Indigenous Peoples and Elite Politics

Scholars of indigenous movements have focused increasing attention on the relationship between the onset of neoliberal reforms and the adoption of multicultural policies that recognise indigenous peoples' rights to cultural difference but do not directly address questions of material inequality. Two competing arguments have emerged that partially explain this phenomenon. Hale argues that elites advocate multicultural policies in a deliberate attempt to create more quiescent political subjects and thereby forestall redistributive economic reforms by de-legitimising actors who insist on redistribution rather than (or in addition to) cultural recognition.Footnote ⁷ Van Cott has challenged this ‘neoliberal multiculturalism’ thesis, arguing that multicultural reforms have further politicised indigenous peoples who continue to struggle for redistributive reforms. Elites, Van Cott argues, are neither as cohesive nor as committed to neoliberalism as Hale's thesis suggests.Footnote ⁸

I build upon Hale's thesis while accepting the basic tenets of Van Cott's critique. Van Cott's approach helps explain how numerous attempts at neoliberal reform in Ecuador were blocked in part due to indigenous political activism. While the neoliberal project has largely failed in Ecuador, however, a viable redistributive alternative has not materialised.Footnote ⁹ What Hale, Van Cott and others have failed to account for is the possibility that elite groups with significant political influence and diverse interests may be interested neither in neoliberalism nor redistribution. These two categories do not exhaust the options available to business people, policy-makers and mobilised citizens.

Neoliberal reforms have been weak in Ecuador (relative to the rest of Latin America) for several reasons. Without doubt, CONAIE has played a critical role in protests that have derailed specific neoliberal reforms. However, it is noteworthy that presidential attempts to implement strong neoliberal reforms failed during the presidency of León Febres Cordero (1984–8), before the indigenous movement had become a major political force, and were moderately more successful during the administration of Sixto Duran Ballén (1992–6), during which CONAIE launched some of its largest protests. It is thus reasonable to argue that the lack of economic reform cannot be explained primarily by the power of indigenous mobilisation. In fact, numerous scholars have argued that the weakness of neoliberal reforms in Ecuador owes primarily to the intricacies of the policy-making process, the weakness of Ecuadorian presidents (particularly their lack of partisan support in the legislature), and protectionist pressures from Ecuadorian business people.Footnote ¹⁰

Although elites may have little interest in specific neoliberal reforms, the language and political logic of neoliberalism have proven useful in blocking CONAIE's more redistributive demands. Lucero's study of the politics of representation within indigenous movements provides a useful template for understanding how elites represent indigenous peoples in ways that further their own political and economic agendas. He argues that ‘it is through … everyday cultural representation of civilization, development, and authenticity that powerful ideas of inclusion and exclusion are created and reproduced’.Footnote ¹¹ What is true for the internal politics of indigenous representation is equally true for elite representations of indigenous movements. Arguments about the meaning of ‘civilisation’ are as old as European colonialism. Contemporary elite representations of this contested term revolve not around issues of race, religion or class, but around the question of democracy. To be civilised is to respect the democratic process, defined as the holding of regular elections to fill constitutionally designated public offices. Development is another deeply contested concept. The dominant thinking on development among Ecuadorian elites continues to be shaped by the basic premises of economic liberalism. I stress here that liberalism is the dominant elite representation of development. As discussed above, liberal economic reforms have often been blocked in part by the actions of business people and right-wing politicians, those members of the elite who we might assume to be most supportive of such reforms. This does not, however, detract from the ideological value of liberal development ideology.

Finally, as indigenous peoples debate among themselves who can speak for ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ Indians, elite actors have evolved a fairly consistent discourse that I label ‘authentic multiculturalism’. This refers to the set of ideas which states that indigenous peoples are full members of the Ecuadorian nation and that cultural differences should be tolerated and celebrated. This multicultural ideal is tempered, however, by a tendency to object to more ‘radical’ indigenous organisations, leaders and tactics as ‘inauthentic’.Footnote ¹² To be sure, elites are not of one mind on any of these issues. Moreover, my approach is distinctly non-conspiratorial – I find no evidence that elites have consciously and strategically constructed this response. That said, certainly by the mid-1990s elites had cohered around the basic principles of multicultural market democracy. This is most clearly demonstrated by the constitutional reform project presented by former president Osvaldo Hurtado during the 1998 Constitutional Assembly, discussed later.

I extend and add to Hale's approach in two principal directions. First, I stress the ideological utility of economic liberalism beyond advocates of neoliberal economic policies. In his analysis of neoliberal multiculturalism based on research in Guatemala, Hale argues that ‘proponents of the neoliberal doctrine pro-actively endorse a substantive, if limited, version of indigenous cultural rights, as a means to resolve their own problems and advance their own political agenda.’Footnote ¹³ Although Hale's original argument does not depend on the full embrace of neoliberal policies by Guatemalan elites, he does suggest that neoliberal advocates are the primary drivers of this new ideological formation. Hale's later development of the concept of neoliberal multiculturalism takes it beyond the confines of neoliberal elites to encompass the racially privileged ladino group in Guatemala.Footnote ¹⁴ My argument builds more from this later work and extends it to apply to elites across the political spectrum, as in the case of current president Rafael Correa, who explicitly rejects neoliberalism while behaving largely in accordance with the argument I propose in this article. Even as neoliberalism has lost much of the ideological punch it held during the 1990s, the basic contours of multicultural market democracy remain largely unchanged. The basis for extending Hale's work in this direction is that the economic component of multicultural market democracy does not hinge on the advancement of a neoliberal economic agenda, but rather on the defence of elite privilege.

Second, I include democracy in my analysis as a way to connect elite ideology to political practice. Indigenous peoples have been incorporated into the political system in Ecuador largely through the institutions of political democracy. For Hale, the key function of neoliberal multiculturalism is to discipline potentially subversive indigenous groups and individuals by ‘restructuring … society such that people come to govern themselves in accordance with the tenets of global capitalism’.Footnote ¹⁵ Patricia Richards has built upon Hale's argument to show how local-level social relationships and political institutions construct and reinforce existing power relations in rural Chile.Footnote ¹⁶ In countries such as Chile, where indigenous protest is largely contained within certain regions of the country and where national-level indigenous protests are relatively rare, a local approach to issues of inequality and elite privilege makes great sense. In countries such as Ecuador, where indigenous protest is not regionally contained and has frequently erupted in the geographic centres of elite power, democratic institutions are the key mechanisms that simultaneously incorporate and discipline indigenous peoples and their political leaders. Where Hale relies on the Foucauldian logic of governmentality to explain how indigenous Guatemalans ‘are made to know when they are going too far’, and Richards stresses the role of local power relationships in Chile, I rely on the institutional logic of democracy to explain how indigenous Ecuadorians are allowed into the national political arena, but only so far.Footnote ¹⁷

