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“I’m in that kind of limbo that prison was”: Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, Cuban artist in exile

“I’m in that kind of limbo that prison was”: Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, Cuban artist in exile

Miami, October 7, 2026 – Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, the Cuban artist who has been living in Miami, United States, since July 18, answers the questions in this interview clearly and forcefully. In the room where he arrived after serving five years in Guanajay maximum-security prison in western Cuba, and after becoming a beneficiary of the U.S. government’s humanitarian parole program, he speaks about the island, his family, the San Isidro Movement (MSI), migration, art, and the works through which he has denounced the dictatorship that has controlled Cuba for years.

Below is the interview conducted by the Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights with the Cuban artist, edited for clarity.

Now that you are free, what do you think about most often?

I always think about Cuba, I always think about art, about how art will continue to function as a living tool that contributes to society, both Cuban society and society outside Cuba. I think about Cuba, about those who were left behind, about those people who right now cannot drink potable water because there are no conditions for it; there is no electricity, there is no life in Cuba. I think about that.

Do you think about it from a place of anxiety, or from a place of reflection that leads you to ask yourself, “What more can you do?”

I think it’s a bit of both. I think there is some anxiety because the place where I am right now is an unknown place, a place that presents enormous challenges. You are currently without a home. You have to pay rent, you have to have a place to exist. Then you have done a lot of work that precedes you, but undoubtedly the world that comes now is much bigger; you have to conquer a new space within the popular imagination outside Cuba. You also want your work, your art, to have those spaces, those niches of recognition in the West, of global recognition, because from there you can also continue working for Cuba. And then, what is left to do for Cuba? What are the new ideas that have to come into your mind so you can go out and work for Cuba? I suffer that reality every day, even from a distance, even from exile.

How long did it take you to make the decision to go into exile?

The decision to go into exile went through several stages. After a year and six months in prison, I decided to leave because I realized the impact we had made, how enormous it had become, and that the Cuban dictatorship was not going to allow Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara to walk freely in the streets. Then I kept spending time there, and I kept accepting it, and there came a moment when my departure was getting closer. I had the possibility of deciding: I’m not leaving Cuba, even though I had already served the five years. But then I reaffirmed my decision, especially when they took me to the house near the beach, the State Security house. When they took me to that house, I realized there was no possibility of walking the streets. In fact, the way State Security treated me at that point was basically: you are leaving because you are leaving. We are going to give up everything we can, but it is so that you leave; it is not so that you live in Cuba, because you are not going to walk around Cuba.

When you see that entire apparatus built around making sure you leave, it is because you are important. There was even a moment when they took me out, and it was as if I were the head, and they couldn’t mention my name. My name was like something forbidden to say. I thought, “Well, it seems that you do have an impact on society and, of course, the dictatorship is not going to allow its own death,” you know? That’s when I realized that it was going to be impossible to continue working from within Cuba. I could have come up with a radical plan to stay at home, but I would have stayed at home without internet, without the tools to continue contributing. That’s when I decided to go into exile.

What does it feel like to walk down the street without being watched?

I’m still traumatized by the surveillance. When I enter this space, when I’m coming in from the street and a car passes by, I feel as if that car is coming for me. The other day I was standing outside, there was a police car on the corner, and immediately my body went back to that place in Havana. I still feel watched. I feel that wherever I go, there is an eye belonging to State Security and the Cuban regime watching me.

Of all the works and performances you have created, which has been the most symbolic and powerful in portraying the Cuban regime?

I think my work as a whole is a living testimony of that relationship: the dictatorship trying to strip away the art that makes it uncomfortable, trying to strip away art that is committed to people. In my work, I have always been committed to making it reach people, to making the individual who walks the streets, the individual who stands in lines, the individual who suffers under the dictatorship in the most basic ways, think. And I don’t think there is one specific work, but rather the whole of it, my own performative body, my own cultural body, activist body, artistic body. That is the great work.

What has been the most rewarding thing about creating the San Isidro Movement?

I think the most rewarding thing about having generated or been part of the San Isidro Movement is, first of all, having demonstrated that art was a real tool for change. Not merely a political comment, not merely an artist’s expression, but demonstrating that a powerful tool such as art can be used to change things firsthand, not through third parties or fourth parties.

I think that was the most important thing for me. And, of course, seeing on the ground how a society changes from a state of terror, a state of fear, to becoming a civic society, to becoming a society capable of taking control of its immediate and long-term future. And it began with a cultural project, an artistic project, as the MSI was called.

For me, Cuba’s history is in San Isidro, just as it is in many other projects, such as the Varela Project and other movements such as the Ladies in White and UNPACU. I think San Isidro also forms part of that recent history and of the collective memory of those Cubans who sacrificed themselves so that Cuba could become a better place. And I would love for it to be recorded that way in history.

Now that you are in exile, how do you see Cuba? How has your perspective changed?

It’s difficult for me to answer that question because I don’t think I have landed yet. I’m in that kind of limbo that was prison, that kind of limbo that came afterward while I was in that house, that kind of limbo that comes from getting on a plane like that and landing somewhere with an enormous amount of information that your brain is processing.

What was the most difficult thing about being in prison?

Brother, the hardest thing about being in prison is prison itself. Prison is a horrible place. Prison is something that, if I could describe it to you in words, cannot be described with words. In fact, I brought a series of works. My paintings will help people understand. For example, there is a series I made that was like black holes, where you feel as if you are in a kind of limbo, like those nightmares where you fall into a void and never reach the bottom, and you are always in that state of anxiety.

I remember the last time I was at an amusement park, when they put me on one of those rides that is like a ship, and I was at the very end, and it went up, and then that sensation of going down, when you feel like you’re going to die. That adrenaline, which is toxic, is what you feel in prison every day. You feel as if you are in a void and never reach the end. Even after you leave, that void continues to remain inside you for a long time. Literally, what you feel in prison is that you are suffocating. That feeling of being unable to breathe, of not getting enough air.

If you could explain what is happening in Cuba to people who are not from the island, what would you tell them? Why can’t what is happening there be “romanticized”?

First of all, it cannot be romanticized. It cannot. It is impossible to romanticize it; it is even impossible to trivialize what people in Cuba are going through. It is impossible to have affection for a dictatorship. When someone comes to talk to me about Cuba, when they talk to me about utopia or about the blockade, the embargo, the Americans, I tell them that what exists in Cuba is a dictatorship.

There are more than a thousand political prisoners in Cuba. And the political prisoners there right now are not even activists or opposition members. They are children, young people, women who took to the streets demanding a new political system, a new economic system.

