What if the subaltern speaks? Traditional knowledge policies in Brazil and India

Abstract

This article explores the success chances of subaltern political agency. Empirically, it investigates how indigenous groups can prevent unwanted access to their traditional knowledge regarding biological resources. The article compares indigenous politics in Brazil and India. Brazilian movements effectively defend regulations to deny the disclosure of their knowledge, whereas comparable demands of the Adivasis in India have remained fairly neglected. To explain these differences, the article connects the insights of social movements and postcolonial theories. It shows that a synopsis of both literatures helps to explain both the potential and the limitations of indigenous political agency.

Keywords:

• Brazil
• 
India
• postcolonial studies
• social movement theory
• indigenous peoples

Introduction

‘The subaltern cannot speak’.¹ Based on a meticulous deconstruction of French poststructuralist philosophy and Marxist political economy, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak contends that there is no discursive space for ‘those removed from lines of social mobility’.² Her pessimistic dictum has caused an intensive debate both within and beyond the field of postcolonial studies.³ Most notably, the post-developmentalist literature seems to directly contradict Spivak’s assessment. Arturo Escobar, for example, argues that subaltern actors can merge into social movements to defend their own worldviews and interests, potentially even on a global scale.⁴ On a more general note, the entire body of the social movement literature is based on the underlying idea that ‘relatively disadvantaged collective political actors can mobilize cultural resources to secure political gains’.⁵

In this article, I claim that the seemingly contradictory assumptions of the social movement and the postcolonial literatures complement each other. If taken together, they provide a more comprehensive understanding of both the potential and limitations of indigenous political agency. While social movement theory offers an analytical framework for explaining potentially successful political strategies, the postcolonial literature is particularly suited to carving out the constraints under the conditions of ‘coloniality’, i.e. the enduring legacies of colonialism both in the Global South and in the former colonial powers, which today form the core of the industrialised countries.⁶

To substantiate this argument, the article analyses the politics of biodiversity-related traditional knowledge (TK). This case is often discussed in the postcolonial literature.⁷ TK is usually strongly related to the natural resources that can be found in biodiversity-rich areas, mainly in the Global South. It is often held by indigenous groups that belong to the subaltern strata of their societies.⁸ The inherent connections between TK and indigenous livelihoods, worldviews, customs and cultural identities explain why indigenous groups throughout the world claim a right to decide by themselves and by their own rules about its disclosure.⁹ On the international level, indigenous demands are recognised by human rights law, which stipulates the prior informed consent (PIC) of indigenous groups as a precondition to accessing their knowledge. However, indigenous self-determination rights are only vaguely addressed by environmental conventions and remain completely ignored by international intellectual property law.¹⁰

While not ignoring the international context, the empirical focus of this article is on TK politics in Brazil and India. In both countries, the rights of indigenous groups enjoy constitutional protection, even if the term ‘indigenous’ is avoided in the Indian political and legal discourse.¹¹ TK plays an important role for indigenous groups in both countries; however, it is also sought by domestic researchers and the transnational life sciences industry. Whereas Brazilian indigenous communities have been able to effectively defend at least a legal recognition of their self-determination rights, the virtually identical demands of indigenous (Adivasi) communities in India have remained nearly neglected.¹² These differences are all the more puzzling considering that the relative proportion of Adivasis in Indian society (8.6%¹³) is far higher than that of Índios in Brazil (0.2%¹⁴). A comparison of Brazil and India is thus expected to help establish a better understanding of the conditions under which subaltern (indigenous) groups can effectively articulate their demands in the political arena.

The empirical material for this article was obtained by multi-sited fieldwork.¹⁵ It is based on 136 conversations with indigenous spokespersons, public officials and representatives from research institutions, corporations, international and non-governmental organisations (NGOs) in India, Brazil, Switzerland, Belgium, Canada and Germany between 2011 and 2017. Due to the political sensitivity of the topic, most of the interviews were not recorded. The confidentiality of the interviewees is also ensured by not revealing their names or any other information that might endanger their anonymity. The results of the conversations were triangulated by document-based process tracing (official minutes, reports, newspaper articles, weblogs) and participant observations at international conferences (Geneva, Berlin) and local gatherings of indigenous spokespersons in Jharkhand (India) and Manaus (Brazil). In anticipation of the postcolonial critique, the methodological overview is amended by a self-reflective caveat: Despite many in-depth interviews and conversations, the author of this article is inevitably shaped by his socialisation in the industrialised world, which makes it impossible to truly understand, let alone represent, indigenous perspectives in their own right. The more moderate goal of this article is to obtain a deeper insight into the success chances and limitations of indigenous political agency.

The article is organised as follows. In the first section, I show how the assumptions of the social movement literature can be connected to postcolonial critique. While section 2 provides an overview on indigenous political agency in Brazil, section 3 describes the political dynamics in India. The article concludes with a comparative interpretation in light of the social movement and postcolonial literature, which leads to some suggestions for further research.