I first develop this argument conceptually and theoretically, then present evidence from key moments in Ecuador's recent political history as well as from 43 in-depth interviews with political and economic elites conducted in Ecuador during three separate research trips between 2005 and 2009, and analysis of major Ecuadorian periodicals from both Quito and Guayaquil from 1990 to 2007. To provide a sense of the types of individuals interviewed for this project, 13 were from the coastal region (mostly Guayaquil), while 29 were from the highlands (primarily Quito and Cuenca) and one was from the eastern lowlands region. I have also categorised these individuals in terms of the source of their elite status. This was a complicated task, as elites are often important in numerous sectors. At the risk of oversimplifying, 15 interviewees are classified primarily as political elites, 18 as economic elites, eight as cultural elites (representatives of the Church, the media and academia) and three as military elites.Footnote ¹⁸ Among the interviewees there were six women and 37 men (a drastic under-representation of women in the overall population, but perhaps an accurate reflection of the proportion of women within the elite). While I did not explicitly ask interviewees for their racial self-identification, virtually all are phenotypically white or mestizo and would likely self-identify as such. Since the interviews allowed frequent opportunities for interviewees to raise their own concerns and pursue topics of interest, and interviewees were not chosen at random, I use an interpretive strategy to evaluate the content of the interviews. Throughout the paper I indicate areas where elite consensus on particular themes is weak or non-existent.

I focus on Ecuador because of the nature of the challenge that CONAIE poses to political and economic elites in that country. In some cases of indigenous mobilisation we see elites making significant concessions to the demands of indigenous movements because, as in Colombia for instance, the indigenous population is so small as not to represent a significant challenge to the status quo. At the other extreme, in Bolivia economic and political elites assert defensive, at times overtly racist and violent positions against indigenous movements that, by most counts, encompass a majority of that country's population.Footnote ¹⁹ Mexico represents an interesting case in which, during the years of PRI party rule, indigenous peoples were ‘incorporated’ into the political system through political structures based on the clientelist distribution of resources. Where that system failed, most notably in Chiapas in the early 1990s, the response was violent repression.

In Ecuador, even by CONAIE's own counting, indigenous peoples represent a minority of the population. Their organising capacity, however, has positioned them as a powerful player in Ecuadorian politics. The surge in indigenous political activism culminated in the 1990s and early 2000s with a series of indigenous uprisings and the successful launching of an indigenous political party. CONAIE led major national uprisings in 1990, 1992, 1997 and 2000 in which protesters blocked highways, held mass demonstrations in major cities, invaded privately owned farms and occupied government and Church buildings. Smaller protests occurred throughout this period, particularly in the Amazonian and highland regions. In general these mobilisations focused around a set of demands including language rights and constitutional recognition of Ecuador as a multinational state, rights to territorial autonomy (particularly in the oil-rich Amazon region), control over local natural resources, land redistribution, and the removal of specific elected officials (including presidents).

Elites, hegemony and political incorporation

To analyse elite responses to indigenous movements we must begin with a clear understanding of who ‘elites’ are. I conceptualise elites in terms of both their institutional and ideological power. Following Shore, I define elites as:

According to this definition, we can identify elites by their institutional power (as the ‘custodians of the machinery of policy making’) and their ideological influence. More colloquially, elites are the political and economic ‘establishment’.

‘Elite’ is not a homogenous category. Elites hold a variety of political ideologies, have diverse economic interests and often do not agree on appropriate or effective political strategies. Although there is a tendency for elites to hold conservative views on many important issues, studies of other social groups have demonstrated the difficulty of inferring ideologies, interests and strategies directly from social position.Footnote ²¹ I thus resist the temptation to classify elites as right-wing actors. One of the goals of my research is to show how an ideologically diverse range of elites coalesces around a set of ideas and practices that limits effective political influence to a relatively small group of actors.

Analysis of elites represents ‘a way of conceiving power in society and attributing responsibility to persons rather than to impersonal processes’.Footnote ²² It avoids the economic reductionism of class analysis and complicates analyses that attribute to the state human-like capabilities such as ‘negotiating’ or ‘repressing’. Historically, elites have had at their disposal a number of tools for limiting the impact of mass participation in politics. The legitimacy of these traditional tools has gradually eroded over the past century. Military coups are increasingly difficult to organise, execute and sustain; the oligarchic clans that long dominated politics are in decline, increasingly replaced by wealthy foreign investors and domestic capitalists; and the corporatist model has gradually given way to more liberal forms of representation. Although all of these trends are partial and reversible, the tools of political domination that served elites well in the past are of considerably less utility in the current political, economic and cultural context.

Theorising the impact of hegemonic projects requires that we engage the discursive strategies of different groups. If elites are to lead (rather than simply dominate society via violent repression and authoritarian politics), they must form some minimal, if informal, alliance among themselves as well as incorporating the political projects of at least some non-dominant groups.Footnote ²³ It is within this process that groups like indigenous peoples are incorporated into the political system, but on terms that are acceptable to existing elites. Incorporation is thus not just an institutional phenomenon whereby new groups are given voice in the political process, but also a discursive process whereby existing elites attempt to limit the types of ideas that can be voiced within the political process.

Scholars have devoted a tremendous amount of attention to the counter-hegemonic discourses and political strategies of subaltern actors. Work on new social movements has made important contributions in alerting scholars to the importance of cultural politics and counter-hegemonic political projects, but at the cost of overlooking the importance of structural and political economic factors.Footnote ²⁴ Similarly, scholars focusing primarily on the political economy of social movements have provided convincing accounts of the decline of organised labour but have missed the emergence of new, more open forms of politics in an age of expanding markets and new technologies.Footnote ²⁵ New research is now emerging that integrates the insights of both schools of thought.Footnote ²⁶ My analysis fits within this emerging tendency.

