced by non-indigenous individuals seeking illegal mining and livestock opportunities, has been ongoing since 2015.
In the Mayanga Sauni As Territory, mainly the communities of Musawás, Wilú, Alal, and Betlehem, forced displacement has taken its toll. Other communities within the Indigenous Territory of Tuahka, in Rosita and Bonanza municipalities, experience the same adversity, as illegal mining activities ramp up.The Mayangna community of Wasakin has been hit especially hard by displacement.
The ways forced displacement manifests vary. In some cases, entire families relocate to neighboring communities, where community leaders offer them a place to stay or a small plot of land for temporary farming. Others travel to regional capitals (Waspam and Puerto Cabezas), but face difficulties obtaining employment for sustained living. Some even end up in urban shacks outside the cities, left to fend for themselves with all the ensuing adversities.
The unfortunate circumstances facing displaced families are reflected in their ways of making a living. Men might find work as divers, albeit unskilled and ultimately disabled, in the city. That is their only viable option. Women and youth resort to working as domestic helps, selling food, or peddling their wares at strategic locations within the city, such as gas stations, banks, and parks, among others.
A chilling story emerged of a young girl sent to work for a family in the city. The son of the family sexually assaulted her, and when her mother complained, both were mercilessly thrown out without compensation. Similarly, female workers are vulnerable to sexual abuse and early pregnancies after being forced into prostitution, further exacerbating their plight.
"The Shepherd," a longtime resident of Puerto Cabezas, reflects on the loss of his former home, La Esperanza Rio Wawa. "It was green, with about 60 houses and more than 700 people. Now, it is plagued by internal conflict due to the violence caused by invasions. I was among the lucky owners of extensive land, but now a settler occupies it after I couldn't enter. He claims that those who sold their land provided him with a signature," he recalls.
His children and grandchildren now reside in a neighborhood of the coastal city, but long for the life lost. Their transition to the city has been challenging. "Before, I grew a variety of crops on my land, but now, I lack the essential resources to cultivate even cassava," the Shepherd laments.
His biggest hurdle is securing a job in the city. "When I go looking for work, they tell me I'm too old, but if I were able to return to La Esperanza, I could work because I would have my land," he laments.
"Sometimes I find myself unable to drink wabul," the Shepherd states emotion-filled during the conversation, but maintains hope of one day returning to his former land.
The persistent violence inflicted upon the indigenous communities is anchored in colonialism, resource extraction, and governmental policy. The inclusive sanitation of indigenous territories, as ordered by the Sanitation Law (Law No. 445) and the Statute of Autonomy of the Caribbean Coast Regions of Nicaragua (Law No. 28), have neither been followed nor respected by the Ortega Murillo regime.
However, this unjust regime has advanced plans and development models that endanger the survival of indigenous and Afro-descendant communities. Although not solely responsible, indigenous leaders assert that each ruling administration has attempted to impose an economic model that does not resonate with indigenous logic. One example is the indiscriminate exploitation of resources carried out without the consent of the communities, which has also eroded forms of governance.
Conflicts of interest have capitalized on government officials who own businesses in the territory. "Conflicts, kidnappings, and killings follow as colonists seize the productive areas of the communities and latter turn them into cattle ranches," an indigenous leader recounts. Migrations to neighboring communities, regional capitals, or foreign countries have ensued as a result. The Mayangna community of Wasakin is one of the most adversely affected by displacement.
At least one form of resistance sparks hope amidst the darkness. Indigenous communities continue to champion their rights and work towards sustainable development. They denounce the ongoing injustices and demand that the state recognize and take concrete actions to halt the advance of invaders. Yet, the community leader admits that for now, they do not witness a prospective shift in the state's policy. "All we see is more darkness," he states.
Despite the dismal situation, there glimmers a faint hope that the injustices will cease one day. "We are living in a dream that these struggles will end," the activist concludes.
This powerful tale, as told through the radios of Radio Yapti Tasba Bila Baikra in 2022, was made possible through the support of the Indigenous Community Media Fund. The fund provides opportunities for international indigenous radio stations to bolster their infrastructure, offering education in journalism, broadcasting, and more to indigenous community radio journalists around the globe.
- The uncertain anxiety in Wiwinak and the fear in Sagnilaya, both indigenous communities, are not just about simple community life; they are rooted in the constant threat of land grabbing by colonists who persistently advance and make claims on the territories.
- The indigenous communities in the Wangki Twi Tasba Raya territory, including Francia Sirpi, Santa Clara, La Esperanza, Río Wawa, and Wisconsi, have experienced forced displacement due to a vicious cycle of invasion and violence by non-indigenous individuals seeking illegal mining and livestock opportunities since 2015, with the Mayangna community of Wasakin being particularly hard-hit.
