As such coyoterismo is a malleable institution. As global and regional migration control policies change over time, coyotes must adapt their services to changing policy contexts, markets, and customer demands. Clandestine migration routes north have changed signifcantly over the last decades and continue to change. For example, before 2000, the frst leg of the trip from Ecuador used the maritime route from the northern coast of Ecuador and up along the Pacifc coast to Guatemala (Thompson & Ochoa, 2004). In Guatemala, migrants would disembark and continue north through Mexico using a gamut of transportation options including walking for segments of the journey. The coyote who arranged for this frst leg of the trip mostly handed migrants over to other guides as they moved north. In more recent years, travel arrangements have commonly involved fights to Honduras and lately Mexico where Ecuadorians between 2018 and 2021 didn't require a visa.6 From there, migrants travel the last part of the trip over land to the US-Mexico border. In 2020, a new maritime route via the Bahamas appeared as migrants sought new ways of escaping the economic hardship produced by the coronavirus pandemic (Guambaña, 2021).

The users of migrant smuggling services in Ecuador has also changed over time. Previously, the typical migrant was the male breadwinner leaving his family in Cañar. Now, more women than ever before migrate North and the number of unaccompanied children whose migrant parents are already in the United States is also growing (Berg & Herrera, 2022; Ruiz Muriel & Álvarez Velasco, 2019). With increased deportations from the United States back to the Austro region – 29,026

6 In August 2021, the government of Mexico suspended the visa waiver for Ecuadorians to "help ensure that Ecuadorians do not fall prey to human traffcking networks" (Gobierno de México, 2021).

deported Ecuadorians between 2001 and 2019 (Berg & Herrera, 2022) – incidents of remigration after deportation are also common. Furthermore, Ecuador is also an important transit country for extra-continental migrants from Africa, the Caribbean, and the Middle East passing through Ecuador en route to the United States (Álvarez Velasco, 2020).

Given these new scenarios of multiple mobilities, it is not surprising that human smuggling needs and services have proliferated. Scholars have found that migrants are recruited into smuggling networks at different points during the trip North (Brigden, 2018; Quito Heredia, 2014) including when stuck in transit through the Central America-Mexico-U.S. transit corridor (Frank-Vitale, 2020). Migrants who have accumulated experience through several trips north may take other migrants along and little-by-little establish themselves as coyotes. Indeed, several deported migrants in our study reported using their previous migration experience to make the trip from Ecuador to Honduras or Mexico on their own. If they brought a friend or two, they could even make some money to pay for their own crossing into the United States.

The proliferation of forms of migration facilitation also presents the need to activate mechanisms of accountability to avoid swindling, fraud, and exploitation of prospective migrants and their families. If a migration journey fails, the traveler has several options. They can either re-attempt the trip within a given timeframe or decide to stay in Ecuador and try to recover part of their investment. This can happen by appealing informally to the coyote or by using either indigenous or ordinary justice mechanisms to remedy the losses.

#### **7.4 Legal Pluralism and the Judicialization of Migrant Smuggling in Cañar Migrante**

Throughout Ecuador's colonial and postcolonial history, indigenous justice has coexisted with ordinary justice, partly due to the lack of state presence throughout the national territory, especially in areas where inhabitants have been systematically subalternized and excluded from the national project. Not surprisingly, this coexistence between justice systems has been fraught with confict due to frequent clashes of jurisdictions between indigenous communities and national/offcial judges and sometimes led to direct criminalization of those who execute indigenous justice and to a certain clandestineness of its practice. Yet studies have shown that an important characteristic of indigenous justice, rooted as it is in local cultural practices and ability to circumvent the rigidity of a written norm, is its capacity to adapt to different environments and situations (Llásag, 2012a, 2012b; Brandt, 2017). Despite these tensions, indigenous communities have persistently exercised indigenous justice both to resolve conficts internal to their communities or between communities and as a form of resistance "from below" to the white mestizo national project (De

Sousa Santos, 2012). This form of malleability and refusal to conform to the authority of the state is alive and well among the Kañaris.

In Cañar migrante, the combined exercise of justice to process conficts and litigation that affect inhabitants in changing social and mobile contexts has also produced a specialization within this complex judicial system. Thus, for example, we fnd indigenous lawyers with university degrees who are formally accredited by the State as professionals in this branch, who specialize in indigenous justice procedures and are themselves Kichwa speakers. These professionals own law frms and clinics, generally located in the capital city of Cañar province, or in more urbanized towns of the surrounding area, and catering to indigenous residents who turn to them with different requests often related to migration. Clients include migrants including deportees who have hired coyote services and want to recover their investments or families whose relatives have disappeared en route to the United States but who are still required by coyotes to pay for the service in full. Clients also include coyotes themselves who face situations with their own migrant clients or legal issues within the ordinary justice system; women whose migrant partners have stopped sending remittances for their children; and fnally, migrants abroad whose remittances have been misused by relatives in Ecuador. The indigenous lawyers, using both legal systems at their disposal, provide their clients with alternatives to attempt to solve each situation. Below, we specifcally analyze confict resolution in situations related to US-bound migration and coyoterismo.

One Indigenous Affairs prosecutor – the positions created by the state in 2008 in the regions with the highest percentage of indigenous population (De Sousa Santos, 2012) – described the strengthening of indigenous justice among the Kañari in the following way:

Indigenous justice in the last six or seven years has gained a lot of strength here in the province. Around the year 2000 there were many cases of theft (hurto) and rustling (cuatrerismo) in which communities acted just to act, without any direction. But since 2005 there has been a boom and now there are professional people, mostly lawyers, in each community who, together with their leaders, have promoted the administration of indigenous justice and they have consolidated the organization. Just in the province of Cañar, there must be more than twenty indigenous lawyers, some with degrees up to the fourth level and some studying for Ph. D. (Interview with Prosecutor for Indigenous Affairs in Canton Cañar, July 25, 2017)

Whereas the Indigenous Prosecutors report to the State Attorney's General Offce, the role of indigenous lawyers is to advise communities so that they can exercise indigenous justice without conficts with the State. However, the important judicial decisions are made by and carried out within the community organizations. An offce clerk to one indigenous lawyer operating in the area told us:

(…) We simply advise. It is the communities that solve the issue, not us. We as lawyers are there simply as one more member of the community and nothing more. We tell those who write down: write like this, write like that, and we advise them: don't do this, this is wrong, this is good, but it is the community that solves, not us. (Interview with legal clerk in Cañar, July 30, 2017)

During our research in Cañar, we observed how indigenous justice operates in localities and communities transformed by human mobility and sometimes produces tensions with the ordinary legal system. We also observed how the transnational dimension and reach of the institution of coyoterismo produces a complex intersection of offcial legal systems across international borders. Below we discuss three situations with local and transnational dimensions in which both indigenous justice and ordinary justice intervene to resolve migration-related disputes.

#### *7.4.1 Failed Migrations, Reparations, and Coyote Accountability*

When migrants are "returned" by migration authorities in the North, the coyote typically offers up to two additional attempts to complete the trip for the same payment. However, traumatic experiences en route ranging from extortion by irregular groups and mafas, robberies, sexual violence, murders, or accidents during strenuous journeys (Aguilar, 2014; De León, 2015; Frank-Vitale, 2020; Quito Heredia, 2014; Thompson & Ochoa, 2004) sometimes cause "returned" migrants to give up on the migration project entirely. In these situations, the contracting party claims before the indigenous justice the full or partial refund of the payment (up to \$17,000 per traveler in 2019). This money is often borrowed from the migrant's relatives or from local chulqueros. Due to the informal nature of coyoterismo, there is often no written contract between the migrants and the "señores coyotes", as some locals call them indicating a certain class position. This becomes important when seeking to resolve a dispute. Juan Guamán,7 one of the Prosecutor for Indigenous Affairs in Canton Cañar, relates these cases as follows:

Above all, when the person traveling has been detained, whether in Mexico or in Arizona, and deported to Ecuador, then the victim or the traveler will have deposited about 10 to 12 thousand dollars to the coyotes; but let's say they no longer want to try because the trip has been terrible, a pure path of suffering (un viacrucis); then they go to the coyote and say: "Give me back the money," and the coyote says: "No, because I already spent x amount of money on your trip, I can't give your money back now. (Interview, Prosecutor for Indigenous Affairs in Canton Cañar, July 25, 2017)

To resolve such a situation the ordinary justice system is not very effective. It is slow and involves high economic costs and levels of corruption and even a high chance of imprisonment and deprivation of liberty for the poorest citizens (Nuñez, 2006; Coba, 2015). Richard, one of the members of the San Pedro Indigenous Justice Consortium whose story we will share later in the chapter, refects on the limitation of ordinary justice for indigenous communities:

Well, here in Cañar, problems between families, and problems with rustlers and coyotes abound. If someone brings in a coyote to seek justice, what do the authorities do? Say, I am

7All names used in the sections below are pseudonyms.

a coyote, you report me, I have money, they put me in prison and my family goes to the prosecutor's offce and says: 'here take this [money]' - and they 'warm his hand,' they give him, say, fve thousand dollars - but ask them to let me go. What are the authorities doing? They leave the coyote free, and the injured party can't do anything about it. Is that justice?! Instead, what does indigenous justice do? It chases the coyote! The indigenous justice has even tracked down a State Prosecutor who stole US\$10,000 from a man from Ingapirca [a nearby town]. The indigenous justice system made him return the money! If it had not been for indigenous justice, the prosecutor would have stolen the \$10,000. (Interview with Richard, July 28, 2017)

Richard's statement is supported by the data shared with us by the Prosecutor for Indigenous Affairs in Cañar when interviewed for this study. In his assessment, there are about 30–40 cases of illegal traffcking of migrants each year, but only in exceptional cases do these complaints reach a sentence. Victor, one of the indigenous lawyers interviewed, compared coyoterismo in the area to a mafa:

There is resistance and there are also retaliations. The practice of putting pressure is happening a lot. You know, coyoterismo is a mafa and there are always networks. If there are complaints [against the coyotes], there will always be persecutions, threats, and sometimes intimidation, and many times they end up reversing processes. Sometimes the complaints are abandoned, no evidence is provided, and that is why there is no conviction. The prosecutor has one year to gather evidence and if no evidence is generated, the case is archived. That has happened too. (Interview with Victor [pseudonym], July 28, 2017)

Contrary to the opinion given by the Indigenous Prosecutor's offce, this lawyer considers that ordinary justice is incapable of achieving "redress" or reparation for "victims" whose migration has failed. In fact, indigenous justice seems to be much more effcient in this regard, since it obligates the perpetrator to repair the material damage caused and generally returning at least part of the money to the victim. To achieve such agreements, the lawyer mediates between the parties with the goal of getting the coyote, who is also part of the community, to give in:

(…) These claims have been resolved in the community, especially the well-organized communities exercise this right. The action is collective: the accused is arrested, and the community meets with 50 or 100 delegates, the investigation begins, and there is signifcant social or psychological pressure [on the accused]. This may produce the returns or compensations immediately, or alternatively, a document with deadlines is signed. (Interview, Prosecutor for Indigenous Affairs in Canton Cañar, July 25, 2017)

Despite the possible retaliations, on occasion, victims may fle criminal complaints through the ordinary justice system to pressure the coyote to recognize the damage. Once this objective is completed, the complaint is withdrawn. However, in case of massive scams, for example, if a coyote has taken advantage of a whole group of travelers, this strategy does not work, since the defendant will prefer to pay with jail if the total amount claimed is too high. Victor, one of the indigenous lawyers interviewed, puts it this way:

In cases where the coyotes manage to compensate the damages and settle in investigation phase, the judicial process culminates. But in cases of massive fraud when the amounts add up to hundreds of thousands of dollars, and if there are no deaths, the defendants are left with a sentence of 5 to 7 years, and the case just fades away because there is no patrimony. The majority [of coyotes] do not have patrimony [in their name], that is all premeditated. All assets acquired illegally are simply disposed of or hidden in the name of third parties. When prosecuted these assets do not appear, there is nothing on record, and that is one of the ways in which they manage to settle. Out of desperation people compromise up to half the amount, if they paid \$10.000, they sometimes end up getting only \$5.000 back. (Interview with Victor, July 31, 2017)

Despite that very few cases of coyoterismo are prosecuted through the ordinary justice system, another indigenous lawyer, León, who collaborates with Prosecutor Guamán, indicates that the legal mandate to compensate victims sometimes harms the coyotes, whom he also sees as potential victims of scams:

Whenever possible, [the victims] get more out of the poor coyote by lying about the amount. Maybe they paid \$9,000, but they make a complaint under oath for \$14,000, because someone advised them to get more out of it. But this also depends on the lawyer who fles the complaint. (Interview with León, July 30, 2017)

What cases like this shows is that, on the one hand, the ordinary justice system alone cannot resolve the litigation of coyoterismo in the canton; on the contrary, impunity, threats and high economic costs are the norm. On the other hand, indigenous justice can also not operate in a completely autonomous way either and must use the ordinary justice system in complex ways and according to each situation to be more effcient.