Elite hegemonic projects are themselves the result of intra-elite struggles to frame ideologies in ways that integrate diverse elite interests. Such projects may emerge through an explicit process of negotiation and consensus-building or, more likely, through an implicit process of identifying concepts and framing strategies that are broadly acceptable. These hegemonic projects are attempts to legitimate and enforce a set of norms for how social conflicts should be carried out and, eventually, settled. They define the legitimate rules that govern political competition. Defining such rules demands a discursive strategy that identifies legitimate socio-political actors, what demands they can (and cannot) make on other legitimate actors, and what rules will be used to arbitrate any conflicting claims that may arise as a result of the first two principles. When such struggles lead to an enduring agreement on who has the right to rule, in whose name they rule, and through what procedures, then we can speak of a hegemonic outcome.Footnote ²⁷ In the case of Ecuador, such outcomes have been rare. Much more common are the fragile and constantly shifting alliances between elite factions, occasionally in alliance with lower-class groups, which generate hegemonic projects without hegemonic outcomes. Previous articulations of hegemonic projects have been ambivalent at best concerning the ‘Indian question’.Footnote ²⁸ A major consequence of the inability of key political actors to craft a viable hegemonic project is the chronic political instability that has plagued Ecuador since its independence.

Historical Background

The role of political and economic elites in the political incorporation of indigenous Ecuadorians is particularly interesting given the historical weakness of the Left in Ecuador relative to the larger countries in the region. Given Ecuador's late industrialisation and the relative lack of agricultural modernisation in the country until at least the 1950s, traditional elites faced few serious challenges (other than each other) to their control of national political power (that is, the state). The incorporation of labour thus occurred late in Ecuador (when compared to earlier Latin American industrialisers like Argentina, Brazil and Mexico), and the bargaining position of Ecuadorian labour was weak relative to its more advanced neighbours.Footnote ²⁹ Ecuadorian elites thus were relatively unfamiliar with the politics of negotiation and compromise when CONAIE emerged on the scene in the early 1990s.

Accordingly, the incorporation of indigenous peoples in contemporary Ecuador has proceeded in fits and starts. A more thorough historical approach would begin at least with the Ley de Comunas (Communities Law) in 1937, which granted legal recognition to indigenous communities.Footnote ³⁰ In terms of the contemporary incorporation of indigenous peoples into the political system, the military took a crucial step in 1964 by abolishing huasipungo, a quasi-feudal relationship which obligated indigenous peasants to work for large landowners in exchange for a small plot of land on which to grow subsistence crops. This move, in the context of a broader, if relatively timid, agrarian reform, freed many indigenous peoples from direct dependence on local elites and established the state as a legitimate and often effective interlocutor in local power relations. It also contributed to a nationalisation of indigenous issues given that the state (via the military) had seized significant authority from local landowners. The discovery of oil in the 1960s also gave the state an independent resource base, and thus the autonomy to challenge entrenched local interests.

During the transition to civilian rule in 1978, the right to vote was extended to illiterates (a large percentage of whom were indigenous), thus taking another significant step towards the incorporation of indigenous peoples into the political system. Lacking their own party until 1996, indigenous peoples generally aligned themselves with various parties of the Left. Although these alliances have been criticised as manipulative and disempowering to indigenous peoples, Becker has shown convincingly that these historic alliances have been crucial to the development of the contemporary indigenous movement.Footnote ³¹ In general, however, leftist parties have simply lacked the political power to impose their agenda.

During the 1980s and 1990s, indigenous peoples were further incorporated into the political system as they gained control over various government programmes such as bilingual education and development funds targeted to indigenous communities. In retrospect, however, these political conquests appear more as temporary palliatives for an increasingly restive indigenous movement rather than long-term solutions to enduring political and economic problems. As Pallares rightly notes, although bilingual education programmes generally received reasonable state funding during the 1980s and 1990s, ‘the socioeconomic demands that would have given literacy policy a material dimension were removed from the table’.Footnote ³²

The most recent stage in the incorporation of indigenous peoples has been the participation of Pachakutik as a political party within the formal political system and the ability of the indigenous movement (as both a social movement and a political party) to gain legal recognition of the cultural rights of indigenous Ecuadorians. As an electoral force, Pachakutik has waxed and waned since its founding in 1996. During its early years it captured numerous seats in the national legislature, various provincial and municipal offices, and the mayoral seat in several small and medium-sized towns.Footnote ³³ During the presidency of Lucio Gutiérrez (2003–5), two Pachakutik members were selected to run the Ministry of Agriculture and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Although Pachakutik has fared poorly in recent national elections, it represents the incorporation of the indigenous movement within the sphere of electoral politics.

Keeping in mind the diversity of experiences and world views that characterise different sectors of Ecuador's elite, we are now in a position to sketch the broad contours of the hegemonic project that has taken on added significance since the first CONAIE-led indigenous uprising of 1990. Three specific events serve to illustrate this hegemonic project and its political consequences: the first CONAIE uprising in 1990; the debate over constitutional reforms in 1998; and the overthrow of president Jamil Mahuad in 2000.

The Indigenous Uprising of 1990

CONAIE's first large-scale mobilisation occurred in May 1990. CONAIE had been organising at the grassroots level for years prior to 1990, but exploded onto the national scene by occupying the Santo Domingo church in downtown Quito, blocking several major highways and engaging in numerous land invasions throughout the country. Although different communities had diverse demands, CONAIE leaders presented President Rodrigo Borja with a list of demands that included long-term structural issues (such as land reform), more immediate economic demands (such as debt relief for peasant farmers), political demands (such as funding for bilingual education programmes and decentralisation of political authority in indigenous communities), and cultural demands (such as the declaration of Ecuador as a pluri-national state).Footnote ³⁴

When asked to recall their reaction to the first CONAIE-led indigenous uprising in 1990, interviewees responded with words like ‘shock’, ‘surprise’, ‘confusion’ and ‘uncertainty’. Although CONAIE had been organising for years prior to 1990, the political and economic elites generally had not received the signal that something was amiss. Even then-president Borja (from the centre-left Izquierda Democrática (Democratic Left) party) and members of his cabinet expressed consternation and surprise regarding the uprising. Borja argued that indigenous protest was not itself surprising, given the accumulated demands of indigenous communities, but that the timing of the uprising was disheartening. According to Borja, his government had worked with indigenous communities since 1988 to provide electricity and potable water, so he did not understand why CONAIE would mobilise against his government.Footnote ³⁵

Leaders within the Borja government expressed greater shock at the uprising. ‘It was a gigantic surprise’, Borja's chief of staff claimed at the time.Footnote ³⁶ Others expressed surprise that CONAIE was able to mobilise its indigenous base in such an effective manner. Fabián Corral, a prominent lawyer, author and columnist, argued that the uprising took not just the government but also most of the urban upper class by surprise. The rapid urbanisation of the upper classes, particularly since the 1960s, had socially separated elites (and the middle class) from the ‘Andean world’ of rural agriculture in which most Indians still eked out a living. According to Corral, Indians had been relegated to the pages of the history books. The ‘Indian problem’ that had long baffled Ecuadorian elites had been solved, according to many, through the combined processes of agrarian reform, modernisation, urbanisation and mestizaje. The 1990 uprising was thus a surprise to political and economic elites not just because of its scale, intensity and endurance, but because it dredged up political identities that many had relegated to the dustbin of history.Footnote ³⁷

Borja's eventual decision to negotiate with CONAIE and other indigenous leaders helped legitimate and institutionalise the political influence of the indigenous movement, much to the chagrin of agricultural elites and conservative politicians who supported a more forceful response. Once the initial shock of the first uprising had receded, elites began to grapple with what it meant to share the political stage with the indigenous ‘other’ who for centuries had been marginalised from national politics.

