The Fight for Indigenous Land Rights in the Andes: My Visit to Project Pachamama

In spring this year, I travelled to the Peruvian Andes to learn about the Pachamama project of the Their Lands Initiative. Journey with me as we discover how this project of training and reform can help secure the livelihoods of Indigenous peoples in Peru, Colombia, and Ecuador.

The air was still crisp when I arrived in the village of Chayllapampa. From the main approach road, it seemed a small and cosy place tucked away in a closed-off valley. But when we turned the bend in the road, I saw I was mistaken.

Like a fan unfurling, the plain stretched out far beyond it, sloping gently into the horizon. Grey-stone houses stood nestled amidst the old, weaving terraces. The fragrances of the fresh quinoa crop lured me in.

Children ran to our car as soon as we pulled over, waving and laughing. Joy shone on their faces. I could feel it, and I was glad to share in it. 

We turned to a house on the edge of the village. A young woman awaited us there, her smile just as bright as the children’s. In one arm, she carried a child of her own. In her free hand, she held a piece of paper. It was a copy of the document that I wanted to learn more about. The confirmation this community had fought so hard for: the recognition of the village's collective ownership of their communal lands.  

Why land inequality threatens Indigenous communities in the Andes

This scene is much less common than it should be. Indigenous communities and small family-run farms have worked these lands for generations. They continue a way of life that both honours traditions and promotes sustainable practice. But despite this legacy, their right to farm these lands remains embattled. Indigenous peoples have fought for the recognition of their farmlands since the birth of the modern Andean nations. But that right to own their land is challenged by outdated land laws or under-resourced authorities.

Land inequality is a major issue in countries such as Peru, Colombia and Ecuador. Small landowners are at the mercy of larger neighbours, out-crowded on the fields and out-competed in the markets. Here, the top 1% of landowners own over half the agricultural land (Oxfam, 2016). With growing global demand for Latin American produce, the divide is only widening (Uneven Ground Report, International Land Coalition).

At the root of the problem lies the idea of land titling. In other words: the state-recognised ownership of farmland. Without it, small farms are vulnerable to eviction or displacement by large landowners.

For Indigenous farmers, the situation is even more complex. Communities often work the land together in a tradition of collective ownership. But for a long time, that form of ownership remained legally unrecognised. Only individual farmers or families received titles, if they were given at all. The result? Communities could be severed or bought up entirely by other landowners. It's not uncommon to find whole towns forced to move (Inter-American Development Bank, 2001). That’s why initiatives like Project Pachamama are essential.

Where Pachamama is driving structural change

I was invited by the Their Lands Initiative (TLI) to visit and write about one of their projects on Indigenous land reform in the region. TLI is an organisation that fights against inequality in land ownership worldwide.

The project they invited me to witness was set in Peru, Colombia, and Ecuador. These governments had requested their aid in answer to the tireless efforts of the region’s Indigenous communities. So, when TLI joined this fight, Project Pachamama was born.

Pachamama, the Earth Mother, is an Andean goddess. A fitting name chosen to honour the ancient communities of this land. There are at-risk villages that have existed since before the arrival of the Spanish colonists. Some of their operational terrace farms date back even to the times of the Inca. That is the legacy Pachamama was made to protect.

How knowledge exchange roots the change

In Peru, I was welcomed at the focal point of the project: a Pachamama training and practice sharing session on land tenure. Given how technical this sounded, I was surprised by the lively spirit that welcomed me when I entered the sleek new ministry office in Lima. Energy buzzed through the meeting rooms as officials from the three countries mingled and representatives from Andean and Amazonian communities darted between them – all of them eager to share.

Three trainers from the TLI staff welcomed me. Soon, I learned they weren’t training anyone themselves, though. Today, they told me, their role wasn’t to educate, but to guide. They had taught the first Peruvian officials in best practices in land reform and sustainable cultivation. Once this cohort had completed their training, it became the former students’ role to share and learn together with the other officials. Judging by this session, they took to it with fervour. Ideas flowed like winding mountain rivers. They crossed borders and broke barriers in lively one-on-one exchanges and plenary sessions. The energy was almost tangible.

I'll admit I was sceptical at first. But TLI assured me, the answer wasn’t charity. It was a structural change – the kind of change that becomes standard practice through ownership. TLI’s approach brought just that. The organisation had built this framework and applied it with great success in many other cases. So, with confidence, they assured me that this wasn’t a temporary fix. The people in this training were building a foundation.