In the following section, we show how the positionalities of the different actors in these situations fuctuate in complex ways between one justice system and the other, and that indigenous justice itself is a feld of dispute constituting a crucial realm of political power within the social and ethnic group in question.

#### *7.4.2 Migrant Deaths and Ordinary Justice*

According to Ecuador's constitution, criminal cases must, in principle, be treated by ordinary justice; however, in Ecuador, unlike in Peru, indigenous justice intervenes more frequently in criminal matters (Brandt, 2017). This is one of the most critical points of tension with the State and several indigenous communities, including those of Cañar, typically seek to intervene with indigenous justice in criminal matters, given that these matters deeply disturb the harmony of the community.8

The ordinary justice system, which classifes coyoterismo as a criminal matter, intervenes most frequently in cases of coyoterismo when it involves the death of a migrant, especially in cases that have reached national or international news. This is consistent with the caricatured manner in which the Ecuadorian state constantly stages its "efforts" to contain irregular migration while at the same time taking limited action to solve the origin of the problem of irregular migration (Ruiz Muriel & Álvarez Velasco, 2019). These contradictions can be observed, for example, when a

8See for example the case of La Cocha in Cotopaxi (Llásag, 2012b) and the case of San Lucas in Saraguro (Ávila Linzán, 2012).

special police unit await the arrival of migrants deported from the United States twice a month at the Guayaquil airport to investigate "signs of traffcking." Most deported migrants have lived abroad for substantial periods of time and are not up to date with available coyote services. Additionally, they hardly have any incentives to offer any information to the State about the ways coyotes operate their businesses should they even have such information.

The case of Noemí Álvarez Quillay, which became the object of both national and international attention in 2014, illustrates the intervention of the ordinary justice system when a migrant death becomes a politicized media event.  In March 2014, a 12-yearold girl, Noemí, left her home in the community of El Rosario to reunite with her parents in the Bronx, NY. A month later, the police detained her with a coyote in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. The Mexican authorities took her to a shelter for unaccompanied migrant children. According to the news reports, she was in a precarious emotional state and had suffered different types of abuse (Sosa, 2014). A few days later, she was found hanging from a shower curtain rod in the shelter's bathroom. Her death was determined a suicide by the Mexican authorities. Noemí's case received extensive national and international attention (Dwyer, 2014; Sosa, 2014). Former President Correa even issued a public statement during the Sabatina, a widely viewed televised report offered to the nation every Saturday during his tenure as president. As a result of the public attention, an investigation was initiated ex offcio and in the absence of any complaint. The National Prosecutor's Offce coordinated directly with the Mexican justice system to identify those responsible for Noemí's death and eventually captured a Guatemalan coyote with networks in Cañar. Those involved were sentenced to 16 years in prison. Unfortunately, Noemí's case is not an isolated event. Between 2007 and 2013, the whereabouts of 992 unaccompanied minors who left Ecuador by air to Honduras and did not return to the country remain unknown (Aguilar, 2014).

According to interviews conducted for this study, Noemí Álvarez Quillay had left with local coyotes from El Tambo. An Indigenous prosecutor from the area told us that members of the family and the community tried to route Noemí's case through the indigenous justice system to avoid the imprisonment of the main coyote who was a relative, but ultimately didn't succeed. They stated:

In the case of Noemí Álvarez, the community did an indigenous justice process, but once the ordinary justice begins the criminal process, the indigenous justice system must send its leaders [to announce] the "decline of jurisdiction", according to article 345, 346, 347 of the Organic Code of the Judicial Function. They say that they proceed with the decline. Once they have presented before the judge of penal guarantees, the judge opens the period of evidence for three days. He says: 'gentlemen, you must "prove" that you are indigenous and that you are legally constituted in your community.' In the case of Noemí, the decline of jurisdiction was presented before the judge of penal guarantees, but the judge did not budge; then it was presented before the Court of Criminal Guarantees, who also did not give in. Subsequently, in the Provincial Court of Justice, they requested the decline and presented the trial record indicating that no person can be tried twice for the same crime, and still the court did not give in. Finally, it went to the Constitutional Court, and this court has also not given way. Why? Because these are cases of crimes involving death, and the prosecution will never allow the crime to remain in impunity. (Interview with Indigenous prosecutor, July 25, 2017)

It is striking that an indigenous prosecutor would associate indigenous punishment, or ajusticiamiento, with impunity. What this tension between justice systems reveals is a complex and sometimes contradictory economy of life and death; a moral economy in which the State in a very capricious way selects which lives deserve justice and how such justice should be achieved. Likewise, it also reveals that justice itself is a feld of dispute between different groups and legal systems where some want to safeguard the sovereign image of the State, and others want to guarantee that irregular migration, in the absence of a regular option, remains accessible for subalternized communities. We also learned from an indigenous lawyer who intervened partially in this case from the indigenous justice perspective that the grandfather with whom Noemí lived in the community, had requested a mediation with the coyotes in order to be fnancially compensated. This process was carried out in parallel to the state judicial process. This example shows how the ordinary and indigenous justice systems not only occasionally overlap but can also operate informally in entirely parallel ways.

It is clear to us that the community's incentive to initiate the case as indigenous justice or "lower it from ordinary justice to indigenous justice," as indicated by the Indigenous Prosecutor of El Tambo, is a strategy to protect the coyote and thus guarantee future possibilities of migration through such networks. However, such efforts do not resolve the issue of impunity, the desire of individuals who are scammed to recover their money and, more importantly, ease the pain of the loss of family members to the arduous journey north.

#### **7.5 Youth Gangs, Migration, and New Challenges for Indigenous Justice**

Richard is a community member and part of the San Pedro Indigenous Justice Consortium, an organization formed in Alto Cañar in 2014. His participation in disputes between justice systems have a political and ethnic dimension, which illustrates the transversality of migration in processes of social change.

Richard traveled to the United States at the end of the 1990s with a coyote from Cuenca for whom his father worked as a recruiter (*enganchador*). He left in part because of a problem with the ordinary justice system which had prosecuted him for alleged theft of a lost crop in the modality *al partir*. 9 After a decade living in the United States, Richard is detained and deported after a fght in a bar. Upon his return

9The modality 'al partir' is a modality of cultivation of land common in Ecuador, in which peasants who do not have property work the land of another. By way of rent, they pay the owner of the land with half of the harvest (Fock & Krener, 1977/2019).

to Ecuador, he reinserts himself into the community but is later condemned again by ordinary justice precisely and paradoxically so for participating in the exercise of indigenous justice in a confict related to international migration in his community. Richard's story shows how justice, or justice systems, both shape and is shaped by vital migratory experiences of the Kañari while also changing their communities in tandem with larger changes within the urban, market-oriented majority society (Brandt, 2017, p. 7). These societal transformations including migration have an important impact on both local conficts and the ways in which indigenous justice functions. For example, Ávila Linzán (2012) has analyzed how the Saraguros, who have a signifcant record of international migration to Spain, see their community's migration experience as a "fight of leaders" that would concomitantly affect the exercise of indigenous justice at home (leaders need to be present for indigenous justice to be exercised). Above all "the impact occurs in the appearance of new community conficts that they (the community members) see as a direct consequence of the migratory phenomenon" (Ávila Linzán, 2012, pp. 426–427). Llásag (2012b) makes the same observation among the indigenous people of Cotopaxi, who have experienced signifcant internal migration and urbanization processes.

The cultural transformations that migration produces among the youth is one of the conficts that communities of Cañar, like those of Cotopaxi and Saraguro, must face. These are sometimes related to alcoholism, drugs, and the formation of gangs by return migrants from the United States. In the case of Cañar, one such gang made up of young migrants or children of migrants is Las Sombras Negras (The Black Shadows). Richard participated in a community process of punishing and bringing to justice (ajusticiamiento) some of the boys from this gang – an action which was later described in a 2017 report published by the regional human rights organization INREDH:

Las Sombras Negras were formed by migrants who returned from the United States and wanted to implement an organization like the Central American mara gang. They became involved in micro-traffcking and working as recruiters for coyoteros, robberies and are also seen as the authors of some murders. Several young people began to steal small objects in order to obtain money to buy drugs and stay in the gang. (Saavedra et al., 2017, pp. 9–10)

The community members of the San Pedro Indigenous Justice Consortium punished these young people and concluded the process with what they call a healing act. This act involves baths in cold water and the use of nettle and other medicinal plants. These practices were questioned by the ordinary justice system which sees them as a violation of Human Rights, however, from the perspective of the indigenous communities, they have a ritual and exemplary signifcance. Richard shares his perspective and frustration with us:

The governor himself brought us two leaders of the gang "Las Sombras Negras", to bring them to justice, indigenous justice. If indigenous justice was wrong, then why did the governor bring the two leaders of the gang to us? If we are kidnappers, why did he bring us the two leaders? Of the two, one turns out well and the other turns out bad. The one that turned out wrong continues with the same routines, and the one who turned out well came [back] and said: thanks to indigenous justice my life has changed. Do you really think that [he] would have changed with ordinary justice? No way!

leaders in San Pedro who dealt with the case of Las Sombras Negras soon faced another lawsuit as retaliation. A resentful community member who according to Richard had swindled his aunt and fraudulently appropriated her land played a key role in the unfolding of events. When this community member was brought before the law of the community for the issue with his aunt, he fled a complaint for kidnapping before the ordinary justice, alleging that he had been forcibly taken from his home against his will to be present at the time of the trial assembly.10 This complaint was followed by others who ended up causing Richard and other members of the indigenous justice consortium to be accused of kidnapping and extortion by the offcial state justice system (Saavedra et al., 2017). Six community leaders from San Pedro were imprisoned because of this confict and only received an amnesty in June 2020.11

Such conficts between community members and between justice systems is linked to the political polarization that the country experienced under the presidency of Rafael Correa (2007–2017), who despite his progressive profle persistently persecuted social leaders, especially from indigenous communities and organizations. The Attorney General's Offce itself acknowledged that between 2009 and 2014 there had been at least 400 judicial processes every year for crimes against the security of the State, among them, more than a hundred per year for crimes of sabotage and terrorism directed at indigenous leaders (Ospina, 2021). According to the INREDH investigation (Saavedra et al., 2017), what happened with the Indigenous Justice Consortium in San Pedro could be defned as a persecution against community leaders of indigenous justice. During the judicial process, Richard had the opportunity to meet with government offcials who accompanied the process in Cañar and he related his conversation with them to us:

Indigenous justice has done things which ordinary justice has not been able to do. Ordinary justice, do you know what it is for? It only serves to steal money, that's what it is good for. On this occasion, I said to the Minister: 'You, the government delegate, the vice-president's delegate, I will give you an example and you please answer me. You have 20 heads of cattle, and when they take ten, how many do you keep? Ten, correct.  Let the thieves take them away? You are not going to do that, right?  The lawyer, what is he going to say? And the Prosecutor's offce, what are they going to say? They will tell you to go to the place where the cows were taken. Very well, they all go there to see if there are any witnesses. There is nothing! The case ends there. So, you lose! You lose the cows, you lose the money for the lawyer. On the other hand, the indigenous justice, what can it do? The indigenous justice persecutes the guilty person until fnding their whereabouts, and when that occurs, what will we have achieved? We have recovered the cattle, and even given a "punishment" to the person who stole it. What is ordinary justice going to do? Nothing. (Interview with Richard, July 28, 2017)

10 It was not the frst time this community member was implicated in an event of indigenous justice. Previously, a coyote had charged him for the migration of his daughter. The migration failed and through indigenous justice this community member was able to recover part of his investment.