Opening (and Closing) Political Space: The 1998 Asamblea Constituyente

A second key moment for observing both elite discourse and its connection to political practice in the face of a challenge by the indigenous movement was during the Asamblea Constituyente (Constitutional Assembly) convened following the overthrow of President Abdalá Bucaram in 1997. The previous year Pachakutik had scored major electoral victories, becoming the third-largest party in Congress. Indigenous peoples now had an electoral vehicle that could complement CONAIE's protest strategies.

Less than six months into his term, Bucaram had succeeded in alienating nearly all segments of Ecuadorian society with his corruption, nepotism, vulgarity and insistence on pushing through a series of price increases on basic necessities (despite campaign promises to the contrary). In response, huge demonstrations demanded Bucaram's resignation. Following Bucaram's removal from office in a controversial military coup during a popular uprising, CONAIE demanded a Constitutional Assembly to reform Ecuador's political and economic system. Arguing that civil society organisations were the primary force behind Bucaram's removal, CONAIE insisted that the assembly be held quickly and that representatives be chosen on a corporatist basis, with civil society organisations choosing their own representatives.

Political elites within the major political parties, however, insisted on delaying the assembly in order that tensions and sentiments excited during the uprising against Bucaram be allowed to cool. CONAIE lost another battle when the formal rules for electing candidates to the assembly were drafted in the Congress. Legislators insisted that assembly delegates be selected through popular election rather than being designated by civil society groups. Since the political parties had at their disposal the experience, electoral infrastructure and clientelist ties used in normal elections, their expectation was that if popular elections were held to elect assembly delegates, the parties would control the assembly. They were right.Footnote ³⁸

Objecting to the formation of the new assembly, CONAIE decided to lead opposition groups into an alternative assembly that would challenge the legitimacy of the official assembly. Interim president Fabián Alarcón, as well as political elites from all major parties, attempted to delegitimise the alternative assembly by appealing to the democratic nature of the official assembly. Alarcón argued that ‘the referendum [in which the proposal for popular election of delegates won] puts in their place those movements that are said to be the owners of the People's Mandate: we will know … their weight in society [by] the make-up of the national assembly’.Footnote ³⁹ The use of democratic procedures, therefore, was perfectly compatible with the perpetuation of the political establishment despite public disgust with political parties and most political institutions. Outside groups trying to break into the circle of power were portrayed as dangerous demagogues determined to undermine Ecuador's fragile democratic institutions.

Inside the official assembly, delegates drafted a constitution that enshrined a business-friendly economic model and a political system in which parties held a monopoly on representation. Many of CONAIE's non-economic demands, such as the right to use Quichua as an official language and the right of indigenous peoples to be ‘consulted’ (a term which was left deliberately vague) on the exploitation of non-renewable resources in their communities, were adopted by large majorities, including those from traditionally right-wing parties. More controversial issues such as political reforms (including electoral rules and regulations for political parties) and economic reforms were pushed through the assembly with bare majorities consisting of the political parties most closely aligned with the political and economic elites. Furthermore, multicultural reforms that struck at the heart of elite power were repeatedly blocked; for example, CONAIE and its representatives in the Constitutional Assembly had demanded formal representation on several of the most important economic policy-making bodies within the government (such as the Junta Monetaria (Monetary Board), which was charged with setting monetary policy, and the Consejo Nacional de Desarrollo (National Development Council), which controlled general economic planning), but these demands were excluded from the assembly's final product.Footnote ⁴⁰

Given the many differences among segments of Ecuador's elite – based on regional interests, economic sector and ideological affinity, among others – consensus was difficult to obtain. At this critical moment we see the greatest effort made to formalise a hegemonic project stressing the components of multiculturalism, markets and democracy. The clearest exponent of these ideas was the Quito-based think tank the Corporación de Estudios para el Desarrollo (Development Studies Corporation, CORDES), founded by former president Osvaldo Hurtado. Faced with opposition from indigenous groups and others within (and outside) the formal assembly, CORDES provided the intellectual roadmap that unified elites behind a common project.Footnote ⁴¹

CORDES had published a series of papers and influential books in the years and months prior to the assembly.Footnote ⁴² These documents reflect growing concern about the economic consequences of Ecuador's political instability (or ‘ungovernability’, to use the term fashionable at the time). The solutions offered by CORDES stressed the importance of re-engineering Ecuador's political institutions to make them more representative, but said little about underlying structural problems.Footnote ⁴³ Hence, the approach was well suited to a Constitutional Assembly tasked precisely with redesigning the country's political institutions. Economically, CORDES' publications represented a significant shift away from state-centric models and towards market-based solutions to poverty and slow growth.Footnote ⁴⁴ Among its many recommendations were the privatisation of basic services (such as water, electricity and sewerage), high-tech industries (telecommunications) and strategic natural resources (oil). CORDES also advocated the partial privatisation of Ecuador's social security system.

