Political Imprisonment in Cuba and Nicaragua: Behind the Numbers, Lives and Rights Violated

Washington, D.C., October 30, 2026. Hundreds of people remain imprisoned for political reasons in Cuba and Nicaragua, in contexts where persecution can target not only those who identify as members of the opposition, but also human rights defenders, independent journalists, activists, and anyone who publicly criticizes the government.

On Political Prisoners’ Day, the Institute on Race, Equality, and Human Rights (Race and Equality) draws attention to the persistence of this crime, the violations faced by detainees, and the forms of control that can continue even after their release. Enforced disappearance and deaths in state custody represent some of the most serious manifestations of this reality.

Cuba and Nicaragua: The Statistics Behind Political Imprisonment

In Cuba, the organization Justicia 11J—a project of the organization Iniciativa para la Investigación y la Incidencia A.C., which has been documenting and denouncing political repression in Cuba since the historic protests of July 2021—reports that 832 people are being held in detention for political reasons. This figure reflects the persistence of political imprisonment and the need to keep the spotlight on those who remain incarcerated for exercising their fundamental rights.

In Nicaragua, since 2018, political imprisonment has become one of the main tools of repression. According to the most recent report from the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), there have been 4,796 arbitrary detentions, generally for political reasons.

As of October 2026, the Mechanism for the Recognition of Political Prisoners in Nicaragua has identified 72 people who remain in detention for political reasons. Furthermore, 33 of these individuals are considered to be victims of enforced disappearance. The records also identify 16 women—including two minors—16 older adults, and 20 Indigenous people as political prisoners.

These figures should be interpreted in light of underreporting stemming from fear of reporting incidents, as well as the fact that civil society organizations describe a “revolving door” dynamic, in which new arrests coincide with releases from prison, meaning that a temporary reduction in the number of people incarcerated does not reflect a decrease in repression.

Who is affected by political imprisonment?

Political imprisonment can affect people who identify as members of the opposition or who are perceived as such by the authorities. In authoritarian contexts such as those in Cuba and Nicaragua, this perception can extend far beyond membership in a political party considered to be part of the opposition. Human rights defenders, independent journalists, activists, and citizens who voice criticism can become targets of persecution and imprisonment.

In Nicaragua, there have been reports of arbitrary arrests of individuals whose actions or statements critical of the authorities are not publicly known, while the reasons for their arrest remain unclear and give rise only to speculation.

In Cuba, the case of Anna Bensi and her mother, Caridad Silvente Laffita, illustrates how an act related to the exercise of freedom of expression can lead to criminal punishment: in October 2026, the Municipal People’s Court of East Havana sentenced them to two years of restricted freedom for recording and posting on social media a video of a police officer who had come to their home.

Release From Prison Does Not Always Mean Freedom

Understanding who is affected by political imprisonment also requires recognizing that persecution does not necessarily end upon release from prison. Subsequent restrictions, exile, and other forms of control can prolong its impact on the lives of individuals and their families.

Some of those released have been exiled, while others remain in the country under police surveillance and severe restrictions, such as the requirement to report daily to police stations or to account for their movements. In Nicaragua, people released from prison since November 2025 are held under a regime similar to house arrest and are silenced out of fear of further reprisals.

In Cuba, the case of independent artist Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara illustrates the consequences of this practice. After spending five years in prison following a conviction related to the exercise of his fundamental rights during the historic protests of July 11, 2021, his release from prison was conditional on his leaving the country.

Enforced Disappearance and Deaths in Custody: The Most Serious Consequences

Enforced disappearance is one of the most extreme forms of political imprisonment in Nicaragua. People are held incommunicado for prolonged periods, while their families remain unaware of their whereabouts, their health status, and the conditions in which they are being held.