11For more information, see INREDH (2020).

The perceived effectiveness of indigenous justice described here has increased signifcantly since the confict in San Pedro. Many Kañari have good reasons to distrust the ordinary Ecuadorian legal system due to the historic abuses they have suffered as indigenous peoples. The processes of irregularization, historic subalternization, and political criminalization of indigenous leadership have together pushed indigenous communities to use their own institutions as the only alternative to access true justice and to build accountability around the local institution of coyoterismo which is crucial to livelihoods and social reproduction in the region.

#### **7.6 Conclusions**

This chapter has explored the intersection between irregularized migration and indigenous justice in Southern Ecuador. By starting from an understanding of coyoterismo as a community-based activity embedded in the social fabric of migrantsending communities, we have examined the limits of the contractual relationships established between smugglers (coyoteros), money-lenders (chulqueros), and migrants and their families who rely on these services to sustain their transnationally mobile livelihoods. Specifcally, we have shown how indigenous migrants from Cañar make use of multiple legal systems to assert their agency and establish accountability vis-a-vis the coyotes who facilitate the region's ongoing migration to the United States.

Although the chapter deals with a very particular case, it contributes to broadening our knowledge of migrant smuggling in the Global South as a grounded social and cultural practice through which people access international migration. Considering both transnational dimensions and local understandings of opportunities and risks in migrants' places of origin and calling into question taken for granted conceptions about victims and victimizers, our study contributes ethnographic evidence to understand how subalternized populations in Latin America confront their lack of legal options for migration. In this effort to empirically situate migrant smuggling as something other than just ruthless criminal activity with dire consequences for innocent victims, we have focused on how local communities use both indigenous and ordinary justice to reduce loss and remedy potential abuses in irregular migration.

On the one hand, we have shown how indigenous justice is mobilized in contexts of migration most importantly around the issue of recovering money from coyotes when migration fails. Sometimes ordinary justice is also used for this purpose, but the Kañari have little confdence in this system. On the other hand, indigenous justice is also preferred when a community seeks to prevent a member from being imprisoned for coyoterismo within the ordinary system. In this way, indigenous justice allows for the protection of the institution of coyoterismo, which is benefcial to both sellers and buyers of migration facilitation services. For the coyote, satisfed customers means referrals to other family members, increased economic gains, and a reputation of reliability which might turn into social and political capital. For the prospective migrant and their families and communities in the area, coyoterismo is a necessary social and economic infrastructure to ensure ongoing mobility projects. It should be remembered here that these strategies are motivated by the signifcant differences between the two systems. While ordinary justice is punitive and seeks to imprison those it deems guilty, indigenous justice is both reparative and corrective: the accused is obliged to return what was stolen through material reparation, and healing and reintegration into the community is understood to be more effective than the punitive logic of imprisonment, because the accused is ultimately an ongoing member of the community. Finally, the indigenous justice system is also applied to cases of conficts in the community that its members understand to derive from the migration process including gang activity. Young migrants or children of migrants are seen as having been harmed and/or "corrupted" in the United States and must be coached back into the ranks by indigenous justice.

We want to end by making a fnal comment about the national and transnational context. The progressive Ecuadorian Constitution of 2008 produced two crucial paradoxes affecting the life and social organization of the Kañari. On the one hand, the progressive declaration of "universal citizenship" did not cease to be selective to those who have economic resources and class and racial privilege and can emigrate – or immigrate – through regular channels. On the other hand, the recognition of plurinationality in the 2008 Constitution accepts indigenous justice but only within their own local jurisdictions or territories and under the observance of the State and international human rights regimes. These paradoxes have become open forms of discrimination and criminalization of communities who must use coyoterismo to fulfll their migratory and vital projects and of indigenous people who use indigenous justice systems to recreate their communities and sustain them in the light of ongoing state coloniality and global transformations. For the Kañari both paradoxes are part of their ongoing predicament as indigenous peoples in a racist and neocolonial state and in a globalized capitalist system. To this must be added that the social condition produced by the irregularity of their migration follows the Kañari to their destination. With very few options for migrating with state authorization most Kañari have been persistently forced to migrate via irregular routes and live as undocumented migrants. The only form of "family reunifcation" available to them is to continue to use the facilitation services of migrant smugglers to bring their family members to the United States.

#### **References**

(Im)mobilities in the Americas. (2020). COVID-19 e (in)movilidad en las Américas. https://www. inmovilidadamericas.org/el-proyecto

Aguilar, D. (2014, July 7). *Tráfco de niños: de Ecuador a EEUU, pasando por el Inferno*. La Historia. https://www.lahistoria.ec/2014/07/14/trafco-de-ninos-de-ecuador-al-inferno/

Álvarez Velasco, S. (2020). From Ecuador to elsewhere: The (re)confguration of a transit country. *Migration and Society, 3*(1), 34–49. https://doi.org/10.3167/arms.2020.111403

**Ulla D. Berg** is Associate Professor of Anthropology and Latino and Caribbean Studies at Rutgers University. A socio-cultural and visual anthropologist by training, her research and teaching focuses on transnational migration and (im)mobility in Latin America and among U.S. Latino populations. Berg is the author of Mobile Selves: Race, Migration, and Belonging in Peru and the U.S. (NYU Press, 2015) and co-editor of Transnational Citizenship Across the Americas (Routledge, 2014). Berg's current research examines the effects of U.S. immigrant detention and deportation on migrant communities in Peru and Ecuador.

**Lucía Pérez Martínez** is a sociologist. She holds a Master degree in Sociology from FLACSO Ecuador and a Master in Psychoanalysis from the Pontifcia Universidad Católica del Ecuador in in Quito. Her research and teaching interests include sociological and anthropological theory, gender and migration. She has extensive research experience on migration, gender and ethnicity in Ecuador. Between 2012 and 2019 she held a position as researcher in the Sociology Department at the Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences (FLACSO-Ecuador). Pérez Martínez is a member of the feminist group *Mujeres de Frente* and part of the editorial board of the feminist magazine *Flor del Guanto*

**Open Access** This chapter is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license and indicate if changes were made.

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# **Part III Racism Xenophobia and Struggles Over Migrant's Rights**

# **Chapter 8 Institutional and Social Xenophobia Towards Venezuelan Migrants in the Context of a Racialized Country: The Case of Peru**

**Cécile Blouin and Cristina Zamora Gómez**

#### **8.1 Introduction**

Until 2015, Peru did not recognize itself as a migrant-receiving country (Busse & Vásquez Luque, 2016). Although Peru, like other countries the region, has faced many changes in migration patterns including transit migration from Haiti, the selfperception as a country of emigrants was still predominant until the onset of Venezuelan migration in 2016 (Álvarez Velasco, 2020; Busse & Vásquez Luque, 2016; Lausent-Herrera, 2009). Venezuelan migrants feeing from humanitarian, political, and socioeconomic crises have predominantly migrated within South America and especially to Peru and Colombia, the two principals' recipients with almost 1.2 million and 1 million Venezuelan migrants, respectively (UNHCR, 2021). Both countries had seen their migration dynamics transformed with this unprecedented and fast-growing migration. In the case of Peru, this migration has not been accompanied by a comprehensive rights-guaranteeing immigration policy, but rather by a confused policy characterized by exceptional and temporary measures at frst, and later by restrictive measures including a visa requirement to enter the national territory and the impossibility of seeking asylum, among others (Blouin, 2021a). With the pandemic, the closure of borders and militarization took center stage.

According to the National Institute of Statistics and Informatics (INEI), in 2019, 35.6% of the Venezuelan population residing in Peru suffered some form of discrimination. Discrimination affected more women than men. Of the total Venezuelan migrant population residing in Peru who reported having suffered discrimination,

C. Blouin (\*)

Pontifcia Universidad Católica del Perú, Lima, Peru e-mail<EMAIL_ADDRESS>
C. Zamora Gómez University of Seville, Sevilla, Spain 64.9% reported incidents on the street or in public places, 48.1% in the workplace, 25.6% in public transport, and 10.9% in their community or neighborhood (INEI, 2019). Discrimination against migrants refects a broader pattern: Peru, despite being multiethnic, has been profoundly marked by structural discrimination against Indigenous people and Afro-Peruvians (Callirgos, 2015; Drinot, 2006).1

In this context, indicators of rejection and xenophobia towards the Venezuelan population have increased between 2017 and 2019 (IOP, 2019, 2020). These reactions, far from being uniform, are expressed differently according to gender, social class, and ethnicity (Freier & Pérez, 2021; Pérez & Ugarte, 2021), inserting themselves into the structural dynamics of discrimination in Peru (Callirgos, 2015). In addition, the category of the non-citizen as a person denied the rights associated with nationality simply because they are foreign, is confgured to justify exclusion. This is in total contradiction to the supposition of universal equality and the institutional discourses in place to fght xenophobia.

The literature around xenophobia and racism against migrants is predominantly focused on South-North migration and there are few studies around the phenomenon of xenophobia in the context of South-South migration, especially in South America. In the case of countries such as Chile, Argentina or Brazil that have received migrants from the region in the last 20 years, studies have emerged in the last decade (Stefoni et al., 2017; Tijoux Merino & Córdova Rivera, 2015; Chan & Strabucchi, 2020). While there is a growing academic interest in xenophobia, research has not focused on the case of Peru, with the exception of a regional study from Oxfam International (2019) and a recently-published paper by Freier and Pérez (2021). Moreover, in the case of Peru, scholars have not explored how xenophobia and racism intersect and connect. Addressing this gap, this chapter examines xenophobia in Peru against the Venezuelan community from an institutional and social perspective, addressing how both perspectives are relational and selfsustaining in a context of racialization. On one hand, we examine the construction of an exclusive migration policy that positioned the migrant as a threat. On the other hand, we analyze the perceptions of Venezuelan migration by the local population who defne migrants as a threat to their security, employment, or culture. Although aware of the importance of the media in the rise of xenophobia, this chapter focuses on how xenophobia is produced by institutional practices and their social repercussions.

We use a mixed methodology that combines literature and political-normative analysis with quantitative data analysis. The surveys conducted at the Institute of Public Opinion of the Pontifcia Universidad Católica del Perú in 2018 and 2019 on xenophobia will be used as a primary and principal source for exploring the perceptions of the Peruvian population. Aware of the methodological limitations of surveys, we complete our analysis with recent qualitative studies on Venezuelan migration.

1According to the 1st National Survey 'Perceptions and attitudes on cultural diversity and ethnicracial discrimination' 53% of respondents think that Peruvians are racist or very racists (Ministerio de Cultura, 2018).

The chapter begins with an analysis of the concepts of xenophobia, racism, and hate speech. Starting with a literature review, we study the points of convergence and differences between these concepts and their distinct meaning in South America in general, and in Peru in particular. We then explain the institutional xenophobia in Peru with a study of the legal background –in both international and national arenas – and the evolution of migration policy in Peru. The third section explores social xenophobia in three mains areas: employment and economy, culture, and criminality. We end by briefy giving some conclusions and suggesting some possible areas for future research.

#### **8.2 Literature Review: Xenophobia, Racism, Discrimination and Hate Speech**

Xenophobia, as defned by the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, is "fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners." This is a classic defnition of xenophobia that relates to a psychological state of hostility or fear. However, more recent research has focused on understanding the relationship between xenophobia and ethnocentrism or nativism (Yakushko, 2009). Ethnocentrism is the attitude of a social group, including a nation-state, that considers its own culture or group superior to others (Hagendoorn & Sniderman, 2001). For its part, nativism describes negative feelings towards immigrants and migration. Nativism, according to Higham (1988), is related to the idea that migration entails the loss of economic status for nationals. The hackneyed mantra is: "they take away our jobs." This is an ideological threat, which is not supported by solid economic studies, but when supported by media coverage can spread toxically. In the nativist approach national identity is based on birth (Esses et al., 2005). In her study of illegal aliens in the United States, Nagai develops the concept of 'legal racialization' that produce 'alien citizens' with formal citizenship but who remain 'alien in the eyes of the nation' (Ngai, 2004, p. 8). Their belonging to a specifc ethnic group defnes them as permanently foreigner despite being US citizens.