As president of the Constitutional Assembly, Hurtado was strategically located to advance these goals, but his party lacked a majority and was forced to seek allies. In his memoirs from the Constitutional Assembly, Hurtado states that he pursued alliances with left-of-centre parties (specifically Pachakutik) but was rebuffed when those parties refused to support the CORDES agenda.Footnote ⁴⁵ Despite historically bad relations, Hurtado eventually formed an alliance with the Partido Social Cristiano (Social Christian Party, PSC, led by former president León Febres Cordero) and another right-wing party to achieve a majority within the assembly. Given the PSC's position as the representative of the traditional Guayaquil aristocracy and Hurtado's close ties to highland elites, this new alliance (nicknamed ‘la aplanadora’ (‘the steamroller’) by its critics) effectively guaranteed elite dominance within the assembly. Although Hurtado's relationship with the allied parties in the assembly was highly contentious, it was effective at excluding subaltern actors from the decision-making process within the assembly.Footnote ⁴⁶

Of Coups and Consequences: CONAIE and the Overthrow of Mahuad

By the late 1990s, CONAIE was at the height of its political power. It had staged numerous mass uprisings, Pachakutik had demonstrated itself to be an effective political party, and indigenous activists were key participants in the removal of Bucaram in 1997. CONAIE leaders also managed state development funds designated for indigenous communities. The indigenous movement had, by all accounts, successfully integrated itself into the political process. The growing political clout of indigenous leaders corresponded to their increasing political incorporation within the state apparatus. For example, during the 1990s both the Ecuadorian government and the World Bank designed development projects specifically targeted at indigenous peoples and other ethnic minorities, with budgets totalling US$ 50 million.Footnote ⁴⁷ These projects, however, served to divide the indigenous movement as much as to foster indigenous participation in local development projects. The case of the Consejo Nacional de Planificación de los Pueblos Indígenas y Negros del Ecuador (National Ecuadorian Indigenous and Afro-Ecuadorian Planning Council, CONPLADEIN) is particularly instructive.

CONPLADEIN was created in conjunction with the World Bank-funded Proyecto para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas y Negros del Ecuador (Indigenous and Afro-Ecuadorean Peoples' Development Project, PRODEPINE). In order to ensure indigenous participation in CONPLADEIN's decision-making, it was structured in order to give the six national indigenous organisations (CONAIE and five smaller indigenous organisations) and one Afro-Ecuadorian organisation equal representation on its executive council. CONAIE objected to this plan, however, since it was forced to share power (and control over resources) with several nearly defunct organisations. Once President Jamil Mahuad took power in 1998, CONAIE was able to negotiate the restructuring of CONPLADEIN to favour CONAIE over other indigenous organisations in return for CONAIE's promise to support Mahuad's presidency.Footnote ⁴⁸

Upon assuming the presidency Mahuad issued a presidential decree transforming CONPLADEIN into a new organisation, the Consejo para el Desarrollo de las Nacionalidades y Pueblos del Ecuador (Council for the Development of the Nationalities and Peoples of Ecuador, CODENPE). In contrast to CONPLADEIN, CODENPE was organised not by indigenous organisation, but by indigenous nationality. Moreover, in the highland region where 95 per cent of indigenous peoples live and where there is one predominant nationality (Quichua), the smaller unit of the pueblo was the unit of representation. CONAIE was thus effectively able to monopolise representation within this new institution. At the same time, however, CONAIE's incorporation came at a high price. The indigenous movement was increasingly tempted to work through the formal institutions of the state, something it had frequently rejected in the past. The politics of the indigenous movement was thus moving away from the politics of disruption to a more institutionalised form of contestation for political power.Footnote ⁴⁹

As President Mahuad pushed through parts of his conservative economic agenda, he met with predictable opposition from organised labour, indigenous groups and some leftist political leaders. As the economic crisis he inherited deepened over the course of 1999, opposition to Mahuad mounted from other sectors as well. As the banking industry teetered, the value of the sucre plunged, and when Mahuad nationalised several failing banks, opposition from powerful economic interests grew. CONAIE, despite its earlier tacit support of Mahuad, again led the public resistance against the implementation of neoliberal economic policies. The rising cost of living relative to the price that rural indigenous peoples could fetch for their products, price increases for basic subsistence goods, Mahuad's plan to replace the country's weak and inflation-prone currency with the US dollar, and a general sense of economic crisis were the underlying factors that produced another round of CONAIE-led protests in early 2000. The crisis eventually came to a head when the banking system (which had been in dire condition for at least the previous five years) collapsed and President Mahuad froze citizens' bank accounts while rescuing bankers, some of whom fled the country with millions of dollars to avoid corruption charges.

The economic catastrophe of the late 1990s has been thoroughly described elsewhere.Footnote ⁵⁰ Of greater concern here is the role that CONAIE played in the political events surrounding the economic collapse. By late 1999 President Jamil Mahuad's approval ratings had collapsed, there were frequent protests against corruption and austerity, and rumours of coup plots had begun to circulate. The military, seething at the perception that Mahuad was stiffing millions of Ecuadorians to bail out a few corrupt bankers, ceased to be a reliable political ally for the president.Footnote ⁵¹ Due to a history of development work in some of the most remote areas of the country, the military had always maintained fairly close relations with indigenous communities and their leaders. Thus, when CONAIE marched on Quito in January 2000, Mahuad could not count on the military's support.

The military was clearly fractured between a group of generals who were willing to use CONAIE protesters to pressure Mahuad to move on a series of issues of concern to the military (but who were, in the end, loyal to the democratic process) and a group of junior officers, led by Colonel Lucio Gutiérrez, who took the decision that Mahuad must be forced from power. On 21 January, CONAIE and the Gutiérrez faction of the military moved to seize Congress and the Supreme Court and force Mahuad's resignation. By evening Mahuad had fled the presidential palace and Ecuador was ruled by a military regime which included CONAIE leader Antonio Vargas. Although CONAIE and military leaders agreed on many key economic and political issues, the military was reluctant to remain in control, while CONAIE leaders and their indigenous base celebrated their ascent to the highest levels of political power. Within 24 hours of seizing power, the military unilaterally abandoned the new government and handed control to Mahuad's vice-president, Gustavo Noboa.Footnote ⁵²

By participating in a coup against an elected government, CONAIE exposed itself to critique by broad swathes of society and fuelled claims that indigenous leaders were interested only in gaining political power at any cost. By aligning with rebellious military officers, CONAIE leaders also exposed their own political weakness. Their path to power depended not on their own mobilising capacity, but on their alliance with disgruntled officers. Moreover, the immediate beneficiaries of CONAIE's participation in a coup coalition were political and economic elites, nearly all of whom wanted Mahuad out but did not have to expend their own political capital (and democratic credentials) to achieve that goal.Footnote ⁵³

The events surrounding the 1990 uprising, the writing of a new Constitution and the overthrow of Mahuad speak both to the political protagonism of Ecuador's indigenous movement and the capacity of diverse elites to coalesce around a hegemonic project that defended and strengthened their privileged position. The following sections describe this project in greater detail.

Authentic Multiculturalism

One of the rhetorical strategies frequently used by elites when discussing the indigenous movement was to challenge the cultural authenticity of the movement. This allowed elites from all sectors to separate themselves from the racist ideologies of the past, empathise with the situation of many indigenous communities and support indigenous political participation in principle, yet continue to reject the practical implications of indigenous participation in what had previously been the exclusive domain of the white and mestizo upper classes. To adapt a formula devised by Méndez to describe Peruvian elites' discursive position vis-à-vis indigenous people, Ecuadorian elites' position can be summarised as ‘Indians yes, CONAIE no’.Footnote ⁵⁴ Most elites voiced support for multiculturalism, but multiculturalism was reduced to tolerance of cultural difference. At the same time as they embraced some aspects of multiculturalism, elites overwhelmingly responded negatively to CONAIE's concrete actions.

The presence of multiculturalism within elite discourse and political practice is what makes the incorporation of indigenous peoples different from the way in which elites have managed conflicts with other contentious groups such as organised labour. There was a common recognition among all of my interviewees that CONAIE was different from previous protest movements in Ecuador due to the unique nature of indigenous identity. Unlike urban workers, unionised teachers or disgruntled students, indigenous peoples can make compelling claims to the legitimacy of their struggle based on centuries of exploitation and exclusion and their status as the original inhabitants of what is today Ecuador. Elites generally find it easier to recognise the legitimacy of those claims, yet contest the strategies that CONAIE has used to pursue them.

Implicitly questioning one of the major tenets of new social movement theory, many elites rejected the notion of ‘politicised’ identity. Unsurprisingly, the earliest critiques of politicised indigeneity came from the most conservative elite faction, those still tied to agriculture and the area most directly impacted by indigenous activism. Ignacio Pérez, president of the Chamber of Agriculture for the northern highland region during the 1990 uprising, argued that the major weakness of the indigenous movement was its ideological ‘mixing of political issues with ethnic issues’.Footnote ⁵⁵ In an article published under the title ‘Chamber of Agriculture: Excessive Politicisation of the Indigenous Movement’, the Chamber states that its official stance is that indigenous peoples cannot integrate themselves into the national community because of their ‘excessive politicisation’.Footnote ⁵⁶ In 1993, Mariano González, minister of agriculture in the conservative government of Sixto Durán Ballen, took the argument even further, labelling CONAIE a ‘racist indigenous political organisation’ seeking to build an independent ‘state within a state’.Footnote ⁵⁷

The critique of indigenous politicisation did not recede after the initial uprising. By criticising the politicisation or racism of the indigenous movement, elites effectively relegated racial identities – including their own – to the (irrelevant) past. Questioning the political nature of indigenous identity brings into question the primary area in which indigenous peoples had succeeded in achieving a voice in the political process. Here we clearly see the limits of the multicultural project as it currently stands: indigenous political participation is acceptable, but ‘excessive politicisation’ is seen as a danger to democracy.

Leadership is another realm in which the authenticity of the indigenous movement is questioned. Various interviewees criticised the lack of democracy and authentically indigenous leadership in CONAIE. Patricio Donoso, another former president of the Chamber of Agriculture, rejected the CONAIE leadership both because it had ‘politicised the movement’ and because the indigenous movement ‘does not represent anyone except a handful of leaders’.Footnote ⁵⁸ He then explained that the Chamber was an authentically democratic institution given the regular alternation in leadership positions, while CONAIE has maintained essentially the same leadership for the past 20 years. Democracy is thus deemed of crucial importance in conferring legitimacy and authenticity on particular organisations, but democracy is simultaneously reduced to its procedural minimum (leadership alternation). This position was particularly common among interviewees who led representative institutions (such as chambers of commerce and industry, and political parties).

Lucio Gutiérrez, who joined with CONAIE in overthrowing President Mahuad and was himself later elected and removed from the presidency, engaged in a similar critique of indigenous leadership to justify what many have criticised as his clientelist approach to dealing with indigenous protest during his presidency. Rather than continuing to work with CONAIE and the indigenous leaders in Pachakutik – both groups that had actively supported his presidential campaign in 2002 – he used the resources of the presidency to reward indigenous communities who broke from the CONAIE–Pachakutik line once their leadership withdrew from his government. This was framed by indigenous leaders and most independent political analysts as flagrant clientelism – using government resources to cultivate political support within certain indigenous communities while undermining the broader indigenous movement. Gutiérrez, however, characterised this approach as ‘responding to the bases’. An elitist indigenous leadership, he argued, no longer represented the interests of indigenous peoples, so he felt obligated to negotiate directly with ‘real’ indigenous communities rather than with corrupt and unrepresentative leaders.Footnote ⁵⁹

The critique of authenticity extends beyond questioning the representativeness of indigenous leaders. Another way of deflecting the challenge of the indigenous movement through questioning its authenticity has been to focus on the movement's ties to foreign organisations. Elites (particularly on the coast, where international linkages tend to be more economic than political) criticise the presence of international NGOs that have exacerbated what they frequently see as the already excessive politicisation of indigenous communities. For example, when asked about the political impact of the indigenous movement during the 1990s, María Gloria Alarcón, a prominent Guayaquil businesswoman and leader of the powerful Chamber of Commerce, provided a forceful critique of how international NGOs and development organisations that collaborate with Ecuadorian indigenous groups pose a threat to Ecuadorian sovereignty and should not be permitted to operate in the country. ‘I don't even know why the government gives those people visas’, she lamented.Footnote ⁶⁰

The final way in which elites challenged the authenticity of the indigenous movement was by highlighting indigenous individuals or groups who conformed to Western standards of modernity and progress. Elites consistently pointed to the case of the Otavalan Indians as an example of ‘successful’ and ‘modern’ Indians. It is perhaps ironic that elites would associate ‘authentic’ Indians with modernity, but a brief detour through Otavalan history will illustrate how this came to be.Footnote ⁶¹

The indigenous inhabitants of the Otavalo region have been involved in long-distance trade networks for hundreds of years. During the colonial period, the Spanish found it useful to take advantage of the Otavalans' weaving skills to produce non-traditional textiles that could be sold throughout the empire, and back home in Europe. This pattern has carried through to the present. The Otavaleños are among the most prosperous indigenous communities in all of Latin America; their weekend market attracts tourists from all over the world, and Otavalan merchants regularly travel to the United States, Europe and other parts of Latin America in order to market their products.Footnote ⁶² In short, few in Ecuador, regardless of racial and ethnic background, have mastered the game of global capitalism more thoroughly than the Otavalans.

The Otavaleños' successful insertion into the global economy is, however, precisely what makes them culturally unique among indigenous communities. This success owes a great deal to centuries-old cultural traditions and early colonial economic relations with the Spanish conquerors. My point here is that Otavalo is an historical anomaly. Nonetheless, in 24 of 43 interviews (and without my mentioning Otavalo or asking about any specific indigenous communities), elite politicians and business people held up the Otavalan case as an example of what Indians should be and how ‘modern’ Indians can find a niche in twenty-first-century Ecuadorian (and global) society.