Another extreme consequence is death in state custody. Since 2018, at least nine political prisoners have died in state custody in Nicaragua, according to records from human rights organizations. Among them is the Miskitu indigenous leader Brooklyn Rivera, who, after participating in the United Nations Forum on Indigenous Issues in April 2023, died on May 30 of this year while in state custody, following 971 days during which he was held in a situation of forced disappearance, incommunicado, without his family knowing his place of detention or being allowed to visit him.

During that period, Nicaraguan authorities kept his whereabouts secret and did not provide any information about his health. The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, the Group of Experts on Human Rights in Nicaragua, and other protection mechanisms expressed dismay and condemned his death while in state custody, highlighting the collective impact of this case on the Miskitu people and the defense of indigenous peoples’ territorial rights and autonomy.

In Cuba, serious human rights violations during detention have also been reported, including violations of detainees’ personal integrity and health. Reports of a lack of medical care, torture, and physical deterioration in prison underscore the importance of ensuring detention conditions compatible with human dignity and of effectively investigating potential state responsibility when a person dies while in state custody.

No more imprisonment for political reasons!

On this October 30, Race and Equality reaffirms its commitment to documenting, raising awareness about, and denouncing political imprisonment in Cuba and Nicaragua and its grave consequences for the victims, their families, and the defense of democracy and human rights.

We demand that the authorities in both countries cease political persecution and imprisonment, immediately release all those arbitrarily deprived of their liberty, disclose the whereabouts of those who have disappeared for political reasons, release them immediately, and guarantee truth and justice for the victims and their families.

Cuban Activist Aymara Nieto: One Year After Beginning a New Life in the Dominican Republic

The year since Aymara Nieto landed in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, after leaving Havana has been a time of regained freedom, but also of distance and many uncertainties. Much has happened around the world since then: geopolitics have been reshaped, changes have unfolded, and the life of the former prominent member of the Ladies in White, a peaceful opposition movement founded in 2003 by relatives of imprisoned dissidents, has also changed. Today, after an intense period of adapting to her new reality and what she describes as a profound spiritual awakening through faith, she speaks with us in this interview.

In August 2025, after more than six years of political imprisonment and harassment, you were forced into exile in the Dominican Republic. What has the process of rebuilding your life away from your homeland been like, and what have been the greatest challenges of adapting during this period?

“It has been a very difficult experience for me and my family, because I was forced to leave my country for defending human rights and the freedom of political prisoners in my homeland.

“When I arrived in the Dominican Republic, I was welcomed by fellow activists from the Cuban American Foundation. I have a very special relationship with the people who received me. From the moment they met me at the airport, they offered us their home without expecting anything in return. They supported me, and they are still my adoptive parents here. We maintain that bond every day, and I am their daughter. We celebrate my daughter’s birthday and our anniversaries together. It has truly been a blessing in my life to find people with such strong values who, after learning about the terrible things our family has endured, have offered us the support of those who are close to us.

“Although I still do not have legal documentation here and have been unable to take formal employment, I clean houses to make ends meet. We have to stretch a very limited income because I am still not legally permitted to work. I survive because I have strength and because I have found something greater: we have found God.

“We are Pentecostal Christians. My youngest daughter is now receiving religious instruction and will be baptized soon. I have already been baptized. Going to church, being in communion with the Lord, putting Him first in our lives, and getting to know Him have all been very positive experiences. Our wounds have begun to heal, and we have learned to forgive all the harm that was done to us.”

During your imprisonment, you endured punitive transfers hundreds of kilometers away from your family, punishment cells, and a lack of medical care. What is your current health status, and how is your physical and psychological recovery from those experiences progressing?

“I suffered greatly: retaliation, transfers, and punishment. I was held at the prison in Havana known as El Guatao, or the Western Women’s Prison, and was transferred to the provincial prison in Las Tunas, the Prisión Provincial Típico Nuevo, more than 700 kilometers away from my family.

“There, I was placed in solitary confinement cells despite having committed no crime. It was simply because my husband was making denunciations in the media that I was kept in punishment cells, denied access to the telephone, and subjected to verbal and physical humiliation. Medical care in prison was also inadequate: medications and basic healthcare were lacking.