Racism and xenophobia are intersecting systems of social oppression. Racism as a system of oppression is based on histories of subordination, slavery, colonialism, and segregation. According to Quijano, race has "proved to be the most effective and enduring instrument of universal social domination" (2014, p. 780). The notion of race has its origins in America where it was used by colonizers to legitimate their power and domination. The explanation for racism is found in the domination and exploitation of one social group over others. The way to justify this domination is by creating the fction of race: phenotypic markers, such as skin color, that are visible and that allow differentiating groups of people (Castles & Miller, 1993). The category of race is, however, also malleable and has to be studied in its particular context and moment (Koopman, 2021).

The Spanish conquest of Peru in the sixteenth century created a colonial society with castes which were both legal and ethnic categories (Drinot, 2006). The independence of the country did not abolish racism, but rather created different legal and social mechanisms for excluding Indigenous and Afro-Peruvians.2 Rather than using categories such as 'white', 'Indian', or 'Black', most Peruvian people identify others and themselves as 'mestizos' (Callirgos, 2015). However, far from the idea that 'we are all mestizo', Indigenous and Afro- Peruvian continue to be racialized. On the other hand, white skin color is associated with economic prosperity and family happiness by the mainstream media (Portocarrero, 2013). According to Portocarrero, 'the "whitening utopia" (*blanqueamiento*) means the colonization of the imaginary of Indians and mestizos. It is a promise of recognition that encourages a strategy based on effort and perseverance' (Portocarrero, 2013). As in Colombia, marrying and having a family with someone whiter is perceived as a good strategy to 'improve breed (in Peru) or family (in Colombia)' (Koopman, 2021). According to De la Cadena, Peruvian intellectuals from the highlands can be also '*blanqueados*' (whitened). Their higher levels of education cover for their '*serrano*' (highland Indigenous) phenotype (De la Cadena, 1998). In this sense, racism in Peru has shifted from race to culture and class. In Peru as in many other South American societies, race and class intersect, so classifying individuals within a racial group also means classifying them socio-economically and culturally (Callirgos, 2015).

In the case of xenophobia, the justifcation for oppression emanates from one's status as a foreigner. Although phenotypic traits are not central in this defnition, in many occasions' migrants are racialized. In both discourses of oppression, a binary factor operates. Racism defnes who is above and below on a scale of humanity, that is, which body is exploitable: the racialized body. Xenophobia defnes who is threatened (the nationals) and who threatens them (the foreigners). This binary logic of xenophobia is infuenced by the globalized fear economy (Ahmed, 2004). Both systems of oppression – like all systems of oppression – are fundamentally based on creating differences between people, and then assigning a differential value to those differences to the point of making them essential. Finally, these systems marginalize one group from the other. This is how "otherness" is built. This "otherness" plays a major role in the construction of citizenship. Sachetti pays attention to three related, but slightly different concepts: population (inhabitants), people (specifc group) and nation (a, unifed group with citizenship). From a legal point of view, those who hold all human, civil and political rights are citizens who belong to the nation (Sachetti, 2009). Citizenship is in this way an elevated category with respect to the resident population within national borders. Migrants, and especially irregular ones, are excluded from citizenship.

Little attention has been paid, however, to the mechanisms of racism against migrants and xenophobia in South-South migration contexts. A recent study from

2For instance, until 1980, there was a literacy requirement to vote in Peruvian national elections. This discriminatory criterion excluded a great portion of the population and especially Indigenous and Afro-Peruvians who did not have access to education (Drinot, 2006).

Oxfam International (2019) reveals that positive and negative perceptions of the effects of immigration coexist in the collective imagination of the countries where South-South migration occurs. In the case of Peru, which does not have a tradition of receiving migration, the response to South-South migration is ambivalent. On the one hand, society and institutions have responded with understanding and solidarity. This reaction can be related to the history of emigration to Venezuela but also to political discourses of welcoming which were predominant between 2016 and 2017. On the other hand, in a second moment, the association of immigrants with insecurity, the collapse of social services, and the general desire for immigrants to leave the country as soon as possible, have constituted a politics of rejection which have permeated Peruvian society (Blouin, 2021a).

 We argue that to in order for a society to produce hate speech there must have been public policies permissive of xenophobia.  The idea of criminalization plays a fundamental role in hate speech towards migrants. Migrants are seen as a threat to sovereignty, public welfare, and national security (Freier & Pérez, 2021). Once xenophobia is constructed and endorsed by institutions, it is a short passage to hate speech. In contexts where migration does not occur through safe and regular channels, hate speech becomes more evident. There is a very strong link between the idea of illegality and criminality. Although it is not a crime according to International Law,3 most "illegal" migrants are considered criminals. In fact, it is the state that creates the categories of legal or illegal migrants in the production of migration law (De Genova, 2002); states promote illegality by not creating safe migration channels for some groups of "undesirable migrants" even while for other groups, state powers choose to create facilities for regular migration. This idea of illegality and criminality is augmented by border technologies. As Domenech argues, the marking of borders and their militarization, "provide a symbolic solution to the transnational phenomenon of global migration: they narrate to the citizen that the state protects against the unwanted migrant who is not welcome" (Domenech, 2018, p. 39). Thus, "otherness" is also related to physical borders which represent the delimitation between "us" and "them" at the root of xenophobia.

In this chapter, we choose to distinguish between institutional xenophobia and social xenophobia. Whereas social xenophobia refers to the ways society expresses its fear of foreigners, institutional xenophobia focuses on how institutional actors target migrants as a source of problems through formal legislation and public policies as well as discourses and practices. We use this difference to shed light on how xenophobia is expressed differently by different actors with different levels of infuence and responsibility in society. Doing so allows us to highlight, on the one hand, the role of public actors in generating fear and hostility against migrants in societies through legislation, speeches, and bordering practices. On the other hand, we can

3See e.g., the Protocolo Contra el Tráfco Ilícito de Migrantes por Tierra, Mar y Aire, que Complementa la Convención de las Naciones Unidas Contra la Delincuencia Organizada Transnacional (Ofcina de las Naciones Unidas contra la droga y el delito, 2005).

analyze how this mainstreaming discourse is assimilated by the population through oppressive and discriminatory behavior towards migrants.

#### **8.3 The Construction of Institutional Xenophobia: Discourses and Practices**

In 1965 the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD) was signed. Although the Convention dates from 1965 and the context of apartheid, racial discrimination is still current, along with the hate speech that emanates from it. The convention concerns people who suffer discrimination on the ground of race, color, lineage, or national or ethnic origin, and its Article 4 provided the frst manifestation of the prohibition of hate speech in International Human Rights Law.4

The part of the convention related to substantive law urges states to prohibit manifestations of racial discrimination throughout their territories. More specifcally, states must endeavor to eliminate norms and/or practices that could lead to such discrimination. General Recommendation 35 of the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD), 'combating racist hate speech,' highlights that: 'Racist hate speech can take many forms and is not confned to explicitly racial remarks'.5 The convention therefore recognizes that hate speech can take many forms beyond explicitly racist discourses (Jiménez Sánchez, 2020).

The Peruvian state ratifed the ICERD in 1971, and article 2.2 of the Political Constitution of 1993 establishes equality before the law. The new Migration Law, which replaced the Foreigner Law (*Ley de Extranjería*) of 1991 (considered obsolete), was anchored in a vision of national security far from the protection and guarantee of migrants' human rights (Zamora et al., 2022), but did formally recognize human rights of migrants in several areas including education, access to justice, and health. Article VIII specifcally states the principle of non-discrimination: 'The State promotes the abolition of any type of discrimination and the elimination of any type of prejudice in migration issues and rejects especially xenophobia and racism' (our translation). This reference to racism and xenophobia is unique to this law. The legal framework around discrimination and racism in the country is fragmented

4Article 4 affrms that: "States Parties condemn all propaganda and all organizations which are based on ideas or theories of superiority of one race or group of persons of one color or ethnic origin, or which attempt to justify or promote racial hatred and discrimination in any form."

5 "The Committee considers that the following contextual factors must be taken into account: the content and form of the speech (…); the economic, social, and political climate prevalent at the time the speech was made and disseminated (…); the position or status of the speaker in society and the audience to which the speech is directed (…); the reach of the speech, including the nature of the audience and the means of transmission (…); the objectives of the speech: speech protecting or defending the human rights of individuals and groups should not be subject to criminal or other sanctions (…)." (Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination [CERD], 2013)

and mostly focused on the criminalization of discrimination. In 2000 (Ley No. 27270), the crime of discrimination was added to the Peruvian Penal Code and for 17 years the description and the motives of discrimination have been modifed to better respond to new forms of discrimination. In 2017 (Decreto Legislativo No. 1323), 'nationality' and 'migratory status' were added to the large list of grounds of discrimination such as race, religion, sex, age, disability, etc.

Despite the formal rejection of xenophobia in the law, xenophobic institutional discourses and practices have increased in the last 4 years. The municipal and regional elections in 2018 (Berganza & Blouin, 2021) and the presidential election campaign of 2021 were characterized by the xenophobic discourses of several candidates. Moreover, the former President of Peru, Martin Vizcarra, declared publicly in June 2019 that 'bad elements' from Venezuela needed to be removed at the same time as he was promoting the need for the humanitarian visa and facilitating a massive deportation operation with the Interior Ministry (Blouin, 2021a). Similar declarations had also been made by local authorities in Lima and other cities in Peru (Berganza & Blouin, 2021).

To understand the complexities and contradictions of the Peruvian Migration Law, we use the concepts of 'hostility policies' and 'selective hospitality policies' proposed by Domenech (2020) for the Argentinian context. Both policies, though contradictory, coexist in the management and control of migration. The hostility policy 'condenses multiple practices and representations of actors whose interventions have the effect of criminalizing and securitizing migration and borders' (Domenech, 2020, p. 6) (our translation). Some examples of these types of practices may be new tactics of border control, deportations, or the militarization of borders. We argue that this type of hostility characterized by the criminalization and securitization of migrants is directly connected with institutional xenophobia in the case of Peru. This type of xenophobia creates fear against migrants by different means but also shapes public opinion, making the foreign population a scapegoat for the country's structural problems such as insecurity and informality. Institutional xenophobia is also performed at different levels by different actors such as the national government, including the executive and legislative powers, and municipalities. On the other hand, the selective hospitality policy differentiates between desirable or undesirable migrants and promotes the regularization of the welcome, 'deserving' migrants. These concepts shed light on the heterogenous, changing, and dynamic characteristics of migration control (Domenech, 2020).

In the Peruvian case, hostility and selective hospitality measures have been present from the adoption of the new Migration Law (Decreto Legislativo 1350) in 2017 and the adoption of the Temporary Stay Permit (*Permiso Temporal de Permanencia, PTP*) for several specifc groups between 2017 and 2018.6 The regularization

6The frst PTP (Decreto Supremo No. 001-2017-IN) was established for foreign parents of Peruvian children who need to obtain migratory regularisation. This measure was adopted to respond to the necessities of victims of intimate partner violence who were unable to obtain a regular status in the country without the authorization of their violent husbands (Zamora et al., 2022). The following PTPs were only made available for Venezuelan migrants (Acosta et al., 2019).

mechanism of the PTP as a temporary, exceptional, and group-limited measure illustrates the concept of selective hospitality. Despite this frst welcome measure, step-by-step the Peruvian government has adopted a myriad of new regulations to limit the arrival of Venezuelan migrants and their regularization in the country, including requiring new documents for entrance, a passport and visa, and limitations on the right to asylum (Blouin, 2021a). The justifcation for these regulations was the necessity of national security and protection of the national population. This type of justifcation is related to the essence of xenophobia. By creating the idea that Peru needs more regulation to protect the country from migrants, the State creates an atmosphere of fear and threat. The same new regulations of the requirement of a passport and humanitarian visa establish that some groups considered vulnerable such as older migrants or children could enter the country without complying with the regulation (Blouin, 2021a). This exception clearly expresses the categorization of migrants as either 'vulnerable' or 'criminal'. The frst group needs support to enter and live in the country while the other needs to be removed. In reality, however, this form of exception is not functioning well in practice and many migrants face rejection and illegality (AI, 2020).