So, if someone romanticizes that, they are complicit with the dictatorship. They are complicit with the bad people who are running that country right now. We are talking about a time when, maybe 50 or 40 years ago, there was no internet, no one could see what was happening in Cuba, and you had to rely on the regime’s propaganda. But right now, July 11 is there, there are more than a thousand political prisoners, there are more than I don’t know how many thousands of reports. If you live in a bubble and maintain that romanticism, you are a bad person. You are a bad person because you are complicit with a dictatorship, and I want nothing to do with dictators, much less will I tolerate their accomplices justifying it through romanticism. They are not romantics; they are murderers.

***

From the Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights, we echo the denunciations made by Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara. We also condemn the forced exile suffered by this Cuban artist and by other activists, independent journalists, and human rights defenders. We urge the authoritarian regime in Cuba to end repression, release all people deprived of their liberty for political reasons, and begin a democratic transition that protects the fundamental rights of Cuban people, both on and off the island.



UN Mechanism Reveals Racial Profiling and Police Racism in Colombia Amid Growing Reports of Deaths of Two Afro-descendant Men

Bogotá, October 2, 2026 – Following its visit to the Colombian cities of Bogotá, Cali, Cartagena, and Quibdó from May 4 to 14 this year, EMLER presented a report to the United Nations Human Rights Council, concluding that systemic racism against Afro-Colombian people is deeply entrenched and perpetuated within institutions responsible for protection and the administration of justice. Its key findings regarding law enforcement and the justice system include:

  • Systemic racism, “normalized and rendered invisible,” deeply rooted in security forces and the justice system.
  • “Systematic and widespread” racial profiling.
  • Unnecessary and disproportionate use of force, including lethal force: Afro-descendant youth pursued and shot in the back, and families left waiting for years without progress in investigations.
  • Dehumanizing language by police officers and excessive police presence in spaces where Afro-descendant communities gather.
  • Arbitrary fines and citations, “phantom citations,” informal police quotas, and the discriminatory use of protective custody transfers.
  • Impunity, lack of access to justice, and fear of reporting abuses.
  • Statistical invisibility: the absence of data disaggregated by race and the 31% decline in the Afro-Colombian population recorded in the 2018 census.

The Mechanism also warned that racial profiling can escalate into unnecessary use of force. Encounters arising from stops, searches, or identity checks based on stereotypes “can unnecessarily escalate into forms of physical violence,” including lethal force. The report states that impunity sends families the message that their lives are considered less valuable by the authorities.

“We wish to emphasize that racist police violence does not end with the victim’s body. Its effects extend to the entire Black People, and this collective harm is an essential part of the violation,” the document states.

EMLER documented psychosocial, socioeconomic, family, and community-related harm, including fear, anxiety, stress, distrust of the police, and a collective sense of vulnerability and lack of protection.

This has consequences for the relationship between communities and institutions. When the State presumes criminality based on skin color, physical appearance, hair, clothing, music, or neighborhood, the fundamental relationship of trust between citizens and institutions is broken. People stop reporting abuses and seeking justice, while underreporting protects those responsible for violence. The Mechanism identified “widespread distrust” of security and justice institutions among Afro-descendant people.

There are also lasting consequences that often go unnoticed. Accumulated fines can become barriers to employment, pushing young people into informal work or, alternatively, unemployment. EMLER described these practices as a form of “administrative criminalization of Blackness, poverty, youth, and sexual and gender diversity.”

The EMLER report was released amid public outcry in Colombia over the case of Donovan Balanta, a 34-year-old man who died on September 20 in southwestern Bogotá after being beaten by a group of National Police officers. This case adds to that of Luis Alfredo Echeverry, another young Afro-Colombian man who died on September 27 in the department of Cauca. Both cases reflect, with disturbing precision, patterns of violence documented by the UN Mechanism: a police encounter in a low-income neighborhood with a predominantly Afro-descendant population; the use of force against a person who had been subdued and was under state control; public allegations that the incident began with discriminatory remarks; and a community forced to mobilize to ensure that evidence is preserved and investigations move forward.

EMLER’s findings are general in nature and do not constitute conclusions regarding either of these cases. Nevertheless, the racial dimension must be incorporated into the investigations from the outset. “The role that racial discrimination, stereotypes, and prejudice may have played in the incident must be examined. An investigation that ignores this dimension will be incomplete,” the report states.

Following the publication of this report and the recent cases of violence in which two Afro-Colombian men have died, Race and Equality calls on State institutions to adopt concrete measures in response to these incidents and to address the recommendations issued by the international mechanism.

First, we call on the Office of the Attorney General of the Nation to investigate the deaths of Donovan Balanta and Luis Alfredo Echeverry promptly, independently, and impartially, ensuring the immediate preservation of all evidence, including footage from public and private surveillance cameras. We also consider it essential to incorporate the racial dimension into both investigations and assess the appropriate criminal charges in accordance with international standards on torture and the unlawful use of force.

We call on the National Police and the Ministry of Defense to fully cooperate with the justice system, ensure that no officers under suspicion remain in positions that could allow them to interfere with the investigations, and refrain from any actions that could stigmatize the victims or their communities. The Public Prosecutor’s Office and the Office of the Ombudsperson must actively oversee disciplinary and criminal proceedings and ensure that families receive support through an ethnic-racial and differential approach.

Likewise, we call on the National Government to provide guarantees to the families and communities against potential reprisals, ensure their effective participation in the proceedings, and guarantee comprehensive reparation, including guarantees of non-repetition. We also call for the adoption of a public plan to implement EMLER’s recommendations, with clearly defined responsibilities, a timeline, a budget, and monitoring mechanisms that include the participation of Afro-descendant organizations. This plan must include an explicit prohibition of racial profiling, the initiation of the process to transfer the National Police to a civilian ministry, and the publication of data disaggregated by race and ethnicity on the use of force, arrests, citations, and deaths in custody.

We call on the Congress of the Republic to move forward with the ratification of the Inter-American Convention against Racism and the acceptance of the individual communications procedure before the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD), as well as to enact legislation to prevent and punish racial profiling.

Finally, we call on the international community and human rights organizations to maintain public oversight of both these cases and the implementation of EMLER’s recommendations, in order to help ensure truth, justice, reparation, and guarantees of non-repetition for affected Afro-descendant individuals and communities.



Brooklyn Rivera: the Father, the Leader, and the Search of a United Caribbean Coast

Washington, D.C., September 29, 2025. – To the world, Brooklyn Rivera was a Miskitu Indigenous leader, an advocate for the rights of the peoples of the Caribbean Coast, and a central figure in the Indigenous organization Yatama. To his daughter Tininiska, he was also the father who celebrated each of her birthdays, sang Miskitu and religious songs to her, and supported her through every stage of her education.

That more personal aspect was one of the themes that emerged during the virtual event held in his memory, titled “The Voice They Could Not Silence: Brooklyn Rivera and the Struggle for Indigenous Peoples’ Autonomy in Nicaragua,” organized by Race and Equality,  and featuring his daughter Tininiska Rivera, anthropologist and political scientist Miguel González, and Mayangna indigenous advocate Rendel Hebbert, with Carlos Quesada, Executive Director of Race and Equality, serving as moderator.

Rather than retracing his political career, the gathering offered a chance to look at Ta Upla Brooklyn Rivera through the voices and experiences that help us understand who Brooklyn Rivera truly was and what ideas guided his life.

A father who saw education as a form of defense

Tininiska recalled that her father chose her name, which means “sparrow,” but when they were alone, he called her “Kabuyula”—the name given to a bird smaller than a sparrow that is found mainly on the Caribbean coast. She also recalled that he was present at her birthdays from the time she was born until she turned 29. There were gifts, lunches, cakes, and time spent together.

She also recalled a lesser-known aspect of his life: his spirituality. Brooklyn would sing songs to her in Miskitu and religious songs; he read the Bible frequently and attended church regularly. Faith, Tininiska said, was part of his daily life. But if there is one thing that deeply shaped their relationship, it was the importance Brooklyn placed on education.

From a young age, he urged her to study, to prepare herself professionally, and to acquire the necessary tools to defend the rights of indigenous peoples. Tininiska said that, for him, education was not just a path to personal fulfillment—it was also a tool that would enable indigenous people to represent their communities and defend their rights.

Tininiska shared that her father supported her throughout elementary school, high school, and college, and that he celebrated each of those achievements with special pride; after she earned her college degree, he told her, “That is the greatest legacy I can leave you for life.”

She also mentioned that although he always celebrated her birthdays, he wasn’t one to celebrate himself on his own birthday, which fell on September 24 every year. However, there was never a shortage of tributes from his family, friends, and community. She, in particular, was the one who prepared food and a quequisque or cassava cake to bring to them.

A Leadership Marked by the Pursuit of Peace and Autonomy

Brooklyn Rivera’s public history was closely linked to the organization and political advocacy of the peoples of the Caribbean Coast.

Miguel González, an associate professor at York University in Canada and a native of Bluefields, traced his first steps in leadership to the 1970s, when, as a college student, Brooklyn began to connect with other young people, teachers, and community leaders concerned about the historical discrimination the peoples of the Caribbean Coast faced.

The creation of MISURASATA was one of the pivotal moments in that process, according to González, who noted that years later, in 1987, the founding of Yatama marked another decisive moment: the search for a political organization capable of bringing together different voices from the Caribbean Coast and participating in the peace process and the region’s political life.

For González, one element runs through this entire journey: the pursuit of peace and autonomy. In his words, Brooklyn understood that on the Caribbean Coast it was necessary to engage in dialogue, negotiate, and reach lasting agreements, and that commitment did not fade with the passage of time or political changes but remained a way of understanding politics and leadership.

Nor was his vision limited to a single people. González emphasized that Brooklyn upheld the idea of a united Caribbean Coast—comprising indigenous peoples, Afro-descendant communities, and the mestizo coastal population—as part of a project aimed at autonomy and the recognition of rights.

“Unity in Diversity”

That perspective also emerged in the testimony of Rendel Hebbert, who had known of Brooklyn since childhood, when he first heard his name from relatives involved in the defense of indigenous peoples’ rights and autonomy.

For Hebbert, Brooklyn did not build his leadership solely around the Miskitu people; rather, an important part of his legacy lay in his efforts to forge relationships among the various peoples of the Caribbean Coast. He summed this up in a phrase that recurred throughout his remarks: “unity in diversity.”

According to his testimony, this idea was expressed through concrete actions to secure representation for the Mayangna people and other communities within Yatama and in various forums for political and regional participation.

Likewise, in the role Brooklyn Rivera played in the founding of the University of the Autonomous Regions of the Nicaraguan Caribbean Coast (URACCAN) and the Bluefields Indian and Caribbean University (BICU), or in the passage of Law 445, which regulates the communal land tenure system for the indigenous peoples and ethnic communities of the Caribbean Coast and the Coco, Bocay, Indio, and Maíz river basins.

A concern that dates back to before 2018

The defense of the territory also features in Tininiska’s memories. She recounted that her father had been expressing concern about the situation of Indigenous peoples for years. Since 2014, she said, he had been watching with unease what was happening in Nicaragua and, in particular, the conditions in the autonomous regions, which have historically been isolated from the country’s centers of power.

With the 2018 crisis, that concern deepened even further. Tininiska recalled that Brooklyn believed the situation could worsen and warned of the risks to Indigenous peoples and their territories, especially given the presence of companies and projects that, in his view, could affect Indigenous territories and their resources.

Beyond the Name

Brooklyn Rivera is often associated with major political events in the recent history of Nicaragua’s Caribbean Coast. However, the voices gathered at this conversation offer a glimpse into a person who existed beyond that public dimension.

He was the father who chose his daughter’s name. The man of faith who sang in Miskitu and read the Bible. The father who made his daughter’s education one of his greatest legacies. The leader who, according to those who knew his career, upheld peace and autonomy as central tenets of his philosophy. And the leader who sought to build bridges between different peoples under the banner of unity in diversity.

Remembering him through these different dimensions helps us understand that his legacy is not limited to the positions he held or the organizations he helped build. It also lies in the ideas he passed on, the people he mentored, and his understanding of the defense of Indigenous peoples as a collective endeavor.

Brooklyn Rivera died on May 30, 2026, while in state custody, after more than 970 days of enforced disappearance. September 29 marks the third anniversary of his arbitrary detention and remembering his legacy is a way to honor his struggle and his memory. At Race and Equality, we remain committed to continuing to work alongside his family and human rights organizations to secure truth, justice, and reparations for his loved ones and for the Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities in Nicaragua.

In Cuba, Racism Persists Behind the Discourse of Equality

Washington, D.C., September 8, 2026 — August 31 marked the International Day for People of African Descent, a day to raise awareness about the fight against racism and reaffirm the need to move toward more equal societies. In Cuba, reports by civil society organizations and the observations of the UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) warn of persistent structural inequalities affecting people of African descent.

For decades, the Cuban government’s official discourse has portrayed the 1959 Revolution as the moment when racial discrimination was left behind. However, more than six decades later, disparities persist in areas such as employment, housing, access to basic services, economic opportunities, and even the proportion of people who are incarcerated. At the Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights (Race and Equality), we have documented how these inequalities are structural in nature and reproduce historical patterns of exclusion.

These disparities, raised during Cuba’s review by CERD in April of this year, were reflected in the Committee’s concluding observations, published in May.

Afro-descendant women and girls in Cuba, for example, “face greater obstacles in accessing the labor market, as well as opportunities for political participation and representation… and are disproportionately affected by adolescent pregnancies and maternal mortality. In addition, the prevalence of gender-based violence, including femicides, is a concern,” according to one section of the CERD report.

Inequality and Lack of Information

At Race and Equality, we have also questioned the methodologies used to identify the Afro-descendant population and highlighted the need for reliable information to make racial inequalities visible. In its recent review, CERD found the available statistics insufficient to assess the living conditions and enjoyment of rights of people of African descent. It therefore recommended reviewing statistical methodologies based on self-identification, conducting a new census, and publishing disaggregated data.

Inequality is also evident in the area of civil and political rights. According to the Human Rights Defense Network (RedDDHH), 3,511 repressive actions were recorded in 2025, affecting 3,310 people, of whom 1,842 were Afro-descendant, representing 55.6 percent. The organization also documented a significant presence of Afro-descendant people among victims of repressive actions inside prisons.

The protests of July 11, 2021, known as 11J, also highlighted these dynamics. The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) has noted that racial inequality was among the factors associated with the demonstrations and that the repression disproportionately affected people of African descent.

CERD, for its part, expressed concern over reports of excessive use of force, arbitrary detention, and racial profiling of people of African descent, particularly in the context of peaceful demonstrations. It also raised concerns about the harassment, threats, surveillance, restrictions on movement, and criminalization of activists, journalists, artists, and human rights defenders working to combat racial discrimination and promote the rights of people of African descent.

An Equality That Is Still Not Enough

CERD’s conclusions challenge the idea that racism is a problem that has been overcome in Cuba. The Committee recognized that people of African descent continue to face structural racism and discrimination linked to the historical legacy of slavery, which are reflected in poverty, vulnerability, marginalization, overrepresentation in the prison population, and disparities in access to employment, housing, and basic services.

The Committee also expressed concern about the lack of sufficient information on the implementation, results, and impact of the National Program against Racism and Racial Discrimination, adopted in 2019. It further highlighted the need to ensure the broad and inclusive participation of people of African descent and their organizations in policies aimed at combating discrimination.

As part of the International Day for People of African Descent and the Second International Decade for People of African Descent (2025–2034), Race and Equality stresses that combating racism requires more than recognizing equality before the law. As CERD has pointed out, Cuba must adopt concrete measures to reduce poverty, vulnerability, and marginalization among people of African descent, strengthen equality in the workplace, investigate allegations of racial profiling, and ensure a safe civic space for those defending their rights.



Law 70: 33 Years of a Debt to Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal and Palenquero Communities

Bogotá, August 27, 2026. On this day in 1993, Colombia took a historic step with the enactment of Law 70, legislation that recognized and developed the territorial, cultural, economic, and social rights of Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal and Palenquero Communities. Thirty-three years later, the law remains one of the main achievements of the Afro-Colombian social movement, but it also reflects a debt that the State has yet to settle.

Law 70 emerged from Transitional Article 55 of the 1991 Constitution and recognized a fundamental principle: the territories these communities have inhabited, cared for, and defended for generations are not simply extensions of land. They are spaces of life, memory, culture, autonomy, and community organization.

For this reason, Law 70 is important not only because it recognizes and protects collective ownership of these territories, but also because it establishes guarantees that allow communities to preserve their cultural identity, participate in decisions affecting their territories, protect their traditional forms of production, and develop their own economic and social projects. In other words, it seeks to ensure that communities can remain in their territories and determine their own futures without their identities and ways of life being displaced or threatened.

Its importance also extends beyond the communities themselves. Colombia is a country built on profound ethnic and cultural diversity, and guaranteeing the rights of Afro-Colombian communities means protecting a fundamental part of that diversity, as well as the knowledge, cultural practices, and ecosystems that these communities have safeguarded for generations. Fulfilling Law 70, therefore, is not only an obligation to the Afro-Colombian population; it is also a condition for building a fairer, more diverse, and more equal country.

However, 33 years later, the implementation of Law 70 remains incomplete. Some of its provisions took decades to be regulated. For example, Chapter IV, concerning land use, the protection of forests and water, and the use of natural resources in collective territories, was not regulated until 2023, 30 years after the law was enacted. Other provisions are still pending. Meanwhile, communities have faced displacement, confinement, violence, illegal mining, and other forms of pressure on their territories.

An Earthquake That Once Again Puts Territory at the Center

The significance of this debt became even more evident following the earthquake of August 10, 2026, whose epicenter was near the municipality of San José del Palmar, in the department of Chocó, a territory with a significant Afro-Colombian population. The disaster left 331 people dead and affected this region and other cities across the country, according to Colombia’s National Unit for Disaster Risk Management (UNGRD).

Among the territories affected were also Buenaventura and Cali, two places with significant Afro-Colombian populations and histories marked by profound social and territorial inequalities. This makes clear that the effects of a disaster cannot be understood separately from the conditions in which communities live.

In Chocó, the earthquake struck a department already facing the impacts of armed conflict, confinement, displacement, poverty, and longstanding difficulties in accessing services and infrastructure. The natural disaster thus compounded a social emergency that did not begin on August 10.

For many communities, reconstruction means much more than rebuilding a home. It means recovering their livelihoods, roads, schools, and community spaces, but also ensuring the conditions necessary to remain in their territories and continue developing their collective projects.

For this reason, reconstruction cannot be limited to rebuilding damaged infrastructure. It must recognize the specific characteristics of collective territories, their authorities, their forms of organization, and the historical relationship between communities and their land. How can these territories be rebuilt without first effectively guaranteeing the rights that Law 70 recognized 33 years ago?

A Debt the State Must Settle

At the Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights (Race and Equality), we believe that the 33rd anniversary of Law 70 must be an opportunity for the Colombian State to move from the formal recognition of rights to their effective guarantee for Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal and Palenquero Communities. The Government must advance pending regulations, strengthen the protection of collective territories, and guarantee the effective participation of communities and their authorities in decisions that affect them.

The reconstruction of the areas affected by the earthquake must incorporate an ethnic and territorial approach and become an opportunity to address, rather than reproduce, the historical inequalities affecting territories such as Chocó, Buenaventura, and Cali. Reconstruction cannot simply mean rebuilding what collapsed. It must also mean guaranteeing that communities can live with dignity, exercise their autonomy, and remain in the territories they have cared for and defended for generations.



Organizations File a Complaint with the IACHR Regarding the Expansion of Extractive Policies in Nicaragua and Their Impact on the Human Rights of Indigenous Peoples and People of African Descent

Washington, D.C., August 4, 2026. As part of the 196th Session of the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), a public hearing was held on August 3, during which human rights and environmental organizations presented the main impacts resulting from the expansion of the extractive model in Nicaragua.