Not surprisingly, business elites voiced admiration of the Otavaleños' production and marketing savvy. The positive description of Otavalo was complemented by a negative view of other indigenous peoples whom, when compared to the Otavalans, were found wanting. The exaltation of Otavalo was particularly noticeable among interviewees in Guayaquil (mostly business people), who contrasted the Otavalans' industriousness with the perceived lack of economic initiative seen as normal among highlanders, both indigenous and non-indigenous. Such praise was not missing entirely from interviews with highland political elites; former president Hurtado promoted the Otavalans, saying:

The media, particularly print and television, play a prominent role in Ecuadorian politics and were particularly active in spreading images and stories consistent with authentic multiculturalism. The major newspapers used in this research serve as quasi-official spokespersons for elites in both the highlands (El Comercio) and the coast (El Universo); in fact, several of the elites interviewed for this project are regular columnists in these two newspapers. Television stations are even more tightly held. The major national television stations during this period were all owned by powerful economic groups which used the stations to advance their economic interests and attack real or perceived enemies. As Córdova notes in her study of the role of the media in the overthrows of Bucaram and Mahuad, print and television media are openly political actors in defence of what Córdova calls ‘the establishment’.Footnote ⁶⁴

The Ecuadorian media also jumped on the Otavaleño bandwagon, despite a history of racist editorialising. Particularly in the early 1990s, when CONAIE had burst onto the national political scene, newspapers regularly ran stories about the success of Otavalan Indians. For example, the Quito daily El Comercio ran a story in 1993, entitled ‘Otavalo: Ciudad Bolivariana’ (‘Otavalo: Bolivarian City’), which described Otavalo in effusive language as the embodiment of Simon Bolivar's dream for the Americas – indigenous, yet developed and cosmopolitan.Footnote ⁶⁵ Other stories in the early 1990s reflected the success of Otavalan merchants in the global marketplace. Reflecting the media's general point of reference for high culture in the late twentieth century, a 1994 article lauded the accomplishments of Otavaleños in New York City, ‘the capital of the world’.Footnote ⁶⁶ The Guayaquil daily El Universo took a slightly different, yet no less effusive, approach to the Otavalans, labelling Imbabura (the province where Otavalo is located) ‘the Switzerland of America’.Footnote ⁶⁷

Political elites have also attempted to create an alternative image of authentic Indians through the formal institutions of the state. The clearest case of this was the appointment in 1992 of Luís Felipe Duchicela by President Durán Ballen to lead the newly created Secretaría de Asuntos Indígenas (Secretariat of Indigenous Affairs). This appointment was made in the run-up to the debates and protests surrounding Durán Ballen's proposed Ley Agraria (Agrarian Law), which effectively ended the period of agrarian reform, begun in 1964. Duchicela was born in Guayaquil and educated at Yale. Of equal importance, he claimed to be a direct descendent of the Duchicela dynasty that had ruled the region around Quito in the period prior to the Spanish conquest. Durán Ballen could not have dreamed of a better candidate for the position. Duchicela, it seemed, had the ‘authenticity’ to occupy the position of secretary for indigenous affairs, but also the political and academic background that led him to support many of Durán Ballen's economic reforms, including the ending of agrarian reform. Equally significant, Duchicela was a virtual unknown within the indigenous movement, allowing the Durán Ballen government to put an indigenous face on economic reforms opposed by CONAIE.

CONAIE president Luis Macas saw Duchicela's appointment and the creation of a Secretariat of Indigenous Affairs as a clear attempt to create and co-opt an alternative indigenous leadership. CONAIE refused to recognise the legitimacy of Duchicela and the new ministry. Duchicela, with the full backing of the Durán Ballen government, responded by questioning the legitimacy and effectiveness of the CONAIE leadership.Footnote ⁶⁸ Consistent with the argument made here, Duchicela's critique of CONAIE was that it was wedded to an antiquated vision of what it means to be authentically Indian that defined the Indian as a poor, rural peasant. CONAIE was accordingly painted as the enemy of productivity, prosperity and economic competition. Whether it was the ‘successful’ case of Otavalo, the ethnic authenticity of Duchicela or the critique of CONAIE's leadership, most elites accepted the basic principles of multiculturalism but balked at putting these principles into practice in cases where it would imply some level of material redistribution (as in the case of agrarian reform). Questioning the authenticity and representativeness of CONAIE leaders provided a useful avenue for rejecting the demands that elites found most troubling.

Development, Markets, and Modernity

Despite acknowledging the formal political equality of indigenous peoples and the fairness of many of the grievances presented by indigenous organisations, elites generally framed their proposed solutions to these grievances through a discourse of economic modernisation and liberal democracy. It is precisely this language of modernisation that links contemporary discourses back to their less politically correct predecessors. Having moved beyond a simple rejection of indigenous cultures, elites now invite indigenous peoples to participate in the modernising project (and celebrate groups such as the Otavalans that succeed in doing so). This project, however, presents few obvious benefits to most indigenous communities.

‘Modernisation’ and ‘development’ are loaded terms with numerous meanings. It is not my intention to impose my own definitions, but rather to explore how elites construct ideas of development and modernity and how indigenous communities can and should fit into these frames. The vast majority of interviewees mentioned the importance of modernity and/or modernisation at least once during our conversations, and for most, modernity is intimately (and unproblematically) tied to production – a modern population is one that can and does produce goods efficiently in a market economy. Production, then, becomes the standard for development and the highest value by which all other actions are to be judged. Rather than pursue redistributive reforms, elites generally argue that the government should pursue ‘changes that create wealth rather than redistribute poverty’.Footnote ⁶⁹ Any sort of redistributive reform is generally rejected on the grounds that the country cannot afford the productivity gains that must be forgone in order to pursue redistribution, or that the international economic system would punish the country for pursuing anti-market economic policies. This perspective is best summarised by Diego Chiriboga, ex-president of the Chimborazo Agricultural Centre, who argued that redistributive reforms along the lines proposed by CONAIE leaders would lead to ‘one hectare per Indian and hunger for everyone’.Footnote ⁷⁰

Again, the language of economic production is not new to elites.Footnote ⁷¹ What is new, however, is the attempt to separate production from race. In earlier times productivity and race were generally seen as two sides of the same coin. Indians were considered to be, quite simply, less productive. Historically, explanations for this lack of productivity were diverse, ranging from primordial racism (Indians are an inferior race) to behavioural racism (Indians are drunk and/or lazy) to structural racism (Indians have been denied opportunities to learn how to become more productive). By the 1990s, many elites – particularly those in the agricultural sector – sought to separate race and production. However successful they may have been in the realm of language, their discourse of production reveals a profound ambivalence towards indigenous peoples and the indigenous movement.