The xenophobic responses to migration are also composed of distinctive practices of criminalization of migrants, especially, but not only, directed to Venezuelan migrants. The rise in the visibility of expulsions by the sensationalization in the media has contributed to the climate of hostility toward this population in particular (Blouin et al., 2020). The pandemic has also been an excuse for militarization of Peru's border control at the beginning of 2021, which has reinforced the policy of hostility (Zamora et al., 2022). This militarization has also had consequences for other populations such as the Haitian migrants who were stranded in Brazil between February and March 2021 when they tried to enter Peru to continue their journey to the North of the continent (*Gestión*, 2021). We argue that militarization is highly signifcant in catalyzing xenophobic responses. By implementing a warlike response to migrants' movements, the Peruvian State legitimates the rejection and hostility against the invading others.

Hostility towards migrants has also been encouraged by the increase in identifcation raids. This practice, which occurs throughout the national territory, but especially in Lima and the border zone of Tumbes, foments fear of deportation and uncertainty for Venezuelan migrants (Blouin, 2021b). These operations are normally carried out at the behest of the National Superintendency of Migration (MIGRACIONES) with the cooperation of the police. Another important element for our analysis is the visibility of these raids, which take place in public areas such as markets and main squares. These practices are therefore not only violent towards migrants themselves but also impact the perceptions of migrants among the native population. MIGRACIONES has also signed several collaboration agreements with municipalities to promote migration control, which is particularly worrying since, in theory, migration is not within the jurisdiction of municipalities. Nevertheless, some municipalities, including the city of Cusco, have even adopted discriminatory laws to exclude Venezuelans from the labor market (Berganza & Blouin, 2021).

The institutional xenophobia is also palpable in the Peruvian Congress, where in the last 2 years xenophobic bills have proliferated (Coordinadora Nacional de Derechos Humanos Perú et al., 2020; Defensoría del Pueblo, 2020) – a tendency which contradicts the few initiatives taken by this power in relation to migration over the last decade.7 The projects, presented by different political parties,8 aim to reinforce migration control by changing the rules for deportations (Draft Law N°5625-2020; Draft Law N° 4958-2020), creating a new crime of 'illegal reentering', erasing the mechanism of PTP (Draft Law N° 5349-2020),9 and changing the causes of deportation, including for misdemeanors (Draft Law N° 07079/2020- CR) In other words, these bills are part of the hate speech discourses and practices that criminalize migration. Moreover, none of the congressional representatives have proposed a progressive law project around migration. Overall, all of the projects have worked to consolidate the idea of migrants as a threat, contributing to the institutional xenophobia of the executive power and other actors.

#### **8.4 Social Xenophobia**

By social xenophobia, we mean the rejection of migrants by society. In this section, we analyze the perceptions and reactions of Peruvian citizens to Venezuelan migration. We support our fndings with three surveys conducted by the IOP between 2018 and 2020. This section is divided into three areas: employment and economy, culture, and criminality.

#### *8.4.1 Employment and Economy*

As in other contexts (Rzepnikowska, 2019; Yakushko, 2009), surveys show that Venezuelan migrants are perceived as an economic threat responsible for society's structural problems such as job shortages, unemployment, and economic crises. Indeed, the employment and economy appeared as an important source of anxiety for the native population in Lima in surveys conducted in both 2018 and 2019. The perception that jobs are being lost to migration is widespread among the native population: the percentage in agreement with the statement "Venezuelans are taking jobs away from many Peruvians" ranged between 73% (2018) and 76% (2019) (IOP, 2019, 2020). Secondly, the vast majority of respondents see the consequences of immigration on the economy as negative: the statement "the arrival of so many

7The Migration Law was in fact not debated in Congress since it was adopted by the Executive Decree.

8One of the principal problems in Peru is the fragility of its political parties. This characteristic could be an explanation for anti-migration positions in Congress (Blouin et al., 2020).

9This bill was archived in November 2020.

Venezuelans will harm the Peruvian economy" saw more than 70% agreement (73% in 2018 and 77% in 2019) (IOP, 2019, 2020). Regarding migration policies, between 13% and 14% (IOP, 2019, 2020) of participants agreed with the statement "allow them [migrants] to come while there is work available". There was no substantial change between 2018 and 2019 that might explain the fear of nationals of job loss due to the arrival of Venezuelans. Some authors argue that Venezuelans are seen as competitors of the native population who are inserted in an informal labor market characterized by its elasticity and capacity to contain a large number of workers (Koechlin Costa et al., 2019).

This perception is also related to institutional xenophobia. Peru has not reformed the Law on Hiring Foreign Workers (Decreto Legislativo n. ° 689) since 1991. This law was adopted during the autocratic government of Alberto Fujimori and is accordingly anchored in nationalism and protectionism of national workers. This law limits access to employment of foreigners to 20% of a company's payroll regardless of the size of the company. This has strong impacts on micro and small enterprises that cannot legally hire foreigners. Besides, the goals of this law contradict the PTP which was designed for labor integration.

It is also important to understand this data in the light of the socio-economic conditions of the job market in Peru and how these conditions impact both national and Venezuelan workers. At the end of 2019, 697,000 Peruvians were seeking employment, a total of 17 million workers (Gamero & Pérez, 2020). Generalized informal work10 is a principal trait of the job market in Peru (OIT, 2018) and particularly affects certain groups such as young people and women. This sector plays a fundamental role in the economy of many families since the informal sector, and especially self-employment, is an opportunity when possibilities for formal work are closed (Sánchez Barrenechea et al., 2020). The vast majority of Venezuelan migrants are inserted in this informal job market for legal and economic reasons (Blouin, 2019). According to the INEI 88.5% of Venezuelans working as employees do so without a contract (Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática, 2019). They face precarious labor conditions such as lower salaries, long hours of work,11 and discrimination in the workplace (Blouin, 2019; Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática, 2019; Koechlin Costa et al., 2019).

ENPOVE data show that 6% of Venezuelans are unemployed, a much higher percentage than the Peruvian national unemployment rate of 3.9% (Bahar et al., 2020). Unemployment is 3 times higher for Venezuelan women (Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática, 2019). In this context, 20% of Venezuelans who are

10There is a large debate around the defnition of "informal work". The absence of a work contract and thus social rights such as social security is generally considered defnitive of informal work. However, it is important to use a larger framework to understand the vulnerability of formal works and the impossibility of formalization of informal jobs in the Peruvian context (Cuenca & Urrutia, 2018).

11According to the INEI, 69.4% of this population are over-employed, that is, they work 51 to more hours per week (38.4% from 51 to 70 h and 31.0% more than 71 h). 22.7% work between 31 and 50 h a week and only 7.9% work less than 31 h a week.

working are self-employed (Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática, 2019). For Koechlin Costa et al. (2019) self-employment among Venezuelan migrants is motivated by different causes, from past experiences to the necessities of care. The frst reason for choosing self-employment is linked to the possibility of a higher salary without the control of an employer. The second reason is the necessity of a fexible schedule to take care of the family, especially for Venezuelan women who are usually in charge of reproductive tasks. Moreover, precarious work conditions and situations of abuse by employers in previous jobs are also motivations for opting for a self-employment. Another explanation would be discrimination. Direct hiring discrimination has been reported, for instance, restaurants that advertise that they are 'looking for waitresses, not Venezuelan' (Sánchez Barrenechea et al., 2020). Thus, the possibility of fnding a paid dependent job is extremely diffcult. In the case of those who fnd a job despite these conditions, discrimination does not disappear and is expressed through insults, humiliation, and mistreatment, directly related to their nationality, from employees, colleagues, and also clients in the case of shops and restaurants (Sánchez Barrenechea et al., 2020). In this context, many migrants fnd in self-employment an escape from these situations of discrimination.

Regarding the perceptions of the characteristics of Venezuelan migrant workers, we can observe several shifts during the years studied. In 2018, 74% of the respondents agreed with the statement, "the majority of Venezuelans who arrive in Peru are hard-working and enterprising people," while in 2019 the percentage fell to 52% (IOP, 2019, 2020).

Hard work and entrepreneurship (*emprendedurismo*) are well valued in Peru because of the precarious conditions of employment and the few social programs that exist to face these conditions.12 We also notice in several studies with Peruvian employers that the 'bad experiences' reported by them began to create a certain image of 'the good' versus 'the bad' Venezuelan employee (Blouin, 2019; Sánchez Barrenechea et al., 2020). This type of myth is also important in the construction of the *other*, in this case as a migrant worker.  Thus, they also deal with more situations of gendered abuse and discrimination (Koechlin Costa et al., 2019; Sánchez Barrenechea et al., 2020).

The changes in this perception can also be explained by shifts in institutional discourses and practices. In 2017, the former President of Perú described Venezuelans as people in need with severe economic problems in their own country. At the same time, he promoted the PPT for (temporary) inclusion in the workforce. In a second moment, from 2018 to 2019, the Government has implemented various bureaucratic strategies to irregularize them, with a discourse related to the rhetoric of fear and threat.

This shift is also concomitant with the changes in the profle of Venezuelan migrants, and especially the level of education. The composition of Venezuelan

12For instance, there is no unemployment insurance in Peru.

migration to Peru between 2017 and 2019 shifted from highly educated people to more middle- and low-class migrants with little or no higher education (Blouin, 2019; Coordinadora Nacional de Derechos Humanos Perú et al., 2020). It is indeed not surprising that the percentage in agreement with the statement, 'Venezuelans residing in the country have had a good education in their country' dropped from 69% in 2018 to 45% in 2019 (IOP, 2019, 2020). Beyond the statistics, it is necessary to read this result in the national context of discrimination. In Peru, discrimination is a complex phenomenon that overlaps many variables such as education. Having or not having higher education in Peru is one more argument for discrimination, where most privileged people normally reach the highest level of education. As we have explained, education can be a powerful whitening factor (De la Cadena, 1998). Without education, Venezuelans are more likely to face discrimination.

#### *8.4.2 Culture*

The goal of xenophobic discourses is to discriminate between differences. In this sense, differentiation is a mere instrument that justifes different treatment. Thus, the more these differences are essentialized, the more justifed the unequal treatment will be. Racist discourse postulates an essential biological determination to culture but its referent may be any group that has been 'socially' constructed as having a different 'origin,' whether cultural, biological, or historical (Anthias & Yuval-Davis, 1983, p. 67). Cultural questions remain central because they are linked with nationalism and nativism. Unlike race, which is determined by birth, culture is presented as a reality of 'acquired nature' (Gil-Benumeya, 2018, p. 57). This creates the paradox that the subordinate group chooses and assumes that nature. Thus, individuals themselves are held responsible for their status as excluded: 'they do not adapt to our customs.'

In the Peruvian national reality, minorities or ethnically differentiated social groups characterized by cultural heterogeneity and linguistic plurality have differentiated access to rights due to structural and powerful strategies of domination (Callirgos, 2015; De la Cadena, 1998; Portocarrero, 2013). This problem of discrimination towards cultural pluralism is rooted in public institutions, although civil society organizations are struggling to lay the foundations for inclusive and multicultural citizenship. Thus, the discourse of otherness is a familiar discourse.

In this work and especially for the Venezuelan migrants in Peru, we argue that cultural difference is one of the central concepts in the creation of an *us* and a *them*. Race has been partially displaced by culture as a central concept in the creation of difference (De la Cadena, 1998). In this sense, race and culture intersect in the phenomenon of discrimination. Despite this background, few studies have focused on racial and cultural aspects of Venezuelan migration to Peru (Berganza & Solórzano, 2019). Although cultural diversity is one of the less controversial items in the

surveys13 there is a perception of great cultural differences among the native population.

