Photo courtesy: Anu Verma
Notes from the Frontlines
The mountainous terrain of Cauca, Colombia, is not merely a place but a living philosophy — one that defies dispossession and reimagines belonging. As part of the Global Land Forum 2025, I joined 26 participants from 16 countries on a field immersion to Inzá, graciously hosted by the Asociación Campesina de Inzá - Tierradentro (ACID).
Here, we encountered not just a community, but an identity: Campesino. Neither wholly Indigenous, Afro-descendant, nor simply agrarian, this self-ascribed designation encompasses a worldview — one where land is not a commodity, but a covenant; not private property, but collective legacy. It is a conscious, cultivated identity rooted in resistance, interdependence, and the deep moral authority of place.
In a region shaped by armed conflict, systematic marginalization, and historical neglect, the Campesinos of Inzá stand as luminous counterpoints — advancing a model of peace-building and territorial sovereignty that is neither ideological nor romantic, but deeply practical and profoundly humane. Their ethos is non-confrontational, yet revolutionary in its insistence on dignity, equity, and social inclusion & transformation.
Their work is breathtaking in its breadth. From conserving native biodiversity — wild fruits, grasses, medicinal plants — to exporting high-quality, ethically produced coffee to international markets; from educating children in Campesino epistemologies to operating a community radio station (98.4 FM); from supporting survivors of violence to fostering women's and youth leadership, ACID is not an organization — it is an ecosystem of liberation.
What struck me most is their use of education — both formal and informal — as the principal instrument of change. They understand that shifting structural power begins with reshaping narratives. “Language matters,” they say. “How we speak is how we build.” To educate is not merely to inform — it is to transform.
Their environmental consciousness, too, is not performative. It is life-affirming and essential. “If the ecology sustains us, we endure.” This ethos is reflected not only in their conservation practices but in their infrastructure, governance, and ethics of care. They call themselves Cuidadores — caretakers of the land — a role that rejects the extractivism of neoliberal paradigms and affirms collective stewardship.
Three reflections continue to resonate
1. Youth and women are not auxiliary; they are architects. They lead, strategize, and innovate. Their protagonism is not tokenistic, but structural — a direct challenge to the patriarchal and gerontocratic norms that persist in many parts of the world.
2. Sustainability and autonomy are embedded. With scarce resources, they have created low-cost, high-impact systems that prioritize self-reliance and collective ownership. This is not aid dependency — it is sovereign development.
3. Territorial governance is fundamentally political. Their resistance to privatization, monoculture, and militarization is not framed as anti-development, but as a defence of life, culture, and the commons.
Photo courtesy: Anu Verma
Their approach to sustainable tourism — not as a revenue stream, but as a narrative bridge — is equally telling. Visitors are welcomed not as consumers, but as witnesses and potential allies in a global justice movement.
Inzá in Dialogue with Asia: Common Struggles, Shared Visions
This experience in Colombia finds poignant resonance across Asia, where land rights remain a defining struggle for Indigenous peoples, smallholder farmers, and pastoralist communities. While histories and legal frameworks vary, the underlying tensions are remarkably similar: customary tenure systems threatened by state appropriation, agribusiness expansion, climate displacement, and the erosion of communal identities.
In places like Indonesia, the Philippines, and India, land reform has often been characterized by fragmented implementation, elite capture, or developmentalist rhetoric that sidelines Indigenous governance. In Myanmar, Cambodia, and Laos, the absence of legal recognition for customary tenure exacerbates insecurity, especially for ethnic minorities and women. Across the region, land is not only the basis of livelihood — it is the locus of cultural survival and political autonomy.
Yet, there are also powerful examples of grassroots resistance and innovation:
The Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act in the Philippines, while imperfect, remains a landmark law globally for ancestral land claims.
In Indonesia, the Aliansi Masyarakat Adat Nusantara (AMAN) continues to push for recognition of adat (customary) lands, mobilizing thousands of communities.
In Northeast India, indigenous matrilineal societies like the Khasi, Garo and Jaintia in Meghalaya exemplify gendered stewardship of land and forests, even as patriarchal forces seek to reverse such gains.
And in Thailand’s north, Karen communities like Hin Lad Nai have pioneered community forestry and youth-led agroecological education as tools of resilience.
As part of our commitment to strengthening data systems, we’ve made meaningful strides in building local capacity and advancing the LANDEX initiative across Asia.
To support this momentum, members were also engaged in a LandMark scoping study—helping to localize and strengthen our collective efforts to regionalize land rights data.
These steps reflect the shared commitment of our network to put people, communities, and data at the heart of land governance.
In each context — from the Andean highlands to the Mekong basin — the struggle for land is ultimately the struggle for memory, identity, and self-determination.
Conclusion: A Global Tapestry of Land Justice
Inzá offered more than lessons — it offered clarity. It reminded us that land is not merely a site of contestation, but of imagination. That justice is not an abstract ideal, but a practice — enacted daily through cultivation, cooperation, and care. And those movements, while rooted in specific geographies, are united by shared dreams of liberation.
In a world fractured by crisis, the Campesinos of Inzá — like countless communities across Asia — illuminate a grounded, bold, and beautiful path forward. One where the land does not divide us, but binds us in collective responsibility and radical hope.