Participants in the hearing included the Institute on Race, Equality, and Human Rights (Race and Equality), the Fundación del Río (FdR), and the Center for Justice and International Law (CEJIL), which presented findings and testimonies on the territorial, environmental, and social consequences of mining activity in Nicaragua.

The organizations emphasized that this situation stems from a historical failure on the part of the Nicaraguan government to complete the process of regularizing the territories titled under the Law on the Communal Property Regime of Indigenous Peoples and Ethnic Communities (Law 445), as well as the absence of a legal framework that recognizes and protects the territorial rights of indigenous peoples in the Pacific, Central, and Northern regions of the country.

They noted that the constitutional and legal reforms promoted in recent years by the Nicaraguan government have further eroded the autonomy of the Caribbean Coast and reduced the decision-making capacity of indigenous and Afro-descendant authorities over their own territories. For these organizations, the expansion of mining represents the continuation of an extractivist model that prioritizes the exploitation of natural resources over the collective and individual rights of the peoples.

Carlos Quesada, executive director of Race and Equality, stated that the lack of land titling has allowed non-indigenous settlers to encroach on indigenous lands, leaving the communities completely unprotected.

“Far from addressing this historical debt, the State has further eroded territorial guarantees. Recent constitutional and legal reforms have dismantled the Caribbean Coast’s autonomy regime, subordinating the Regional Councils and communal and territorial authorities to the central government and stripping indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples of their mechanisms for participation and decision-making regarding their own territories,” said Quesada.

He added that this process is taking place against a backdrop of the complete closure of civic space and repression, which translates into “the persecution and criminalization of their leaders. Furthermore, invasions by settlers subject these communities to systematic violence, including sexual violence and murders.”

For his part, Amaru Ruiz, president of Fundación del Río, reiterated that the state’s extractivist policy has progressively dismantled safeguards for the protection of indigenous and Afro-descendant territories, such as the elimination of environmental and territorial controls—including prior environmental impact assessments for mining projects and mandatory public consultation—and the modification of the institutional structure to concentrate control over mining.

Ruiz warned that the expansion of the extractive model has intensified the use of mercury and cyanide in mining operations, in addition to contributing to the persistence of child labor in mining areas. He also noted that, for the first time, legislation allows mining activities to take place within protected natural areas.

As a result of this model, Ruiz noted that currently 75 mining concessions affect 19 protected areas and two biosphere reserves, compromising more than 900,000 hectares. Among the impacted areas are the Bosawas Biosphere Reserve and the Indio Maíz Biological Reserve, two of the country’s main remaining forest areas.

Alejandra Manavella, of CEJIL, explained that the consequences of mining expansion are reflected in the transformation of these territories, as well as in the impact on the ecosystems on which these communities depend. She noted that there are currently 62 mining concessions affecting 18 indigenous and Afro-descendant territories, compromising 25.5% of communal lands. In addition, she noted that these concessions impact 163 rivers, 80 streams, and 1,900 km of waterways, and affect the Bosawas and Río San Juan.

Manavella warned that this extractivist model is linked to forced displacement, violence, and the criminalization of those who defend their territories. Between 2013 and 2024, at least 69 Indigenous people were murdered in this context. He also cited the cases of Brooklyn Rivera, Nancy Henríquez, Steadman Fagoth, and the eight Mayangna forest rangers as examples of persecution against Indigenous leaders.

This is compounded by the expansion of the agricultural frontier, invasions by settlers, and environmental migration, which particularly affect Indigenous and Afro-descendant women.

As part of the hearing, Lee Bell, a technical and policy advisor for the International Pollutants Elimination Network (IPEN), presented virtually the results of a pilot study on mercury concentrations in Nicaraguan indigenous women of childbearing age living in an area where small-scale mining takes place in the country’s northern Caribbean region. The video of the presentation, with Spanish subtitles, can be viewed here.

On behalf of the IACHR, Commissioner Rosa María Payá, Rapporteur for Nicaragua, recalled that the Commission has repeatedly documented that, in the context of the consolidation of the authoritarian regime, indigenous peoples and people of African descent face a pattern of territorial dispossession, violence, erosion of their autonomy, and persecution of their leaders—a situation exacerbated by the expansion of extractive activities that disregard the guarantees of free, prior, and informed consent.

Commissioner Marion Bethel, Rapporteur on Women’s Rights, called for a more in-depth examination of the effects of mercury use in mining and its impact on health, particularly that of women, girls, and boys. She also expressed concern about the consequences this activity has on the increase in gender-based violence in affected communities.

The Commissioner also inquired about the impact of the sanctions imposed by the United States and other countries on Nicaragua’s mining sector, and how these sanctions affect the well-being and rights of indigenous peoples and people of African descent, given that some of the mined minerals continue to reach international markets. Finally, she requested clarification on the use and extraction of water by mining companies, particularly regarding the authorizations and concessions granted by the National Water Authority for these activities.

For his part, Javier Palummo, Special Rapporteur on Economic, Social, Cultural, and Environmental Rights (Redesca), stated that the discussion is not limited to mining operations and environmental impacts, but rather encompasses an issue of territorial governance and the distribution of power.

“When concessions overlap with collective territories and protected areas, and when mechanisms for environmental assessment, transparency, and participation are weakened—especially in contexts where civic space is being restricted— these types of circumstances give rise to violence against human rights defenders, displacement, and violence against communities, and not only are collective property, self-determination, the right to a healthy environment, water, health, and food compromised, but so too are communities’ opportunities to develop with dignity,” said Palummo.

At the conclusion of the hearing, the organizations requested that the IACHR strengthen its monitoring of the situation in Nicaragua, specifically incorporating the impacts of mining expansion on indigenous and Afro-descendant territories; coordinate this monitoring with oversight of compliance with the Awas Tingni judgment before the Inter-American Court of Human Rights; and strengthen coordination with the mechanisms of the United Nations Universal System to reinforce international scrutiny of Nicaragua. They also asked the Commission to urge OAS member states involved in the mining industry—whether as sources of capital or destinations for minerals—to ensure that companies comply with their human rights obligations.

July 25: Women of African Descent Nurture Life, Protect Their Communities, and Build the Future

Rio de Janeiro, July 25, 2026.—July 25 marks the International Day of Afro-Latin, Afro-Caribbean, and Diaspora Women. It is a day to recognize, name, and highlight the strength of millions of women of African descent who, in Latin America and the Caribbean, nurture life, protect their territories, and build, with their own hands, alternatives for a more just future.

This commemoration arises from a context of profound exploitation and oppression. Women of African descent continue to face the intersection of racism and gender-based violence in a region where societies in Latin America and the Caribbean still grapple with deep-seated structural challenges regarding racial and gender equality. This violence manifests itself in multiple spheres: in unequal access to education, health care, decent work, and political participation; in the physical and symbolic violence that affects their bodies—including domestic violence, femicide, sexual, obstetric, political, and police violence, as well as hate speech; in threats directed at their leaders when they decide to defend their territories, their communities, and their rights; and in the unpaid exploitation of care work.

These inequalities are the direct result of centuries of colonialism, racial exclusion, and a social pact that, in most countries in the region, never fully recognized women of African descent as rights-holders. To speak of July 25 is, therefore, also to speak of history: of the resistance that spanned the colonial period, enslavement, and the decades of exclusion following abolition; but it is also to speak of the present, recognizing that these inequalities continue to shape the living conditions of millions of women of African descent. Race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, social class, and territory are factors that significantly intensify experiences of violence and the impact of the loss of rights and the defunding of public policies. In this regard, it is essential to recognize the specific forms of subordination and exploitation to which women of African descent have been and continue to be subjected in Latin America and the Caribbean, where colonial and imperialist power relations persist.

Agency and Resilience

However, and this is the central point this text seeks to affirm, women of African descent cannot be described solely as victims of these forms of violence. They are, above all, agents of change: human rights defenders, caregivers, community leaders, guardians of collective memory, and everyday builders of more just and democratic societies. It is this aspect that the Institute on Race, Equality, and Human Rights aims to place at the center of the conversation on July 25.

Care work is historically invisible and unpaid labor that forms the foundation upon which families, local economies, and entire cultures are sustained. In households, neighborhoods, and rural and urban communities, it is predominantly women of African descent who provide care for children and the elderly; who feed, heal, and teach.

This care must be understood as a political tool for cultivating and promoting collective life, a practice that ensures the continuity of communities of African descent in the face of adverse circumstances. In this sense, caring is an act of resistance, but also of building: it is the most daily and constant way of keeping families, traditions, and community bonds alive.

Furthermore, women of African descent drive grassroots economies, informal trade networks, agricultural production, and the solidarity economy that sustain entire communities. They also play leading roles in occupying positions of power, in the production of knowledge, and in decision-making. In many cases, they are heads of households and the primary breadwinners for their families, shouldering this responsibility while facing multiple shifts of precarious work and a wage gap that penalizes them doubly, for being women and for being of African descent.

Memory and Advocacy

This cultivation of life also takes place through culture. Women of African descent pass down ancestral knowledge and constantly recover, reinterpret, and update that knowledge in the face of present-day challenges. This intergenerational transmission of knowledge constitutes, in and of itself, a form of collective resistance: a heritage that resists oblivion and becomes a tool for protection and for building the future.

If cultivating life is a daily and often unseen task, protecting communities is an exercise in public leadership. Women of African descent lead community organizations, grassroots movements, human rights groups, and territorial resistance efforts throughout the region. It is they who, often on the front lines, denounce human rights violations, support victims, build protection networks, and bring their demands to national and international policy-making forums.

This leadership is not without reprisals from the cis-heteropatriarchal system. Women of African descent who decide to defend their territories, whether rural, quilombola, urban, or peripheral, face threats, stigmatization, and, in many countries in the region, a real risk to their own lives. Political and gender-based violence against women leaders of African descent remains one of the most serious manifestations of racial inequality in the Americas. Even so, these women remain standing, at the forefront, leading efforts to defend rights and protect their territories.

Protection also means preserving memory. Women of African descent are guardians of histories that structural racism has sought to erase: memories of resistance, ancestry, and collective struggle. In this sense, peacebuilding in territories of African descent necessarily rests in the hands of these women, who sustain community-based processes of coexistence, reparations, and collective care even in contexts of persistent violence.

This protection also has a collective and organizational dimension. It is women of African descent who often coordinate mutual support networks among organizations, create safe spaces for other women and girls, and build bridges between their communities and national and international human rights protection mechanisms. It is work that demands perseverance and strategy and that, in many cases, involves directly confronting power structures that seek to silence these voices.

Future

The leading role of women of African descent is also firmly projected toward the future. This projection is expressed, first and foremost, through education, especially through the access they seek and achieve by breaking down structural barriers of racial and gender exclusion. It is also evident in political participation: women of African descent are increasingly occupying positions of representation in parliaments, councils, international human rights bodies, and multilateral forums, bringing the specific demands of their communities to these arenas. Although their presence remains a minority due to the historical underrepresentation of women of African descent in positions of power, it represents a profound transformation, the result of centuries of resistance.

Finally, this leading role is reflected in the education of new generations, especially through the transmission of a vision for the future. By educating, organizing, and occupying decision-making spaces, women of African descent are actively building alternatives, new forms of community life, new leadership models, and new paths so that future generations may live with greater dignity, more rights, and less violence.

Commitment

It is precisely this leading role of women of African descent that forms the foundation of the work of Race and Equality, an organization that benefits from the contributions of numerous women of African descent who are part of our team and who drive concrete strategies to combat racism, sexism, and LGBTQIAPN+phobia. We work alongside activists and organizations of women of African descent throughout Latin America, supporting the documentation and recording of human rights violations and strengthening their capacity to advocate in national and international decision-making forums. We promote the effective participation of these women leaders before the Organization of American States (OAS), maintain an ongoing dialogue with the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), and contribute reports and recommendations to the United Nations Permanent Forum on People of African Descent and the International Mechanism of Independent Experts to Promote Justice and Racial Equality in Law Enforcement.

This advocacy work has already resulted in reports analyzing the political participation of women of African descent in Brazil, Chile, Colombia, and Honduras, shedding light on both the political violence they face—which is even more acute in the case of trans women—and the strategies they themselves develop to occupy positions of power and decision-making. We also promote regional and international dialogues that connect the experiences of women of African descent in Latin America and the Caribbean with the struggles of the African diaspora in other contexts, strengthening networks of solidarity and mutual learning among women leaders from different countries. This is the commitment that Race & Equality reaffirms on July 25: to continue standing alongside organizations of women of African descent, strengthening their struggles to transform the reality of their communities and our societies.

Recognizing and celebrating the capacity for action of women of African descent in Latin America and the Caribbean is essential to making real progress toward racial and gender equality. Because women of African descent nurture life every day, caring for their families and communities; they protect their territories, their leadership, and their collective memory; they organize politically and occupy positions of power; and they build, with determination and courage, the paths toward a more just, democratic, and dignified future for themselves, for all of society, and for future generations.

Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara: From Prison to Forced Exile

Washington, D.C., July 18, 2026. The International Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights (Race and Equality) welcomes the release of Cuban artist and political prisoner Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara after he unjustly served a five-year prison sentence for peacefully exercising his fundamental rights. However, the Institute condemns the fact that his freedom was only made possible through his departure from Cuba under the humanitarian parole program. Otero Alcántara’s arrival in Miami, Florida, on Saturday, July 18, marks yet another episode in the Cuban regime’s systematic use of forced exile against those who exercise their right to freedom of expression and defend human rights. His departure from the island does not represent an act of full freedom, but rather the continuation of a repressive policy aimed at silencing critical voices through banishment.

For years, Otero Alcántara established himself as one of Cuba’s leading voices for independent art and human rights. He co-founded the San Isidro Movement, a collective of artists, intellectuals, and activists that promotes artistic freedom and fundamental freedoms on the island. Following the historic protests of July 11, 2021, he was arbitrarily detained. Even after completing his sentence in full, the Cuban authorities kept his whereabouts secret for several days, prolonging uncertainty about his situation before ultimately facilitating his departure from the country.

Just days ago, Otero Alcántara’s works were featured in the exhibition The Invisible Prison: Imprisoned Artists in Cuba, presented at the Art Museum of the Americas in Washington, D.C., in collaboration with Race and Equality and other partner organizations. The exhibition brought together works by artists imprisoned for political reasons to expose the impact of repression on freedom of artistic creation and expression in Cuba while reaffirming the role of art as a form of resistance against authoritarianism.

“We welcome Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara’s release after five years of unjust imprisonment. However, no one should be forced to leave their country in order to regain their freedom. The forced exile imposed by the Cuban regime demonstrates that banishment remains a tool of repression against those who peacefully exercise their fundamental rights. This case once again highlights the absence of fundamental freedoms and the closure of civic space in Cuba,” said Carlos Quesada, Executive Director of Race and Equality.

What happened to Otero Alcántara reflects a systematic pattern of repression documented by Cuban and international human rights organizations. The criminalization of dissent, arbitrary detention, harassment, surveillance, and forced exile are mechanisms used to restrict civic space and silence those who exercise and defend their fundamental rights.

Race and Equality welcomes Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara’s release while condemning forced exile as a repressive practice that is incompatible with international human rights obligations. We call on the Cuban authoritarian regime to immediately and unconditionally release all individuals arbitrarily detained for political reasons. We also urge the international community to denounce forced exile as a mechanism of political persecution and to maintain its attention on the profound human rights crisis in Cuba, demanding an end to the systematic violations committed against those who peacefully defend democracy, fundamental freedoms, and human dignity.



Afro-Colombian Day Is Not Just A Commemoration; It Is A Call For The Recognition Of Rights

Bogotá, May 21, 2026 – There is a way of being in the world that cannot be learned in a classroom or decreed by an institution. It is learned by living in community, by caring for one another. 

In Colombia, Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal, and Palenquero communities have always lived this way; not because they had no other choice, but because they understood something that has taken others centuries to grasp: that life alone is not enough, that the land is cared for by all, and that dignity is not an individual achievement, but a collective endeavor.

Today, May 21, Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal, and Palenquero communities commemorate Afro-Colombian identity from this very place: from the organizational processes that have been shaping the agenda for decades; from the community councils that govern the territory with their wisdom; from the women’s organizations that have sustained daily life at times when everything else was falling apart. From the youth who received an enormous legacy and are carrying it forward with commitment and pride. 

That legacy goes back a long way. And to understand what we are commemorating today, we must understand what they have resisted in order to get this far. Because the struggle of Black people in this country did not begin in 1851, when slavery was abolished. It began when the first Africans were brought to these lands, torn from their families, their languages, their names, and their identity. And from that moment on, the struggle was to reclaim the humanity that had been taken from them. 

The palenques were the most visible expression of that resolve; entire communities that said no, that built their own territory. San Basilio de Palenque, a town in the Colombian Caribbean, survived. It defended its autonomy, preserved its language, and maintained its memory. And today it still stands.

Freedom arrived in 1851 without land, without resources, without the actual conditions to exercise it. And the communities had to keep fighting. For their territory. For education. For the right to participate, to decide, to be recognized. 

That struggle found its way into the 1991 Constitution. Black community organizations didn’t wait to be given a space; they built it themselves. They arrived with their own agenda and succeeded in having ethnic and cultural diversity recognized. They secured Law 70 of 1993, which recognized collective territories and the right to prior consultation. That was no gift. It was the result of decades of organizing, of people who dedicated their lives to making possible what seemed impossible.

And yet, the gap between what the law says and what reality shows remains enormous. Between May 4 and 14 of this year, for example, the United Nations Mechanism of Independent Experts to Promote Justice and Racial Equality in Law Enforcement (EMLER) heard from communities, organizations, and state institutions. And upon concluding, it stated what communities have been saying for decades: that racism in Colombia is not a collection of isolated incidents, but a structural, historical, and sustained system. One that manifests itself in health indicators, in maps of violence, in unprotected territories, and in bodies that do not generate the same sense of urgency when they disappear.

Over the centuries, Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal, and Palenquero communities have demonstrated that identity is neither decreed nor granted. It is built, defended, and passed down. And that is precisely what this country holds in its hands: a living, organizational, cultural, and political heritage that continues to grow, that continues to shape leaders, that continues to care for territories, and that remains, after all that has been thrown in its path, a transformative force.

That is why this day is not just a commemoration; it is also a call for this country to honor with deeds what it has recognized with words, and for the rights that took centuries of struggle to achieve to be exercised without anyone having to pay with their life to defend them.

At the Institute on Race, Equality, and Human Rights, we echo Alomía’s words and join in commemorating this date to remind everyone that racism affects millions of Afro-Colombians; at the same time, we demand that the Colombian government provide guarantees for the recognition of the rights of the Black, Afro-Colombian, Raizal, and Palenquero communities in this country.

Dayana Alomía, Legal Consultant on Race and Equality in Colombia



Afro-descendant organizations brief UN experts on the structural challenges faced by the Afro-descendant population in Mexico

Washington, D.C., May 20, 2026. – During the official visit to Mexico by the United Nations Working Group of Experts on People of African Descent, civil society organizations, community leaders, and representatives of African descent from different regions of the country shared with the international experts their main concerns, challenges, and demands regarding human rights, recognition, political participation, racial justice, and sustainable development.

The official visit, which began on May 11 and will conclude on May 20, is led by Isabelle Mamadou, chair of the Working Group, and Catherine Namakula, a member of the mechanism. During their stay in the country, the experts have examined the human rights situation of people of African descent in Mexico, gathering information on racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia, and related forms of intolerance, as well as promoting the implementation of the Second International Decade for People of African Descent (2025–2034).

The delegation held meetings with government authorities, national institutions, representatives of the legislative and judicial branches, as well as with people of African descent, civil society organizations, and other actors working on issues of racial discrimination and human rights.

The Institute on Race, Equality, and Human Rights (Race & Equality) had the honor of supporting the coordination of dialogue spaces and meetings between experts and activists of African descent in the various regions visited. These spaces were made possible thanks to the commitment, leadership, and mobilization capacity of Afro-descendant community leaders who brought together organizations, community authorities, youth, women, human rights defenders, and representatives from various sectors of their communities to engage in dialogue with the United Nations experts. Race & Equality extends special thanks to Rosa María Hernández Fitta in Córdoba and Yanga (Veracruz); Teresa Mojica and the members of Afrocaracolas in Puerto Marqués (Guerrero); Sergio Peñaloza in Cuajinicuilapa (Guerrero); and Yolanda Camacho in El Azufre (Oaxaca), whose work in coordinating local efforts made possible the broad and diverse participation of the Afro-descendant population. Without their commitment and leadership, these meetings would not have been possible.

The activities began on May 13, 2026, with a meeting held at the Center for Constitutional Studies and Legal Knowledge of the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation, represented on this occasion by Dr. Gema Tabares.

During the meetings, the main concerns raised by Afro-descendant organizations and communities highlighted that:

Although there has been institutional progress aimed at the Afro-Mexican population, these efforts remain insufficient due to budgetary constraints, a lack of political will, and a predominantly indigenous-focused approach that does not fully address the realities, identities, and specific needs of Afro-descendant peoples and communities.

In this regard, the need was reiterated to create an institution dedicated exclusively to the Afro-descendant population, with adequate resources, trained staff, and the capacity to implement comprehensive and sustainable public policies.

Likewise, the organizations emphasized the urgency of strengthening affirmative action and ensuring genuine political representation for people of African descent in decision-making spaces. They expressed concern over the constant attempts to seize candidacies intended for Afro-Mexicans and over the use of the census as the sole mechanism for verifying Afro-descendant status, despite the low level of self-identification resulting from centuries of historical invisibility and racial discrimination.

The organizations also highlighted the need to advance the recognition of the autonomy and self-determination of Afro-descendant peoples and communities, as well as their own normative systems, forms of organization, and self-governance.

Likewise, they expressed concern over the lack of specific consultation protocols for Afro-Mexican peoples, the absence of numerous communities from the National Catalog of Afro-Mexican Communities, and the stalling of discussions regarding an Afro-Mexican regulatory law that would translate constitutionally recognized rights into public policies, protection mechanisms, and concrete guarantees.

The organizations denounced that the Afro-Mexican population continues to face significant barriers to accessing inclusive education free from discrimination. Among the main concerns highlighted was the absence of Afro-Mexican content and curricula in classrooms, a situation that contributes to the historical erasure of the contributions of the Afro-descendant population and perpetuates racial stereotypes.

Likewise, they pointed out the lack of effective access to technical and university education for many communities of African descent. Even when families make significant financial efforts to ensure their children can pursue higher education, obstacles to accessing decent jobs persist due to discriminatory practices and structural racism in the labor market.

The organizations also denounced that racial profiling remains a daily reality for many people of African descent, particularly when they leave their ancestral communities. They are frequently perceived as foreigners or migrants due to their physical characteristics, facing acts of discrimination, questions about their nationality, and differential treatment by authorities and private individuals.

The organizations underscored the importance of incorporating an intersectional approach in analyzing the human rights situation of the Afro-descendant population in Mexico. They highlighted that Afro-descendant women continue to face multiple forms of discrimination stemming from the intersection of racism and sexism, as well as higher levels of economic exclusion, violence, and barriers to accessing spaces for participation and leadership.

For their part, youth of African descent face specific obstacles related to access to quality education, employment, opportunities for social mobility, and political participation, in addition to frequently being affected by criminalization, stigmatization, and violence.

Likewise, the situation of Afro-descendant migrants was highlighted, as they face heightened forms of discrimination and vulnerability due to the convergence of factors such as race, nationality, immigration status, and socioeconomic exclusion.

Another issue addressed was the protection of Afro-descendant cultural heritage, particularly Afro-Seminole, an English-based creole language spoken by the Mascoga community in Coahuila and currently in danger of extinction.

The organizations also highlighted the need to strengthen and support community initiatives aimed at preserving Afro-descendant historical memory, including community museums such as the Afro-Mexican Museum of Huehuetán, cultural spaces, and artistic projects that play a fundamental role in building identity, collective self-esteem, and the fight against invisibility. However, they noted that these initiatives continue to receive scant institutional and financial support.

Afro-descendant communities in coastal areas also warned of the impacts of climate change, the state’s neglect, and economic projects that are affecting their territories and livelihoods, especially in places like Puerto Marqués, in Acapulco, and El Azufre, in Oaxaca.

In addition, they denounced the impacts of violence and organized crime, including disappearances, murders, intimidation, and lack of access to justice.

The activists also highlighted the urgent need for adequately equipped health centers with permanent staff. Currently, many people of African descent must travel long distances to access medical care or resort to high-cost private services, a situation that seriously limits the exercise of the right to health.

They also expressed concern that many government programs and support initiatives establish requirements that are inaccessible to Afro-descendant communities, organizations, and activists, thereby excluding precisely those who most need access to these resources.

The participating organizations emphasized the importance of the Working Group’s recommendations contributing to the strengthening of the recognition, protection, and effective guarantee of the rights of people of African descent in Mexico, from a perspective of historical reparations, racial justice, substantive equality, and effective community participation.

Today, May 20, 2026, the Working Group of Experts on People of African Descent will present its preliminary observations and recommendations during a press conference at the conclusion of its official visit to Mexico. Subsequently, the final report on the mission is expected to be presented to the United Nations Human Rights Council, possibly in September 2026.

Race & Equality reaffirms its commitment to continue accompanying and supporting the Afro-descendant population in Mexico, as it has done for many years, by promoting spaces for dialogue, strengthening the capacities of Afro-descendant organizations and leaders, advancing national and international advocacy processes, and contributing to the defense of their human rights.

We are confident that the conclusions and recommendations resulting from this visit will help shed light on the challenges that people, peoples, and communities of African descent in Mexico continue to face, as well as strengthen the actions necessary to advance toward racial equality, historical reparations, full recognition of their rights, and effective participation in the country’s political, economic, social, and cultural life.

 

We also spoke with the migrant community, but I changed the term to “Afri-Mexican”

 

The activists deserve recognition because, without financial support, they managed to organize the community and give the experts a warm welcome, covering the logistical costs.

 

I think it’s important to note these dates

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