To the question, "how similar are the customs and way of life of Peruvians and Venezuelans?" 41.3% of the respondents in 2018 answered, 'very/quite different' (IOP, 2019). Geographical analysis of the data shows differences between rural and urban areas: 44% in Lima-Callao and 42.4% in the urban interior agreed, while 33.8% of the respondents in the rural interior agreed. This is particularly interesting since cultural customs differ widely between rural and urban areas and the perceptions of diversity, for instance of accent or language, can be seen quite differently. However, this data can be explained by the fact that more Venezuelans live in the cities and most of them in the capital. According to the socio-economic level of the respondents, the percentages ranged between 34.4% (on the A/B economic scale), 45.6% (on the C economic scale), and 40.6% (on the D/E economic scale).14 These fndings are interesting because they capture some nuances around the capacity for openness to other cultures that do not necessarily correlate on an economic scale. It is necessary to deepen these aspects to better understand the dynamics of inclusion and exclusion. The survey from 2019 that focused on Lima/Callao showed that the percentage increased: 51% of the respondents agreed that the customs and way of life of Peruvians and Venezuelans are 'very/quite different' while in 2018 for this city the percentage was 44% (IOP, 2018).

Regarding the perceptions around occupation of public spaces by migrants, 40% of the respondents answered, 'yes, many' to the following question: have you seen Venezuelans on the public highway in your neighborhood or town? (IOP, 2019). It is important to note that for Lima and Callao this percentage has not shown a signifcant increase (only 1 point) between 2018 and 2019, despite the increase in the number of migrants (IOP, 2020). There is a belief assigned to the Venezuelan community in Peru that Venezuelans occupy much more public space than nationals (Blouin, 2019). As in other contexts (Rzepnikowska, 2019, p. 70),15 some attributes, such as language in the case of Venezuelans in Peru, can be considered as a privilege and manner of erasing differences between "*us*" and "*them.*" However, the accent, the clothes, and the way of occupying public space constitute markers that differentiate Venezuelan migrants from Peruvians. These markers are also essentialized by media and institutional actors, permeating the collective imaginary.

Regarding intercultural issues, 54.6% agreed with the statement "Venezuelans residing in Peru should learn about Peruvian culture, customs and traditions." The

13 In the survey around immigration in general (IOP, 2018), 45.9% of respondend in the affrmative to the question, "does immigration strengthen cultural diversity?" Those surveyed also believe that immigration increases unemployment (79.9%); that it generates social conficts (78.1%); that it occupies jobs (77.8%); and that it increases crime (70.1%).

14The scale of socioeconomic levels follows the values defned by Ipsos Perú. Thus, the A / B scale has an average monthly income between 12,660 and 7020 soles. The C scale shows an average income of 3970 soles and the D/E scale has a range between 2480 and 1300 soles per month (Ipsos, 2020).

15The author analyses the privilege of *whiteness* of Poles in the United Kingdom.

geographical analysis of this question shows that in Lima-Callao, where most Venezuelan people live, more people agreed with the statement (66.3%) than in the rural interior (42.3%). This difference can be explained by the fact that in rural communities there is no great concern for the dominant cultures since their own culture has been overshadowed (Callirgos, 2015; Drinot, 2006). The subordination and remoteness of rural sectors concerning the capital implies that they recognize the Venezuelan culture as a non-dominant one, against which they do not need to defend themselves. According to the socioeconomic level of the respondents, the percentages ranged between 59.7% in the A/B level; 59.9% at level C; and 49% at the D/E level. Between 2018 and 2019, for Lima/Callao this statement has slightly varied from 81% to 89%. This statement is in line with the Migration Law which establishes that foreigners must respect the historical and cultural legacy of Peru (article 10.6) and demonstrates the importance of culture as a marker of difference from the 'other'. Thus, institutional actors have also played an important role in defning how migrants have to integrate. Although the 'peruanidad' or the construction of national feeling is fragile, it has been to be defended against all odds and especially against the threat of immigration (Cutillas, 2019). Overall, hatred towards everything that has to do with "the Venezuelan," the *Venezuelanphobia*, entails presenting the whole of Venezuelans as members of a homogeneous, uniform culture, dangerous to Peruvian values.

#### *8.4.3 Criminality*

The negative perceptions around migration in Peru are, as in other contexts, linked to criminality. Freir and Pérez argue that Venezuelans in Peru suffer from a 'nationality-based criminalization which encompasses experiences where migrants are seen as a potential criminal or accused of a crime, such as a robbery or murder, based on his or her Venezuelan nationality' (Freier & Pérez, 2021). Based in qualitative and quantitative data, they found that criminalization of the Venezuelan nationality was the main aspect of nationality-based xenophobic discrimination (Freier & Pérez, 2021).

Despite the lack of data to support the supposed nexus between Venezuelan migration and the rise in indicators of insecurity (Bahar et al., 2020), the views around the link between criminality and migration have dramatically shifted between 2018 and 2019. By the end of 2018, 55% of respondents agreed with the statement that "many Venezuelans are involved in criminal activities in Peru" (IOP, 2019), while at the end of 2019 this percentage increased to 81% (IOP, 2020). This increase coincided with the shifts of migration policies discussed above, from the selective hospitality policy to the hostile policy against Venezuelan migrants. We observe that institutional xenophobia is central to this process.  For instance, in San Juan de Lurigancho, the most populated district in the capital, the mayor publicly

described Venezuelans as "lumpen" and criminals, urging their return to Venezuela (Berganza & Blouin, 2021). The misperception and confusion around illegality and criminality are also a source of the criminalization visible in the Congress and discourses such as the offcial and public announcement by the former president of the need for a humanitarian visa. This rise is also linked to the role of the media in the criminalization of Venezuelan migrants (Freier & Pérez, 2021). These results can explain the announcement of the creation of a special security unit dedicated to crimes committed by migrants in early 2020, which is an example of institutional xenophobia (Inmovilidades en las Américas, 2021).

Other important insights of the surveys are linked to the perception of fear and trust. In 2018, only 39% of respondents agreed that "the majority of Venezuelans are unreliable or dishonest people". However, in 2019, this percentage rose to 61%. Agreement with the statement, "I am very mistrustful of Venezuelans who arrive in Peru" increased from 40% to 68%, and fear towards this population (agreement with the statement "I am afraid of Venezuelans who arrive in Peru") increased from 24% to 52%. Trust and especially fear, as we have commented before, are at the root of the xenophobic feeling of rejection. The feeling of fear is a driver of xenophobia. The hate discourses and hostile policies have nourished this feeling of mistrust and fear. The feelings of fear and mistrust are therefore also essential data to understand the negative opinions of Venezuelan migrants and the desire for more restrictive migration policies.

Surveys show that Peruvians have asked for more restrictive policies since 2018 but with a certain shift to more restrictive policies in 2019. Despite the steady percentage in agreement with "allow whoever wants to come," (2% in both surveys) other statements such as "apply strict limits on the number of Venezuelans who can come," increased from 55% to 66% between 2019 and 2020. The agreement with the tougher measure "bans Venezuelans from entering Peru" almost doubled in only one year, from 17% in 2018 to 30% in 2019. These results are key to understanding the links between institutional and social xenophobia. The request for more restrictions by the population is at the same time backed up by hostile policies.  The electoral campaign for the presidency of Peru, in addition to using migrants as scapegoats for citizen security problems, has ignored the needs of around one million Venezuelans who have been disproportionately impacted by the pandemic in a clear demonstration of indifference on the part of the state. Proof of this is the absence of concrete proposals to guarantee the rights of the Venezuelan population in the various government plans (IDEHPUCP, 2021).

#### **8.5 Conclusion**

Although there is a growing academic interest in xenophobia in South America (Chan & Strabucchi, 2020; Tijoux-Merino, 2013; Guizardi & Mardones, 2020), research has not focused on deepening and highlighting the links between xenophobia and racism. There is also incipient research on Peru due, in part, to the recent changes in migration trends. We have examined the institutional and social xenophobia in the context of a racialized country. By doing so, we have argued that xenophobia is not only implemented by institutional actors but also reproduced by society in general. As the literature has already shown in the Global North, employment, culture and crime act as a differentiating element to create the discourse of fear of foreigners that sustains xenophobia. Public institutions and the media are principally responsible for these misperceptions.

This chapter sheds light on the economic, social, and cultural exclusions that migrants experience. These forms of exclusion are shared with other sectors of the population such as the Indigenous population. Our study suggests that the institutional xenophobia against Venezuelan migration in the country, expressed through legislation as well as informal and formal practices of exclusion such as expulsions, have portrayed migrants as invaders. We have also claimed that the data revealed by the different surveys need to be understood in light of the characteristics of Peruvian society which have long had and maintain strong structures of inequality and racism. So, the structural and complex racialization that operates in the country is also nourished by a special hatred against the foreigner who threatens the fragile sense of nationhood in Peru. Thus, we have observed the emergence of a feeling of *Venezuelanphobia* as a hatred towards everything that has to do with 'the Venezuelan.' These exploratory fndings contribute to the analysis of xenophobia in the region and could be used to inform comparisons with other countries that share historical and social backgrounds with Peru, such as Colombia or Ecuador. Further studies should deepen our understanding of institutional and social xenophobia in the context of racialization through ethnography or other types of qualitative studies.

#### **References**

Institution. https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/migration-crime-latameng-fnal.pdf

#### *Legal Instruments*

*Ley contra Actos de Discriminación*. *2000*. *Ley No. 27270*. May 29. *Diario Ofcial El Peruano*.

*UN General Assembly. International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD). Resolution 2106*. 1965. December 21.

**Cécile Blouin** is graduated in Political Science and Law (Université de Versailles-Saint-Quentinen-Yvelines) and holds a Master in European Union (Universidad Carlos III, Spain) and a Master of European Laws (Université Paris X Nanterre, France). She is currently lecturer at the Pontifcia Universidad Católica del Perú (Lima, Peru). Until 2020, she was a researcher at the Institute for Democracy and Human Rights of the *Pontifcia Universidad Católica del Perú* where she coordinated several research projects on migration and asylum policies in Latin America. Her main research interests are the study of borders, mobility regimes, and migration and asylum policies in the Andean region. She has been working for several years on Venezuelan migration in the Andes.

**Cristina Zamora Gómez** is PhD candidate in Public International Law from the University of Seville; and holds a Law Degree from the University of Salamanca (2015); a Master's Degree in European Union Studies from the University of Salamanca (2017); She specialized in gender violence at Carlos III University in Madrid (2018) and in gender methodologies at the Institute for Training and Research of United Nations (2018). Her research work focuses on migration, asylum policies and human rights from a decolonial gender perspective.

**Open Access** This chapter is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license and indicate if changes were made.

The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the chapter's Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the chapter's Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copyright holder.

# **Chapter 9 When Migrant Pain Does Not Deserve Attention: Institutional Racism in Chile's Public Health System**

**María Emilia Tijoux Merino and Constanza Ambiado Cortés**

*We dedicate this text to Monise Joseph, Joseph Henry, Benito Lalane, Rebeka Pierre, Wislande Jean, Joane Florvil, and to those who have confronted institutional racism in public health services in Chile.*

#### **9.1 Introduction**

The analysis of institutional racism and its links to the abuse of immigrants requires analyzing "race" and racism, concepts seldom used in research on contemporary immigration in Chile. These concepts have, better yet, been resisted and replaced by euphemisms, such as "exclusion", "discrimination", or "criminalization". In view of this and due to the frequent abuses that migrants experience, our research has focused for several years on the forms and manifestations that anti-immigrant racism has acquired in Chile.1 The centering of racism in the analysis of immigration is an urgent task, especially as the current government implements migration policies that seek to "put the house in order" (Cooperativa.cl, 2018; EFE, 2021). This potent slogan has been used by President Sebastián Piñera since 2018, when he took offce for the second time. He has fostered discourses that characterize immigration as a "problem" and that blame immigrants for uncertainties and

M. E. T. Merino (\*) · C. A. Cortés Universidad de Chile, Santiago, Chile e-mail<EMAIL_ADDRESS>
© The Author(s) 2022 G. Herrera, C. Gómez (eds.), *Migration in South America*, IMISCOE Research Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11061-0\_9

The research we present in this chapter results from the FONIS project SA1810123 entitled "The Challenge of Cultural Competences in Primary Health Care: A Study of Socialization among Immigrant Users and Healthcare Professionals in the *Comuna de Quilicura*," which was carried out between 2019 and 2021 under the direction of María Emilia Tijoux.

1 For more, see Tijoux (2016); Tijoux and Córdova (2015), among other articles and book chapters.

precariousness in Chilean society. When authorities and institutions construct, repeat, and promote these notions of immigrants, many people consider them as truths and act accordingly, thus naturalizing the assumption that citizens' lives are worth more than immigrants' lives.