How collective land titles transformed Chayllapampa

At the end of the session, the TLI staff took me aside. A municipal officer named Victor Mamani was waiting for me in the hallway. His passion had already caught my eye during the earlier session. He wore a colourful shirt to match his jovial demeanour, his smile like an invitation to return it. That smile only widened when he told me about the first successes of the land-titling approach in his home region. It was small in scale, but he believed that in some communities, it had already made a big difference. Then came the invitation to visit. I accepted. 

He led me to the village of Chayllapampa. The woman I met here – the one who was waiting for me with the child in her arms – was Maywa. Thirty years old at most, she had lost her husband two years ago. Now she drew her strength from her community and her one-year-old daughter. Though she spoke little throughout our visit, a shy smile never left her face. 

She led me behind her house. The farm terraces unfurled like petals from a flower, stacked neatly on the slope below. Some neighbours were working in the communal fields. The terraces of Chayllapampa belonged to all its people – they farmed the land together. Today, they were planting a new crop of potatoes. 

Through our translator, Maywa explained that she had been in the field earlier. She had stepped away from the work just to tell their story. 

A grin curled her mouth as she pointed down the valley. I saw it at once: a large plantation. It had once threatened everyone in her village with eviction, but the land titles gave them the power to fight back. Maywa’s bright eyes turned to her neighbours, then to the child in her arms. That's when she spoke the words that stuck with me most:

  “We own our future now”. 

What makes the impact of land titling reform last

Project Pachamama is not a charity handing out land. It’s a homebuilt movement changing systems. It took years of displacement and uncertainty. Now, finally, those systems are beginning to recognise the rights of the very people they govern. For many, these titles mean more than just recognition – they create a doorway to a safer home and a more prosperous life, bringing access to credit, new markets, and legal protections (Inter-American Development Bank, 2022). Collective land titles belong to their community forevermore. That means security, and that means hope.

With more success stories like Chayllapampa’s, Pachamama’s impact is spreading. The scale remains small, but Pachamama may expand soon. Plans for conferences and a shared research centre on sustainable small-scale farming are already in motion. TLI still supports the project, but soon the three countries should carry it on their own. They believe in the unsung heroes – like Maywa and Victor – and their ability to keep the effort alive. It shows that with willpower, knowledge, and resources, lasting change is possible.

Why this fight for recognition is far from over

The governments of Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru showed a willingness to make a difference. But it’s too early to celebrate. Victor told me that large corporations are fighting back in every courtroom. Sometimes they even resort to more covert means. More resistance lies ahead, but the commitment of both communities and authorities can make the transformation last. 

The thing about hope is – it only pays off in time. It's still enough to drive people forward. I saw that in the energy in the training, and the promise it held. That hope reflected not only in those receiving the land titles, but also in those giving them out. It drives them to work together with a determination to make Pachamama a success. 

In Chayllapampa, I saw the transformation. I saw it in the strength of the villagers. I saw it in the joy of the children. And I saw it in Maywa and her daughter. 

The story I will take with me

After the tour around Chayllapampa’s farms, Maywa invited me in for a drink called chicha de jora. My translator explained it was an old cultural tradition. Its depth and meaning he shared with me only in part.

“Pero primero…  la Pachamama, santa tierra”, she said as she spilt a few drops on the floor. I followed her example, as instructed.

As we were leaving, we saw Maywa returning to her fields to join her neighbours. I watched as she took a heavy bag filled with seeds from another woman. It was her turn to work the crops. 

The children came running again. This time, it was to wave their goodbyes. 

As the car turned, the valley and its terraces faded from view. I left it behind with a sense of what was possible and how much work still lay ahead. 

Projects like Pachamama are never finished. Their impact isn’t bound by timelines or budgets; we build them to last. It will likely take years to reach all farmers and communities in all three countries. But stories like Chayllapampa’s are cause for hope. 

There is power in land rights and titles. It means the right to share in the wealth of the earth. That is the power of Pachamama. 

Learn more about the Their Lands Initiative for updates on Pachamama and other land justice projects.

Disclaimer: This blog is a work of fiction to showcase my skills and interests. It is inspired by real-world research I conducted in 2020 as part of a postgraduate project on land rights in the Andes. While the environmental challenges and cultural frameworks referenced reflect real conditions, all names, individuals, and organisations have been fictionalised.

The village and its people are imagined, but the values, knowledge systems, and spiritual beliefs are rooted in Andean traditions and described with deep respect. This story does not speak on behalf of Indigenous communities, but seeks to honour their agency, resilience, and leadership in defending ancestral lands. I tried to represent these with the dignity and respect they deserve. 

Any resemblance to real persons or organisations is coincidental.