Authoritarian tendencies reappeared in discussions of productivity and modernity. When I pressed interviewees to produce a real-world example of a Latin American society that had achieved the kind of modernity and productivity they were seeking, they overwhelmingly responded by proposing the Chilean model since the 1970s (although two interviewees explicitly rejected this model because of the violence associated with its implementation during the Pinochet dictatorship). This is interesting, as the opening of the Chilean economy to foreign competition in the 1970s had disastrous consequences for many Chilean business elites. Ecuadorian business elites, however, use the Chilean case as a rhetorical model to show how material issues were ‘depoliticised’ through the taming of protest movements, even if they may themselves oppose the specific types of reforms implemented by the Pinochet regime.

Democracy and Rights

In his seminal article on transitions to democracy, Rustow argued that elites need not be convinced democrats in order for a transition to democracy to occur. Rather, elites may become habituated to democracy through the constant give-and-take of political competition within the context of democratic institutions.Footnote ⁷² Consistent with Rustow's hypothesis, elites of all political persuasions seem to recognise that the formal political rules have changed since the period of authoritarian rule. Elites recognise that they can usually defend their individual and collective interests without destroying democratic institutions. These elites have harnessed the language and institutions of democracy to their own political and economic projects and turned them against indigenous movements.

Consistent with the ‘Indians yes, CONAIE no’ discourse, elites may grant legitimacy to demands made by indigenous leaders but reject the tactics that the movement uses to achieve them. They stress the need to resolve conflicts within the confines of the formal institutions of democracy rather than through street protests, road blockages and land invasions. Finally, they stress the importance of the state as guarantor of the rights of all citizens, thereby ensuring that the state will continue to be responsive to elite interests, particularly those that pertain to property rights.

For example, during the 1992 uprising, Diego Gándara, president of the highland Chamber of Agriculture, argued that the economic damage caused by land invasions and road blockages could never be recovered. He demanded, nonetheless, that the government apply ‘greater firmness and decisiveness’ in order that law, justice and the right to private ownership of productive land be respected.Footnote ⁷³ The question of property rights and the state's obligation to enforce them is also the area in which many elites continue to at least threaten the use of violence. In interviews and press accounts, elites, particularly those in the agricultural sector, repeatedly emphasise that they are willing to resort to ominous-sounding yet undefined ‘other measures’ if the state does not protect their legitimate property rights against threats from indigenous protesters.Footnote ⁷⁴ During the uprisings of the 1990s there were repeated reports of landowners hiring private security guards to remove indigenous protesters who had occupied part or all of their land.Footnote ⁷⁵ Throughout the 1990s, the issue of property rights was the flashpoint at which protest and political rhetoric on all sides could occasionally flare into violence. This is true in the case of CONAIE-led land invasions as well as in cases where indigenous peoples have protested oil exploration in territories ceded by the government for use by multinational oil companies.Footnote ⁷⁶

Leaders from all sectors of the country expressed concern over the economic consequences of CONAIE's protest tactics. For now, however, I wish to focus on these individuals' legal critique of the indigenous movement. Elites voiced remarkably consistent opinions of the political strategies of indigenous movements: self-expression is fine, and should even be encouraged, but disruptive tactics are illegal and should not be tolerated. On three occasions I was informed by prominent business people (all of whom were also politically active) that Article 22, Section 10 of the 1998 Ecuadorian Constitution (the current constitution at the time) specifically guarantees ‘the right to freely transit throughout the national territory’. Therefore, not only are CONAIE's more disruptive tactics illegal, but the state has an obligation to stop such illegal activity and punish the offenders. Large landowners were particularly vociferous in demanding that the state step in to resolve the problems created by road blockages and land invasions during the indigenous uprisings of the 1990s.

Liberal democracy is therefore more than simply a set of political institutions that elites and other actors use to resolve conflicts. Democracy is also part of a hegemonic project whereby certain demands become legitimate and others are deemed illegitimate. When the indigenous movement fails to work within the formal institutions of democracy, it is subject to criticism (and punishment by the state) because its activities fall outside the bounds of acceptable political behaviour. Since indigenous political parties have never been strong enough to control the reins of government, liberal democracy thus seems like a safe bet from an elite perspective.

Political institutions, democratic or otherwise, have always been bastions of elite rule (this is, in part, what defines political elites). For most elites, democratic politics is a technical matter wherein problems are resolved through the normal functioning of representative institutions. If there are social or political problems, such as sustained social protest, there must be an institutional solution that resolves the problem at hand and promotes governability.Footnote ⁷⁷ Democracy (in its minimalist form) can thus be understood as an effective mechanism linking discourses of multiculturalism and the market to political outcomes that effectively defend the privileges of existing political and economic elites. The use of economic development funds to integrate CONAIE leaders into the formal political system, the creation (and relative success) of Pachakutik as a political party and the targeted use of political appointments for indigenous leaders all represent mechanisms of political incorporation that successfully bring indigenous peoples into the formal political arena while effectively marginalising their more radical or redistributive demands. Predictably, indigenous leaders operating within the formal political arena have been far less radical than indigenous activists operating from outside of formal politics.Footnote ⁷⁸

The insistence on playing by the rules of the democratic game invites indigenous leaders to play on a field that is slanted in favour of elite interests. In fact, four prominent bankers who have also served in important government posts echoed similar themes when they argued that CONAIE, Pachakutik and other indigenous organisations never presented a serious threat to their economic agenda when in office. Indeed, all four agreed that the biggest obstacles to the neoliberal economic reforms they sought to implement were obstructionist political parties and business elites who resisted the loss of government protection that such reforms implied, not political mobilisations by indigenous or other lower-class groups.Footnote ⁷⁹

The discourse and practice of democracy serves to incorporate indigenous peoples into the political system, but only so far. Dialogue and participation are recognised as positive attributes of a democratic society, but only to the extent that they do not impinge upon elite privilege. Democracy is recognised as a social good, but at the same time, democracy must be contained within well-defined limits. Difference is acceptable and even encouraged, so long as it does not imply demands for equality. Perhaps this is best summarised by conservative congressman Heinz Moeller, who, like most of those interviewed for this project, argued that ‘despite the just and humane demands of the Indians, they should use the constitutional and legal path for achieving their goals’.Footnote ⁸⁰