We understand racism as a system of ideologies, discourses, practices, representations, and stereotypes; a social relationship; and a system of power that racializes immigrants, communicating to them that the outside is their true place as they momentarily occupy a space that pertains to the sovereign (Tijoux & Trujillo, 2016). Deployed in various forms and shifting over time and across societies, racism is plural, violent, and cunning. The furtive violence of everyday racism comes from laws and protocols that generate or reproduce hierarchical "differences" and inequalities.

The term "institutional racism" emerged in 1964 in the United States, after the abolition of segregation. Carmichael and Hamilton (1967) were organizers, activists, and intellectuals who promoted "black consciousness" or "Black Power" and who theorized the existence of a veiled racism that stemmed from colonialism, slavery, and class relations and saw ingrained in institutional practices. These authors argued that colonial and slave histories continued to shape the "inferior" status of the colonized and to naturalize the "superior" place of the colonizers, and that these forms of racialization were propagated through contemporary political, economic, and social institutions. That is, racism was not only expressed in prejudices and stereotypes, but also written into legislation, regulations, and administrative rules, without necessarily being overtly expressed. Institutional racism had become part and parcel of the structure of the dominant social order.

Institutional racism was also a subject of analysis in the United Kingdom. It was evident in London during violent events against the black population in 1981, when a teenager died as a victim of police brutality in Brixton. The government commissioned Lord Scarman2 to write a report, which highlighted conficts with police who used force indiscriminately. A new code of behavior for the police was drafted, but it was never enforced. Scarman concluded that the police force was "institutionally racist" (Law, 2015). In 1993, also in the United Kingdom, a British teenager from Plumstead (London) named Stephen Lawrence was murdered while waiting for a bus. This time the report was entrusted to William McPherson,3 who referred to the "subtle" nature of institutional racism, which he considered as harmful as "confessed" racism. For McPherson, when an institution did not provide a person with an adequate professional service because of his or her skin color or origin, this constituted a form of racism. In addition, the report warned that what was most

2However, Margaret Thatcher rejected the idea that unemployment and racism had been the cause of the riots.

3Sir William McPherson, a retired High Court judge, is the author of an extensive report on the murder of Stephen Lawrence in the United Kingdom. The report made 70 recommendations to show "zero tolerance" for racism and included measures to transform the attitude of the police and to get the civil service, the judiciary, and other public organizations to respond and change their attitudes (Quinn, 2019).

serious was the permanence of this form of racism, since the police as an institution refused to recognize it or to combat its existence and causes.

In Chile, research on racism against the Mapuche people characterizes a nationstate that has signaled the Mapuche out as the "Other" or as a danger and threat. In this context, racism is often expressed in terms of the ethnocentricity of decisions made by dominant groups, as Verónica Figueroa (2020) points out. Chilean racism is a legacy of colonial domination and it is lodged in hierarchical racial categories linked to capitalism – which, like racism, also veils its violence (Millamán, 2001). Some studies on institutional racism in Chile address laws and policies, including the uneven uses of the anti-terrorist law (Pairicán, 2014). The Inter-American Court of Human Rights has annulled convictions against Mapuche people, arguing precisely that they suffered discriminatory treatment. In fact, the racial unevenness of police operations and the abuse of power against the Mapuche people have been the subject of multiple studies (Araya et al., 2020; Arroyo & Torreblanca, 2020).

Yet, in Chile, racism has also been present in institutional contexts, such as education – for example, in the differentiated treatment of students in schools where whiteness is a clear measure of socioeconomic differences (Webb & Radcliffe, 2018); or in the media, whereby the Chilean press constructs negative images of the Mapuche people as the Other, as opposed to the Chilean (Sáez, 2014). Indeed, institutional racism in Chile is pervasive and has existed for a long time (Diario Uchile, 2021).

Although the literature on immigration in Chile has not focused on racism as a category of analysis in institutional forms, recent literature in migration studies has documented the distinct legal and administrative conditions that immigrants face, as compared to citizens (Cabieses et al., 2017; Liberona, 2015; Liberona & Mansilla, 2017; Núñez & Torres, 2007; Scozia et al., 2014).

Given this fact, this chapter proposes to contribute to the debate and research on racist discrimination suffered by immigrants in public health centers in Chile. This research demonstrates the everyday reproduction of institutional racism in the feld of health services. Methodologically, we worked through a qualitative approach and analyze the comments of public health professionals in semi-structured interviews and those of immigrants in focus groups. Beyond the everyday institutional racism that we observed, racism was also quite evident in overt stereotypes and prejudices used to explain or justify unequal treatment or mistreatment.

#### **9.2 Access to Healthcare and Immigration in Chile: A Necessary Review**

In recent years, health research has taken interest in immigrants. In a literature review, Zepeda Vega and González Campos (2019) point out that most of the research conducted has focused on describing the health conditions and precariousness of immigrants and on barriers to healthcare access, as forms of discrimination and exclusion. Many of these studies are descriptive. Some describe the health vulnerability of immigrants from demographic data and health behaviors, observing that migration itself is often the result of conditions of impoverishment and precariousness that adversely affect health in the frst place (Benítez, 2018; Cabieses et al., 2017; Cabieses & Oyarte, 2020). Others study healthcare spaces to describe both individual discriminatory acts and institutional and legal problems inhibiting access to healthcare rights (Bernales et al., 2017; Cabieses et al., 2017; Cortés et al., 2010; Liberona & Mansilla, 2017; Núñez & Torres, 2007; Torres & Garcés, 2013). There are also a few studies that have attempted to describe the discrimination perceived by immigrants in health centers in psychological terms, including the effects of discrimination on the mental health of immigrants (Lahoz & Forns, 2016; Ramírez-Santana et al., 2019; Urzúa et al., 2016).

We are particularly interested in developing studies on barriers, discrimination, and the exclusion of immigrants in the healthcare system, in a context where access to healthcare for immigrants is uncertain and confusing. In recent years, the Ministry of Health has generated decrees that ensure medical benefts regardless of migratory status, such as emergency care or healthcare during pregnancy, but, despite these legal advances, people are still widely excluded from the healthcare system and those who do access it are often treated as a burden to the system (Cabieses et al., 2017; Liberona, 2015). The social welfare system has been repeatedly studied to demonstrate inequalities in access to healthcare. For example, data from the 2017 Casen Survey estimated that the percentage of non-coverage among adult immigrants was 15.8% and that of children under the age of 18 was 20.2%, higher fgures than those detected a decade prior. A secondary analysis of this survey concluded that immigrants are 7.5 times more likely to have no health insurance, as compared to Chilean citizens (Cabieses & Oyarte, 2020)– a situation that Benítez (2018) suggests should be carefully considered, as this fgure has only increased despite the fact that legislation *expanded* access to these services (e.g., formally enabling affliation to the public healthcare system, Fonasa,4 among undocumented persons).

Other qualitative studies address the everyday forms of discrimination that cause immigrants to avoid seeking healthcare in the frst place (Cortés et al., 2010; Núñez & Torres, 2007). Some studies highlight the poor treatment or lack of respect that immigrants face (Torres & Garcés, 2013), insofar as immigrants are treated as illegitimate patients (Liberona, 2015; Liberona & Mansilla, 2017). In this sense, Liberona (2015) argues that the legal framework enables uneven treatment, generating feelings of anger or frustration among immigrants. This author highlights that the relationship between patient and professional is already asymmetrical, which amplifes any characterization of the immigrant as an "Other". By the same token, Liberona and Mansilla (2017) document the predisposition of some health offcials to negatively perceive these patients, qualifed in some instances as an economic burden for the system and an epidemiological risk for national public health. This study demonstrates that even with regulations that ensure a certain baseline of care, such a baseline is often not met due to the discretionary provision of services.

4Fonasa refers to Chile's public health insurance system, which provides fnancial coverage for healthcare in public and private establishments.

Bernales et al. (2017) points out that another challenge for the care of immigrants is the instability and lack of knowledge about regulations and care strategies. They add that institutions lack tools and implementation strategies for culturally-sensitive care. Finally, these authors consider that healthcare workers are vulnerable to the demands of health authorities to perform new tasks without new resources and to implement regulations without having participated in decision-making or having been trained.

In terms of immigrant children and pregnant women, Cabieses et al. (2017) point out that, although their rights to healthcare are recognized by the state, they are subject to the discretion of administrative bureaucracy and the whims of healthcare offcials, permitting inequalities in the quality of service provided. They also highlight that the lack of information regarding regulations and rights for the protection of immigrants shapes their arbitrary treatment.

In sum, research suggests that discrimination is pervasive. It is important to consider the causes of this mistreatment. On the one hand, the historical-political construction of Chile as a white or Eurocentric nation-state persists as a legacy of colonization and, on the other hand, the state actively reproduces immigrants as a "problem". Sayad (1999) argues that thinking about immigration requires thinking about the state, since –fundamentally– this is the organism that defnes the immigrant. We must examine state institutions to understand the reproduction of antiimmigrant racism and the ongoing racialization of groups, not only as the effect of intentional action, but also of policies that passively differentiate and impact racialized groups differently. After all, differences in "race" do not exist as a biological or cultural fact, but because individuals and institutions treat distinct groups of people differently, *as if* race did exist (Fassin, 2002).

Immigrants are exposed to various forms of mistreatment that begin with their emigration, multiply during their journey(s), and continue after crossing borders or immigrating. The most frequent health problems during their migrations include injuries, hypothermia, burns, anemia, cardiovascular problems, and complications related to pregnancy and childbirth, among others. They are also subject to violence – particularly children – and disease during the journey. They often need access to appropriate healthcare.

#### **9.3 Daily Interactions in Healthcare Centers: Between Treatment and Mistreatment**

In this section, we present part of the results of a FONIS study that we conducted between 2019 and 2020 in public healthcare centers in the city of Santiago de Chile.5 The objective was to analyze the social interactions between healthcare

5Fonis project SA1810123: "El desafío de las competencias culturales en la atención primaria de salud: estudio de la socialización entre usuarios inmigrantes y profesionales de la salud en la Comuna de Quilicura", directed by María Emilia Tijoux.

professionals and immigrant patients – mainly of Haitian, Venezuelan, Peruvian, and Colombian nationalities.

The professionals' criticisms of immigrants were directed at their lack of knowledge of the Chilean way of life, the country's social norms, and, above all, healthcare regulations. However, these criticisms extended to comments on intimate family life, childcare practices, housing, dress, and speech and communication. Some professionals argued that those who arrive in a new country should prepare themselves, be aware of the culture and of the limits of their own cultures, and recognize the limits of their integration.

Immigrants struggled with facing professionals who considered them as a distant or incomprehensible Other, an issue addressed by Simmel (1908) when examining forms of socialization through reciprocal interaction. The "form" is dictated by the institutions and the "content" is dictated by the actions, decisions, or purposes of those who participate in the interaction. And yet it seems that even when the encounter took place in isolation, the social distance between the immigrant and the healthcare professional remained.

The interactions narrated by professionals and patients showed their social positioning in the context of healthcare. The person was recognized frst as a migrant and then as a patient who, being an immigrant, carried a stigma. "Being a patient" referred to a denomination and a place that was earned. That is, the immigrant had to adapt to the context in order to become recognized as a patient. A sort of "conversion" was necessary, which implied a radical transformation to replace one habitus with another (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977), a process that Durkheim (1938/1990) refers to as a new vision of the world that can emerge under pressure.

One professional explains how they seek to educate immigrants under the precepts of Chilean principles:

If you manage to educate them well, yes, they do take care of themselves, and that is why it is also perhaps more complex to educate a Haitian patient, because frst there is a language issue that, that needs to be improved, and the other thing is that it is also cultural, of, of awareness that, that oral health is not just about going to fx [something], or to clean, or to take out, but also involves personal work at home. Here we try to educate them in the sense of oral hygiene and everything, we give them a hygiene kit as well, so we try to focus our treatment on educating the patient, but patients who come for sporadic consultations, it is more diffcult. (E12)

C: Is it diffcult for them to follow a treatment, indications?