“Because of my determination, my perseverance in the struggle, international support, and my membership in opposition organizations, the repression against me intensified to the highest level.

“It was very difficult. I spent two years with virtually no contact with anyone. Because we were going through the COVID-19 pandemic and lockdown, my family could not travel to Las Tunas, as transportation had been suspended. I spent two years and eight months there and received only one visit. It was hard. Knowing that there was a deadly epidemic, that many people were dying while I was confined to a cell, made the anguish even worse.

“I cried out to God for my loved ones, asking Him to protect them and to let all the world’s suffering fall upon me instead, so that they would be spared the disease and all the terrible things happening at that time. It was an extremely difficult experience for me and for us as a family.

“Today, faith has completely transformed my life and the lives of those around me. Thanks to that, I can say that I have recovered from the health problems I suffered in prison. For example, I had high blood pressure, but since I placed my life in the Lord’s hands, I have not experienced any further episodes or lasting effects. I forgave everything that was done to me so that God could take control of the abuses committed against me, political prisoners, and the Cuban people.

“My family has also found a spiritual path, which has allowed us to rebuild our lives. Although we are still separated, my eldest daughter lives in Cuba with my mother and my four granddaughters. Our faith has restored our lives. I would like to be a source of inspiration for political prisoners and their families. I urge them to seek God and put Him first as they face the obstacles imposed by the dictatorship.”

It is well known how painful it was for you to be separated from your three daughters, two of whom were minors when you were arrested, and how crucial your mother’s support was. How is your family doing, and how have you coped with the emotional consequences of imprisonment, prolonged separation, and exile?

“I did not want to leave Cuba. I said it in every interview: they would have to kill me on my own soil.

“However, when they gave me the ultimatum that I either had to leave the country or remain in prison, I had to think about my daughters, who were already teenagers. When I was arrested, the youngest were only five and nine years old. That made me stop and reflect. If it were not for my girls, I would still be in prison. I finally accepted because of them.

“When I arrived in exile, I had to get to know my daughters all over again. I knew nothing about their new interests or personalities, and they barely remembered what it was like to live with me or to have me care for them as their mother. We had to rebuild our family relationship from scratch.

“At first, I went through a crisis. When you go through all these things, the armor you wear to keep anyone from seeing you falter eventually breaks. I went through a very deep depression that lasted about two months. I had no motivation to shower, comb my hair, eat, or do anything. Prayer helped me get back on my feet because it was a truly terrible experience.

“But I am doing well now. I feel as though, and you may not believe it, brother, I never went through any of that. That is how I feel because God has taken away all the anguish, sadness, and tension I had to endure. When you are a political prisoner under a dictatorship, you also have to deal with common prisoners, guards, and State Security. You must remain constantly alert because they could even kill you.

“Today, we live in harmony and with a great deal of love. There are no arguments in my home; we talk everything through in the peace and joy of the Spirit. We have left the pain behind.

“My mother, however, is still suffering. She has not gone through this process of faith and continues to carry the burden of the seven years I spent in prison and the distance between us today. Another year has passed with us apart, and we can only communicate through video calls when the internet allows it. The constant power outages in Cuba make communication impossible.

“I also want to share that my eldest daughter is pregnant and is about to give birth. She is currently admitted to the National Hospital, and I… this will be the fourth grandchild I will not be able to help her with or be there for.”

Arbitrary detentions and the ongoing persecution of your husband, Ismael Boris Reñí, have been documented. What is his current situation, and what about your fellow activists who remain in Cuba?

“My husband, Ismael Boris Reñí, endured constant persecution on the island. Fortunately, he is now here with me in the Dominican Republic, where we can live without the regime’s daily harassment.

“But the same cannot be said for many of our fellow activists. People like Roberto Ferrer have been released from prison but remain on ‘conditional release,’ which is equivalent to being confined to their own homes under State Security surveillance.

“Other cases are even more serious, such as that of Yunaykis Linares, a political prisoner arrested in connection with the July 11 protests, whose conditional release, granted following the Vatican’s mediation, was revoked. She was sent back to prison to serve the remaining three years of her sentence. Many other July 11 protesters remain imprisoned. The repression never stops.”

Since 2013, you have been covered by precautionary measures issued by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) and have received support from Race and Equality. How effective were these mechanisms?

“I received essential support from many organizations. I have been part of the Ladies in White, UNPACU (Patriotic Union of Cuba), Cuba Decide, and the Forum for Rights and Freedoms. During my imprisonment, I received constant support from leaders such as Berta Soler, Claudio Fuentes, Rosa María Payá, and José Daniel Ferrer, as well as from international networks in Europe and the United States.

“The support provided by the IACHR and Race and Equality was decisive. The pressure exerted through the precautionary measures and the reports issued by these institutions was instrumental in making the regime choose to send me into exile rather than keep me in prison, given the visibility my case had gained.”

Your release from prison did not mean full freedom but rather a new sentence: forced exile. How do you assess the systematic use of expulsion from the country to dismantle opposition leadership?

“Forced exile remains the regime’s main tool for neutralizing opposition leadership. In my case, after serving a previous one-year sentence, I returned to the streets with the same commitment to activism. That is why, on this latest occasion, State Security officers explicitly told me that the streets of Cuba were off-limits to me and that the only way out of prison was to leave the country. Yes, it is a systematic mechanism for emptying the country of its domestic opposition.”

You have consistently reaffirmed your commitment to demanding the release of political prisoners. How do you maintain ties with human rights movements from abroad?

“I remain fully active in exile. I continue to work closely with the Ladies in White, UNPACU, and Cuba Decide. I actively participate in demonstrations and activities organized by the Cuban-Dominican Association and other exile groups to raise awareness of the Cuban cause. I constantly call for unity among all our fellow Cubans in exile so that we can demand the release of political prisoners and develop mechanisms to pressure the regime. I sign every petition I receive calling for change in Cuba and freedom for political prisoners. My signature will always be there.

“I feel the suffering of political prisoners deeply. If conditions in prisons were dire when I was incarcerated, they are even worse today because of the collapse of the national electricity system. The lack of power prevents the preservation of what little food is available and disrupts the pumping of drinking water, for example. Families often cannot visit because they have no food to bring or no transportation to make the journey. The crisis in prisons and in Cuban society as a whole is absolute.”

As you mentioned, Cuba’s current socioeconomic crisis and ongoing repression have further aggravated the situation. How do you assess the human rights situation in prisons and Cuban society at large?

“The situation in Cuba is unsustainable. Shortages of water, food, and electricity have reached extreme levels. This collapse has also led to an increase in social violence, theft, and desperation among the population.

“The deterioration of prisons mirrors the deterioration of the country. Most Cubans are surviving in frankly deplorable conditions, while a minority with access to remittances from abroad, some small businesses, or companies linked to the government leadership maintain a standard of living far removed from that of everyone else. The economic collapse is also triggering severe social consequences, including increases in homicides, femicides, and suicides. Without a drastic political change, the situation can only continue to worsen.”

Finally, what message would you send to the women human rights defenders who remain imprisoned, and what appeal would you make to the international community?

“From my own experience, I can tell them that even in the darkest moment, there is hope. I urge political prisoners and their families to maintain their faith and never stop speaking out, protesting, and demanding their release. The international community, the United Nations, and exile movements must also intensify pressure on the regime until all prisoners of conscience are free.

“To those who have supported us and to the organizations defending our cause, I once again express my sincere gratitude.

“Cubans on and off the island must remain united. You are not alone. From exile, we will continue to raise our voices for freedom. I continue to pray that God will bring change to my country, so that those of us who have suffered forced exile can return to Cuba, our home.

So be it. Thank you, Aymara.

“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.

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.

International Day of Indigenous Peoples: Territorial Defense and Environmental Protection in Brazil, Colombia, and Nicaragua

Washington, D.C., August 10, 2026. – Every August 9, the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples commemorates the invaluable contribution of these communities to the preservation of biodiversity, the protection of ecosystems, and the fight against the climate crisis. Their territories are home to some of the planet’s most important ecosystems, and their ancestral knowledge has enabled them to conserve these ecosystems for generations.

Indigenous peoples manage and conserve territories that are home to a significant portion of the world’s biodiversity. As a result, attacks on their communities not only violate their individual and collective rights but also undermine the protection of forests, rivers, and ecosystems that are essential for addressing the climate crisis.

However, those who protect nature also face serious threats. The expansion of extractive activities, illegal land occupation, the presence of armed groups, and the lack of state protections have made defending their territory a high-risk activity for many indigenous communities in Latin America. Brazil, Colombia, and Nicaragua reflect different manifestations of the same reality: the violation of territorial rights endangers not only the survival of indigenous peoples but also the protection of the environment.

Brazil: The Amazon Under Pressure

In Brazil, violence against indigenous peoples is closely linked to disputes over their territories and the expansion of activities such as illegal mining, deforestation, and irregular land occupation, especially in the Amazon. Between 2013 and 2023, more than 30 indigenous leaders were murdered, according to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), while national and international organizations continue to warn about the threats and invasions faced by communities such as the Uru-Eu-Wau-Wau people.

The pressure on indigenous territories also has large-scale environmental consequences. The 2026 Atlas of Violence recorded an increase in homicides of Indigenous people in the state of Amazonas, which also has the highest number of Indigenous lands threatened by deforestation, according to Imazon. The expansion of these illicit activities jeopardizes the conservation of the Amazon and puts the physical and cultural survival of Indigenous peoples at risk.

Indigenous women also face intersectional forms of discrimination and violence. A study by the Federal University of Minas Gerais, published in The Lancet, found that indigenous women between the ages of 10 and 49 die, on average, eight years earlier than white women, in a context marked by violence, social exclusion, institutional discrimination, and barriers to accessing health care.

Colombia: Defending the Territory Amid the Conflict

In Colombia, territory forms the foundation of indigenous peoples’ identity, spirituality, and autonomy. However, the ongoing armed conflict, the presence of armed groups, and illicit economies have turned many indigenous reserves and ancestral territories into scenes of constant violence.

This violence particularly affects those who defend the land and the environment. According to Global Witness, 48 environmental and land defenders were killed in Colombia in 2024, the highest number in the world for the third consecutive year. In 2023, 79 environmental and land defenders were killed, 31 of whom were Indigenous. Between 2012 and 2023, Colombia recorded a total of 461 murders of land and environmental defenders—the highest number recorded worldwide during that period.

In its report The Impacts of Violence on the Human Rights Situation in Colombia (2025), the IACHR warns that indigenous peoples continue to be victims of homicides, threats, forced displacement, confinement, and the forced recruitment of children and adolescents. Traditional authorities and those leading efforts to defend their territories and protect the environment face particularly high risks, which weaken community structures and endanger the continuity of their ways of life.

The inadequate implementation of the Comprehensive Rural Reform and the Ethnic Chapter of the Peace Agreement, combined with impunity and limited protection measures, continues to hinder the effective guarantee of the territorial rights of indigenous peoples.

Nicaragua: Extractivism Exacerbates Land Dispossession

In Nicaragua, efforts to defend indigenous and Afro-descendant territories are facing increasing pressure due to the expansion of the extractive model. During the hearing “Impacts of Mining Concessions on the Human Rights of Indigenous and Afro-descendant Peoples”, held during the 196th Session of the IACHR, civil society organizations denounced that the State has intensified a policy that favors mining exploitation at the expense of the collective rights of these communities.

The organizations pointed out that the State has a long-standing failure to complete the land titling process for indigenous territories, thereby facilitating invasions by settlers, while legal and institutional reforms have weakened environmental safeguards and eliminated effective avenues for participation and consultation. As a result, mining concessions are moving forward without guaranteeing the right to free, prior, and informed consent of indigenous peoples and people of African descent.

According to information submitted to the IACHR, 62 mining concessions affect 18 indigenous and Afro-descendant territories, encroaching on 25.5% of their communal lands. The impact extends to 163 rivers, 80 streams, and nearly 1,900 kilometers of waterways, as well as protected areas of enormous ecological importance, such as the Bosawás and Río San Juan Biosphere Reserves.

The expansion of extractive industries has also intensified violence against communities. Between 2013 and 2024, at least 79 Indigenous people were killed in connection with land invasions and attacks by settlers on the Caribbean Coast, while Indigenous leaders continue to face criminalization and persecution for defending their territories. These events are taking place in a context that the IACHR has documented as one of violence, territorial dispossession, and impunity, with serious consequences for the physical and cultural survival of the indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples of the Caribbean Coast.

Against this backdrop of dispossession, violence, and institutional weakness, the death in state custody of Brooklyn Rivera, an advocate for the rights of indigenous peoples and a Ta Upla of the Miskitu people, stands out. He was arbitrarily detained in September 2023 and remained missing for more than 970 days.

Protecting the lands means protecting the future

The cases of Brazil, Colombia, and Nicaragua demonstrate that the protection of indigenous peoples cannot be separated from the protection of the environment. When their territories are invaded, exploited, or degraded, fundamental collective rights—such as identity, self-determination, culture, and the right to a healthy environment—are also violated.

On this International Day of Indigenous Peoples, Race and Equality reaffirms that states must guarantee the right of indigenous peoples to their territories, respect free, prior, and informed consultation and consent, protect those who defend the land, and ensure that economic development is never pursued at the expense of human rights.

Protecting those who have safeguarded nature for generations also means protecting the ecosystems on which our lives depend, and it is an essential step toward addressing the climate crisis and building more just and sustainable societies.

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.

Five years after July 11 , we demand that fundamental rights be recognized in Cuba

Washington D. C., July 10, 2026 – This Saturday, July 11, marks the fifth anniversary of the historic peaceful protests of July 11, 2021, in Cuba, better known as 11J, a day when thousands of people took to streets in the country’s 15 provinces and the special municipality of Isla de la Juventud to demand freedom, better living conditions and respect for their fundamental rights. The protests erupted amid a deep economic, social, and health crisis, exacerbated by shortages of food, medicine, and basic services, as well as by ongoing restrictions on fundamental freedoms.

According to Another Year Without Justice (2025), a report published by Justicia 11J, 1,597 people were arbitrarily detained during the July 11 protests and in the days that followed. The state’s response was marked by arbitrary detentions, enforced disappearances, excessive use of force, internet shutdowns, surveillance, harassment, judicial proceedings without due process, and disproportionate sentences against protesters, journalists, artists, activists, and human rights defenders.

Five years after the protests, the human rights crisis in Cuba persists and has deepened. According to records from Justicia 11J, 823 people remain deprived of their liberty for political reasons or for participating in peaceful protests (as of July 3). Among them are artists Maykel Osorbo and Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, whose whereabouts remain unknown. In Otero Alcántara’s case, Cuban authorities transferred him on July 7 to an undisclosed location, despite the fact that his sentence expired two days later. Although he was able to communicate with activist Anamely Ramos on July 9, the authorities continue to withhold information about his whereabouts and legal status. The lack of official information further heightens concerns for his safety, well-being, and respect for his fundamental rights.

At the same time, the exile and migration of Cubans have increased significantly in recent years as a result of the repression with which the State responded to the protests, the criminalization of those who participated in them, and the worsening economic, social, and political conditions on the Island. Many human rights defenders, journalists, and activists have been forced into exile due to the constant harassment, surveillance, and threats carried out by the Cuban authorities. Among them are Leticia Ramos, a member of the Ladies in White, whom the Cuban regime prevented from returning to the country following a trip abroad for medical treatment, effectively forcing her into exile; Anamely Ramos, whom the Cuban authorities likewise barred from re-entering the country while she was abroad, effectively imposing exile on her; and José Daniel Ferrer, leader of the Patriotic Union of Cuba (UNPACU), who has repeatedly denounced the persecution, harassment, and restrictions imposed on members of the opposition and independent civil society, and who was ultimately forced into exile.

The current situation in Cuba continues to be marked by the profound social, economic and political crisis. Constant power outages, which in various regions of the country last more than 20 hours a day, scarcity of food and medicine, the deterioration of public services, and rising poverty have sparked new outbursts of social discontent. Since July 11, thousands of peaceful protests, pot-and-pan demonstrations, and spontaneous rallies in various cities across the country, many of which have been suppressed by the authorities and have led to further arbitrary arrests, acts of intimidation, and arbitrary legal proceedings against protesters.

Surveillance, intimidation, and criminalization of critical voices and human rights defenders persist, while restrictions on the freedoms of expression, association, and peaceful assembly continue. This is compounded by a context of growing international pressure.

International organizations and members of Cuba’s independent civil society call on the authoritarian regime to fully recognize fundamental rights in Cuba, advance a genuine democratic transition, and initiate a transitional justice process led by an independent mechanism in coordination with independent civil society that guarantees the protection of the Cuban people. We also call for an end to repression, the release of all those arbitrarily deprived of their liberty, and the creation of conditions that allow those living in exile to return to the Island freely, as well as to enter and leave the country without fear of reprisals or arbitrary restrictions.

We call on the Cuban authorities to immediately disclose the whereabouts and health condition of Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara and Maykel Osorbo, guarantee respect for their fundamental rights, and proceed with their immediate and unconditional release. Five years after the 11J protests, we reaffirm our commitment to truth, memory, justice, and the defense of human rights in Cuba, as well as our solidarity with the victims of repression and their families.

The following individuals have signed this statement:

Asociación Raíces de Esperanza en España.
CELIDE
Center for a Free Cuba.
Ciudadanía y Libertad.
Civil Rights Defenders.
Consejería Jurídica e Instrucción Cívica.
Consejo para la Transición Democrática en Cuba.
Cubalex.
Federación Latinoamericana de Mujeres Rurales (FLAMUR).
Freedom House.
International Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights
Justicia 11J de Iniciativa para la Investigación y la Incidencia.
Mesa de Diálogo de la Juventud Cubana.
Museo de la Disidencia en Cuba.
Museo V.
Observatorio de Género de Alas Tensas.
Organización Arte en Espiral.
PEN/ARC – Artists at Risk Connection.
Plataforma Femenina
Raíz Colectiva.
Robert & Ethel Kennedy Human Rights Center.

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

Political Imprisonment in Cuba and Nicaragua: Behind the Numbers, Lives and Rights Violated

Political Imprisonment in Cuba and Nicaragua: Behind the Numbers, Lives and Rights Violated

Cuban Activist Aymara Nieto: One Year After Beginning a New Life in the Dominican Republic

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

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

In Cuba, Racism Persists Behind the Discourse of Equality

Inequality and Lack of Information

An Equality That Is Still Not Enough

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

An Earthquake That Once Again Puts Territory at the Center

A Debt the State Must Settle

International Day of Indigenous Peoples: Territorial Defense and Environmental Protection in Brazil, Colombia, and Nicaragua

Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara: From Prison to Forced Exile

Five years after July 11 , we demand that fundamental rights be recognized in Cuba

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

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