>> Español

In much of Latin America, the state does not protect its citizens. This is particularly true for the popular sectors, indigenous peoples, people of colour and mestizos, who are exposed to the onslaught of drugs trafficking, criminal gangs, the private security guards of multinational corporations (MNCs) and, paradoxically, from state security forces, such as the police and the army.

There have been several massacres in Mexico, for instance – such as the killing of 43 students in Ayotzinapa in September 2014 – and they are no exception. There continues to be impunity for the 30,000 who have disappeared and 200,000 who have died since Mexico declared its ‘war on drugs’ in 2007. Slight differences aside, the current situation in Mexico is replicated across the region. In Brazil, 60,000 people meet a violent death every year, 70% of them of African descent, and mostly youths from poor areas.

Against this backdrop of violence that threatens the lives of the poorest, some of the most affected have created self-defence measures and counter-powers. Initially, these are defensive, but ultimately develop power structures in parallel to the state.

Since they are anchored in community practices, these self-defence groups are key to forming a form of power that differs from the hegemonic powers centred around state institutions. This essay examines them in more detail in order to understand this new trend in Latin American social movements.

The logics of the state and the community are opposed, since the former rests on its monopoly of the use of legitimate force within an established territory, and on its administration by means of a permanent, unelected, civil and military bureaucracy that reproduces and is answerable to itself. The bureaucracy brings stability to the state because it survives any change of government. Transformation from within is a very difficult, long-term process.

Latin American countries face an additional challenge: state bureaucracies are colonial creations, made up principally of white, male, educated elites in countries where the population is mostly indigenous, mestizo and black.

By contrast, the community logic is based on rotating tasks and functions among all of its members and whose highest authority is the assembly. In this sense, the assembly, as a space/time for decision-making, is a ‘common good’.

However, we cannot reduce ‘common good’ to the number of hectares of collective property, buildings, and authorities elected by an assembly that can be manipulated by caudillos or bureaucrats. We need to understand that there is the community as an institution and the community as social relations, a fundamental difference in dealing with questions of power.

In my analysis, the heart of the community is not common property, although it remains important, but collective or communal labour – minga, tequio, gauchada, guelaguetza – which should not be reduced to institutionalized forms of cooperation in traditional communities.

Collective labour underpins the commons, and is the true material base that produces and reproduces living communities, based on relations of reciprocity and mutual help rather than the hierarchical and individualized relations at the core of state institutions.

Collective labour underpins the commons, and is the true material base that produces and reproduces living communities, based on relations of reciprocity and mutual help rather than the hierarchical and individualized relations at the core of state institutions. The community lives not because of common property, but because of collective labour that is creative, and is re-created and affirmed in everyday life. This collective work is the means through which the comuneros and comuneras make a community, expressed in social relations that differ from the hegemonic ones.

In her sociological work, the Guatemalan Mayan, Gladys Tzul, argues that in a society based on common labour, there is no separation between the domestic environment, which organizes reproduction, and political society, which organizes public life. In reality, both feed and nurture one another. In the communities, the two spheres are complementary, embodied in communal government.

‘The communal indigenous government is the political organization that can guarantee the reproduction of life in communities. Communal labour is the fundamental basis underlying and producing those same communal government systems, and where the full participation of all men and women plays out.’

Collective labour is part of all community activities. It enables both the reproduction of material goods and the community as such, from the assembly and feasts to funerals and wakes, as well as alliances with other communities. Resistance struggles that ensure the reproduction of community life are also anchored in collective labour.

Emphasizing the multiple forms of collective labour allows us to see power and counter-power from a different perspective. First, collective labour is not an institution but social relations. Second, because they are social relations they can be produced by any collective subject in any space. As they are distinct from the community’s property relations and authorities, they can reappear wherever the subjects or movements engage in community-inspired practices.

Third, highlighting social relations enables us to examine fluctuations and changes in power relations and, in the case of social movements, the cycles of birth, maturity and decline that are inherent in the collective logic. Thus, we avoid making the mistake of ascribing power to institutions that are effectively cogs in the state machinery, such as the case, for example, of the communal councils in Venezuela.

The Venezuelan communal councils depend on state funding and speak the language of bureaucracy; they form part of the organizational structure of the state and help to secure it rather than transcending it. Over time, they have become increasingly homogeneous and lost their independence. Although there is a strong egalitarian culture in the popular neighbourhoods in Venezuela, of horizontality and the absence of hierarchy, the contradiction between the base and the leadership has been resolved through directives that have set limits to and controlled egalitarian spaces.

An important barrier to emancipation is that, to a greater or lesser degree, every culture has features of a hierarchical culture which feed on patriarchal and machista relations. This is equally true of indigenous and Afro-descendant communities, where caudillismo, personalism and paternalism are reproduced almost ‘naturally’. I therefore believe to put the emphasis on how social linkages are expressed in ‘collective labours’ more broadly, from assembly to feast. It is in this form of life and creative work that it becomes possible to modify cultures and ways of doing things, rather than within institutions whose inertia reproduces oppression.

Counter-power is, in fact, collective work that rural and urban communities establish to defend themselves from superior powers that jeopardize their survival. Below I list some examples of experiences where popular collectives or communities have exercised anti-state powers.

In cities, like Cherán and Mexico D.F., counter-powers are enmeshed in territorialized social movements that control and defend common spaces. They show that there are many similarities between what happens in a rural indigenous community and in a popular peri-urban area. In both cases, their collective life is challenged by extraction and capitalist accumulation through dispossession: in rural areas hydroelectric dams and open-pit mining in rural areas, and in the cities by real-estate speculation and gentrification.