Yes, it is diffcult for them to follow instructions, sometimes even to ask for medication, you give them an indication here and fnally you have to accompany them to the other place where they have to go because sometime they even run away. (E12)

The professionals' treatment was ultimately rooted in assumptions about cultural behaviors or social and psychological characteristics of immigrant groups. Some argued that when an immigrant had a "more acute", "more complicated", or "more compromised" health condition, there was "not much to reverse" (E25), due to the "bad" (E29) or "super limited" (E11) education of the immigrant (E20). Some participants pointed to Peruvians and Haitians as those with "less awareness" (E31) or "more backward" (E13) practices, due to their "limited cultural wealth" (E3). Others conjectured that there were "many illiterate people" among these immigrant groups – unlike Venezuelans, who were "well educated" (E4), "super prepared" (E25) and "take very good care of their health" (E10). These professionals also commonly doubted that immigrant patients could understand medical indications and worried that their health could become complicated if, for example, immigrants ingested a medicine incorrectly or did not correctly clean their children's noses when they had respiratory problems. In short, multiple medical professionals in our study complained of supposedly essential characteristics of most immigrant groups that made their work diffcult, rendered treatment less effective, and restricted their treatment options.

Peruvian and Haitian cultures, for these professionals, were also marked by "machismo" (E3), "religion" (E1), and "a magical religious thinking" (E24) that showed "many perceptions that are almost myths, almost based on legend, almost like the perceptions of old ladies" (E11). The professionals argued that the consequences of these beliefs were evident in patients' evasion of recommendations and their use of alternative treatments, including Haitian women who sought out "permanent" contraceptive methods or persistent poor "habits, aptitudes" (E18) among some patients regarding hygiene or newborn feeding. In short, some professionals refected, "it is not easy to take care of immigrants" (E12); "it is diffcult to educate them" (E1); "it is hard for them to follow instructions" (E15), until "they learn Chilean behaviors and customs" (E28). Thus, some professionals described seeking a balance between patient punishment and treatment fexibility:

We go between two poles, between punishment and fexibility, so we try to fnd agreements in this. Always looking for balance. That is what I am aiming at. And the work is also oriented to that, understanding that people have their thoughts, their culture, their religion in some cases where, uh, the intervention that one can do has to look for that. To fnd the balance between all that. (E24)

In turn, the migrants in this study referred to the treatment they were given as distant encounters that lacked empathy and consideration for what they requested or felt. They pointed out that professionals avoided looking at them, did not touch them, and sometimes did not speak to them. They noted that some immigrants avoid healthcare centers due to abuses of power, medical negligence, and humiliation. These relations also led some to try not to get sick or save money to pay for a private clinic, avoiding public healthcare centers, except for emergencies:

Yes, I went and they were taking out my tooth, because it hurt me a lot and I felt that my face was like – I don't know exactly, and I started to scream a little bit because it hurt me, and the doctor told me "but if you keep screaming, I'm going to put you outside, because you Haitians scream for anything, you always scream, whatever, for whatever, you scream, if you keep on like that I'm going to put you outside", that's what he told me. And I fnd that unfair because we are people and we have feelings, we can feel things, even though – I don't know – yes, I am Haitian, but that doesn't mean I have no feeling, I can't feel, I can't feel something, I can't hurt, I can't scream, I can't say what I feel; I left that day very disappointed because I fnd that very unfair, that he said that to me. (FG4-E1)

For the professionals, the immigrants tended to represent a sicker body "with more damage" (E19), with "very high blood pressure" (E25), with untreated diseases or late diagnoses, lacking previous examinations, clinical records, or prescriptions.

In other words, for many of the research participants, the immigrant patient appeared as an irresponsible and damaged subject – particularly Haitians, as compared to Chileans. That is, the professionals criticized Haitian patients in particular for the poor public health system in Haiti and their lack of knowledge of the Chilean system.

This sum of "problems" worried these professionals because of the limited resources they had available, as these patients required more attention and more time for care, a problem for a system where "time is money" (E19) and "resources are lacking for so many people" (E6).

We would like to consider closely a series of commentaries from among these healthcare professionals:

The foreigner usually consults when it is more complicated; the Chilean consults when he starts to feel small discomforts, then yes. So, when you see a foreigner, generally in your offce, you have to think that they already represent more work than you would expect for a Chilean (...). Acute symptoms such as respiratory, more in children; abdominal, but acute; it is very unlikely to detect patients (…) with chronic pathologies – that is, that is done along the way, because they consulted for something acute, you see that there is something and you start there, as if to look for some chronic disease, and then you start, you try to say, come to check-ups, comply with treatment, but more foreigners consult for some acute symptoms. (E1)

I have not had the chance to talk to them about this; it is my perception, but no, you see them here, because of their indicators; they are patients with uncontrolled pathologies, that they... I don't know, you ask them, 'how long ago did you arrive?' I don't know, say, 6 months, 3 months, 1 year, and do they go to the doctor's offce? No, they have no awareness, I don't know if they are educated – (it is) cultural, as far as I have been able to understand". (E31)

According to some professionals, migration had not only changed things in daily interaction in the healthcare offce, but, more broadly, it also affected the Chilean public health system due to changes made in relation to this "type of patient". This is how another professional put it:

the issue of immigrants is an issue that is not well examined yet (…) today I was told about the issue of health check-ups: Patients you ask for an examination do not understand or do not want to understand – for example something as basic as a hip X-ray – to see if there is a type of dysplasia, and they do not bring it – that is, they are not aware because they do not give it importance, because in their countries they are not important, and mainly the Haitian population is the one that has more problems with language, and suddenly they understand if radiography is said similarly in Creole as in Spanish, and yet they do not do it because they do not give importance to the issue". (E4)

The "difference" of the immigrant person, rooted in the idea of a homogenous "multitude", seemed to increase the workload by producing an "overload of care" (E2) that supposedly "stresses" (E8) and "collapses" (E31) the public health system:

In terms of the patients, the population covered is also different, for example, this CESFAM, which covers a large population, a lot, we attend many, many patients with over capacity – that is, the schedules we have are sometimes not enough for the number of people who are enrolled. (E2)

With immigrant patients, to be very honest, for example, Haitian patients, it's as if I see them all the same – I see them all the same; I wouldn't know how to tell them apart. There is a Haitian woman who has learned a lot of the language, and she is very cool, and we have seen her, and we recognize her, but not the other patients, no. (E32)

According to these professionals, the overload had negative effects on care and impacted material or infrastructural resources, due to the need to translate information into Creole, request more tests or supplies, or respond to more acute medical crises:

Yes, yes defnitely, if in the end the materials should be of the same quality for everyone, it should be the same quality of material for two people, but there are situations in which this has not happened because there are no resources, so we already had a certain stock and that is what we had; now we are trying to make an effort to translate it and have another alternative, and so that is the reason why they are not the same, and now we do not have the resources that were destined for this, we no longer have enough ... (E27)

at the beginning it was atrocious because we were used to people coming from Peru, then they started to arrive, I don't know, Colombian women and men too; they took a lot; they came to take tests or preservatives; what do I know, but, just when they came to us (…) and we already could not work well, that is when Haitians started to arrive. (E20)

we have had an increase in Haitian pregnant patients and therefore an increase in the number of deliveries here for a long time... there were many years during which no deliveries were attended here; however, with the Haitian population, I mean, we have to attend I don't know, 5 or 6 deliveries a month. Here or sometimes at home, so obviously we have had to increase our resources also (…) ... because if before we used to manage, for example, a delivery kit, which was in case of emergency, now we have had to buy 4 more, for example. (E31)

A noteworthy, repeated criticism of Haitian patients – mainly women – considered them to be irresponsible because of the large number of children they had and a perceived lack of care for them. The following interviewee hardened her criticism further, adding that they waste supplies and that "all of them" get pregnant:

...Haitian women, who have many children – in fact, they do not take care for themselves, and they come here because they have missed their menstrual periods and have they taken a pregnancy test? No. They want that since somehow or other all the supplies are from the public service; then you have to go and buy the pregnancy test – I don't have money. We have pregnancy tests here that are for specifc issues – rapes – and [despite] giving them a medicine, giving them the prescription, and [giving] them the pregnancy test, (…) they are all pregnant, with small babies! (E32)

Regarding the expense or what is explicitly stated about the "theft of resources", this interviewee relates part of an experience and her feelings of injustice:

Just as the doctor told me when she was operating on me, there are nurses who have told me – that is, they feel that we are stealing resources from them because there are Chilean people who are also dying of cancer and they say: if they give that hour to you or they give that treatment to you, they are taking it away from a Chilean. It has happened to me; it has happened to me, but I say that it is because, of course, I have a serious disease, which many Chileans also have, and even some have told me – that is, it happens mostly in the infrmary and in the reception area, when you enter the hospital, for example. They receive you because you have to give your history and everything; it bothers them because they have to attend to the immigrant and they feel that the immigrant is being given priority over the Chilean. (FG7-E3)

According to some interviewees, Haitian patients –particularly women– did not want to learn Spanish. In turn, the Creole language, understood as a barrier, was criticized and racialized. The professionals said that the person had to arrive speaking Spanish to be able to communicate or the presence of cultural facilitators who spoke Creole and Spanish (generally Haitian professionals from various felds with an ambiguous name and role) were required to translate. Moreover, however, professionals argued that beyond language, the "complexity" of communication had a cultural or educational origin:

Haitian women do not have a good command of the language. I feel that they do not make any effort; they are not going to make any effort to learn it because of a cultural issue (...). So, I don't know if they didn't understand because now I tell you, that's why I tell you, they didn't understand or there is a cultural issue of putting up with the pain because it hurts, having a baby hurts. So, because here, as I said, the population increased, the number of maternity care centers increased, but at the same time, many of these mothers arrive to have their baby here, but to have a baby is a process, at least a couple of hours, sometimes hours, but at least a couple of hours, 2 hours, so for that lady to arrive with her baby hanging here, she has to endure it. So, I don't know why she didn't go to the hospital, with all the risk involved in having a baby in the street, or at home, or even here, because as I said, we are a basic service, if a baby comes with a complication, it obviously complicates the situation, but I don't know if they don't understand, they didn't understand the instructions, or they don't have [the means] to move and they went straight to the hospital, but fnally they still arrive here, and they collapse here. We have no more care to give them than primary attention, an evaluation, a quick monitoring of the baby, and then to the hospital. (E31)

A Haitian patient who had arrived a little late for her appointment told us about the differential treatment she received:

I was pregnant; I am aware that I am late, I arrive 5 minutes later than the time I should be seen, and I say, "madam I am late" and she [says] "no, the midwife is not going to attend you" (…) and I was waiting, waiting, and another person was coming. I don't know what nationality, she was white, and the lady was pregnant – the same, we had the same time and I arrived frst, and when the lady passed, the offcial said "go and sit down, they will weigh him" and I said "but, lady, if I and she had the same time, why did you let her pass and I didn't?" "Ah, no, you are very negligent, you don't come on time". It was my second time. I left the offce crying because these things seem very, very, very bad to me. (FG4-E2)

Sometimes it seems that there is an intention to understand. But in professionalpatient interactions, racial discrimination often predominates, couched in criticisms about the adaptation of the person to Chile, the need to educate himself or herself, and ultimately the criticism for coming to Chile in the frst place:

I went to the course, as I tell you; we obviously learned several tips (…) When I can, when I have the time, I try to apply them; it is not a thing that I practice on a daily basis, but I try a little to practice it a little when I can (…) ... It was actually optional to attend that course; it was not mandatory; I wanted to go, as to understand the subject a little bit more and to be given some tools to be able to at least ask basic questions ... (…) But I also feel that there is a lack (…) That is, we are willing to do it, but why do we have to adapt ourselves to them? (E31)

According to some professionals, learning Creole would encourage the immigrants to become accustomed to a supposed dependency:

I think we are going to end up learning Creole faster than they [learn Spanish] (…) '*Kouche sou vant piki*' [meaning] 'lie down on your belly to get your medicine'. And they laugh, and they understand right away, but that is still one way or another encouraging them not to learn. (E32)

Like any other person, a migrant patient needs care in health centers, but as we have already said, due to the treatment received, they often prefer not to attend or to seek the means to obtain private care. This is what a Haitian mother and a Venezuelan father did: