More than 1,451 Native nations continue to exist across Abya Yala, yet their diversity is often erased by monocultural constitutional systems. The term Abya Yala, originating from the Guna language, means “land in full maturity and vital blood.” It is used by many decolonial theologians, including Delgado and Ramirez, to name the continent instead of colonial terms such as “the Americas” or “Latin America.” More than a geographic designation, it is a political and epistemic affirmation. It reminds us that this continent was not an empty land “discovered” by Europe, but a territory already inhabited by Native nations with long-standing systems of governance, strong spirituality, and social organization.
These nations have endured more than five centuries of invasion, dispossession, and imposed domination. Despite these forces, they have survived through resistance, adaptation, and cultural continuity.
A decolonial political theology in Abya Yala begins by recognizing that colonialism was not only a military and economic project, but also a theological and political one. Through Catholic doctrines such as the Doctrine of Discovery and papal bulls like Romanus Pontifex (1455) and Inter Caetera (1493), European Christendom justified the seizure of Native lands and the subjugation of Native peoples in Abya Yala who were considered “non-Christian.” These frameworks denied Native nations both humanity and political legitimacy. As Enrique Dussel argues, colonialism created hierarchical divisions such as civilized versus uncivilized and Christian versus pagan. These colonial binaries continue to shape political and social institutions today.
Although many republics in Abya Yala gained formal independence during the nineteenth century, colonial power was never fully dismantled. Instead, it was reorganized. Political authority remained concentrated in the hands of European-descended elites who claimed sovereignty over territories already inhabited and governed by Native nations.
As Aníbal Quijano argues, coloniality continues to structure power, knowledge, and identity. Constitutional democracies across the continent have therefore largely failed to recognize Native nations as political subjects. Instead, Native peoples are often reduced to marginalized populations within supposedly homogeneous nation-states.
This colonial imagination of a single, unified nation is central to the modern state. Ernest Gellner argued that nationalism is a product of modern industrial society rather than an eternal human condition. Native peoples, however, are not minorities created within modern states/ countries. They are pre-existing nations whose political, legal, and territorial systems have been systematically suppressed.
As a result, participation in state politics often requires Native communities to navigate Western legal systems that historically denied their existence. This creates a profound tension between Native forms of governance and state institutions.
Recent political developments reveal both possibilities and limitations. In Bolivia, plurinational constitutionalism has opened important spaces for recognition. The 2009 Constitution acknowledges 36 Native nations and establishes legal pluralism. Yet these advances remain constrained by extractivist economic models that prioritize resource exploitation over relational understandings of land, as scholars such as Eduardo Gudynas have argued. Native nations are therefore forced to defend their territories using legal frameworks that often contradict their own worldviews and ontologies.
In Chile, the constitutional process represented a historic attempt to institutionalize plurinationality. It emerged after the 2020 national plebiscite, where an overwhelming majority of citizens voted in favor of drafting a new constitution. The inclusion of Native representatives marked a significant shift in political participation and opened the possibility for more inclusive and progressive laws. However, the rejection of the proposed constitution in 2022 exposed deep resistance to Native political recognition. It also revealed how colonial imaginaries continue to position whiteness and privilege as the normative center of political authority.
Across Abya Yala, Native communities continue to face marginalization, especially in contexts shaped by extractive industries and centralized governance. Mechanisms such as electoral quotas and reserved seats have expanded political participation, but these measures remain limited. Native political actors must still operate within institutions designed without them in mind, often adapting to Western legal frameworks while simultaneously sustaining their own communal practices.
From a decolonial perspective, these developments should not be understood simply as “inclusion.” Rather, they represent partial recognition of the enduring presence of Native nations that were never erased or replaced. These nations persist as political subjects, challenging the legitimacy of states that claim exclusive sovereignty over their territories.
This persistence directly confronts the logics of white supremacy that have historically justified domination in Abya Yala. These logics continue through the extraction of natural resources, the commodification of Native cultures for tourism, and the appropriation of Native knowledge, food systems, and spiritual practices, often rebranded under non-Native ownership. Such processes reproduce colonial relationships while obscuring ancestral authority.
A decolonial political theology must therefore move beyond simple inclusion toward genuine transformation. The defense of community land, territorial sovereignty, freedom for Native religious and spiritual practices, and Good Living traditions cannot be treated as optional or merely symbolic. They require recognizing that Abya Yala is, and has always been, a continent of diverse nations, cultures, spiritualities, and political traditions whose authority and existence predate the modern state.