1. Can the subaltern be heard?

Spivak’s famous dictum on subaltern speechlessness must be situated in a broader debate, including her own clarifications. While Spivak does not question the ability of subaltern individuals to make an utterance,¹⁶ her scepticism concerns the reception of subaltern claims by the more privileged members and political elites of society.¹⁷ It is against this background that Maggio suggests a rephrasing of Spivak’s starting point as ‘Can the subaltern be heard?’¹⁸ If put in this way, Spivak’s question directly speaks to the main objective of social movement theory, as both literatures aim at investigating the conditions under which socially, economically and culturally marginalised groups may become ‘the maker of [their] own destiny’.¹⁹

Especially with regard to indigenous groups, social movement authors do not deny that it is always an uphill battle to ‘secure political gains’.²⁰ However, they contend that it is not completely impossible for indigenous actors to access the political arena. As a necessary, although not sufficient, condition, this literature argues that social movements must craft their demands in wording that mobilises potential supporters and allows a connection to broader societal discourses.²¹ To achieve this goal, they must devise a ‘frame’ that is inherently consistent and corresponds with their daily practices to sustain its credibility.²²

Social movement scholars have shown that the development of a coherent frame is often contested among a movement’s different factions.²³ However, if a movement’s members succeed in ‘building bridges’ between their claims and the demands of other societal actors, they can significantly enlarge the support base for policy change. A broader coalition of societal actors may benefit from cleavages among political elites and thereby gain sympathy from at least some decision makers.²⁴ This increases the likelihood of responsiveness and creates ‘political opportunity structures’ for subaltern agency.²⁵ While the early social movement literature was rather focused on domestic contestations,²⁶ the more recent writings expect that subaltern actors can enhance their chances by accessing the international arena.²⁷ Keck and Sikkink speak of a ‘boomerang effect’: They assume that marginalised groups can build ‘transnational advocacy coalitions’ with civil society actors from industrialised countries.²⁸ These coalitions, may, in turn, refer to international norms to harness the pressure of international organisations against their domestic governments, at least if the latter have legally committed themselves to protecting indigenous and other subaltern groups.²⁹

Although postcolonial scholars do not subscribe to the positivist ontology of most social movement writings,³⁰ there is some common ground between these literatures. Most notably, postcolonial authors agree on the idea that the development of counter-discourses may trigger a change in perceptions and power constellations.³¹ As Edward Said and Homi Bhabha argue, colonial relationships of super- and subordination were discursively constructed and have not ceased to exist after decolonisation.³² In their view, the contemporary postcolonial realm is characterised by hybrid identity configurations in which historically developed, yet inherently ambiguous, imaginaries of ‘the other’ shape political discourses and mutual role expectations.³³ This not only holds true for the formerly colonised, but can also be applied to former colonisers. Most notably with regard to indigenous peoples, the ‘western’ imagination is full of stereotypes that are essentially based on the intrinsically contradictory cliché of the ‘noble savage’ who lives in harmony with nature.³⁴

The resulting ambiguities make it possible for subaltern actors to play with such stereotypes. With the help of conscious or unconscious alterations (mimicry), they can connect their own claims to the prevailing discourses. This amalgamation of mutually established clichés and normative expectations may help subaltern actors to question the alleged superiority of political elites, especially when the latter cannot simply reject the validity of their (partially own) claims.³⁵ However, in a completely different wording, these mechanisms come quite close to the notion of ‘framing’ in the literature on social movements, which also relies on the crafting of broadly acceptable, or at least no unacceptable, claims.

Nevertheless, postcolonial authors are more sceptical about the success chances of subaltern political agency, mainly for two interrelated reasons. To understand their argument, it is important to keep in mind that this literature rejects a binary distinction between colonisers and colonised. Instead, it begins from the assumption that postcolonial societies are shaped by widely diverging historical experiences and political attitudes.³⁶ From this view, subalternity is not an absolute but rather a relative position and depends on specific historic and social contextual conditions. For instance, in his early postcolonial writings, Fanon described the persisting material and cultural ties of the postcolonial elites to the former coloniser.³⁷ However, even in the more recent literature, it is assumed that historical structures of domination may be perpetuated by ‘internal colonialism’: In view of industrialised countries’ superior position, elites in the Global South often perceive themselves as ‘subalterns’. This does not prevent them from imitating allegedly ‘modern’ worldviews, which at least indirectly entails discriminatory or at least paternalistic attitudes towards domestic indigenous groups.³⁸

Under these circumstances, the claims of subaltern actors (in the sense of Spivak) may be usurped by one or several ‘master frames’,³⁹ which are formulated by domestic elites or transnational actors, or a coalition of the two.⁴⁰ While social movement scholars discuss the same phenomenon in terms of possible ‘filtering effects’,⁴¹ the postcolonial literature postulates that the misinterpretation of subaltern claims is inevitable. Using the example of Deleuze and Foucault, Spivak’s famous article shows that even the most well-intended intellectuals inevitably project their own worldviews and ‘desires’ on the subalterns on behalf of whom they attempt to speak. Ultimately, elites from both developing and industrialised countries are, albeit to varying degrees, integrated into global discourses that shape their perceptions, interests and convictions.⁴²

This is the point at which the second postcolonial caveat comes into play: Based on an essentially Marxist political economy, postcolonial scholars assume that the global arena is impregnated by hegemonic structures of neoliberalism.⁴³ Drawing on Gramsci, they argue that neoliberalism entails both legitimatory discursive elements (e.g. civil liberties) and institutionalised power structures that favour the interests of capitalist elites.⁴⁴ Against this background, the postcolonial literature does not deny that western liberalism may establish an at least rhetorical line of defence against gross human rights violations in authoritarian regimes.⁴⁵ However, it is also argued that the contemporary global political economy perpetuates structures of super- and subordination, whose roots can be traced back to the history of colonisation. It is for this reason that the extension of subaltern agency to the international level is not expected to overcome colonially shaped relationships, within or among countries.⁴⁶

To summarise, both the social movement and postcolonial literatures assume that the chances of subaltern actors to make themselves heard depend on their ability to connect their claims to a more broadly acceptable discourse. While social movement authors devote most of their attention to the success conditions of subaltern political agency, the postcolonial literature is more sensitive to historically rooted yet persisting constraints under the enduring conditions of coloniality. As the comparative case studies on Brazilian and Indian TK politics will show, a synopsis of both literatures facilitates a more comprehensive overview on subaltern (indigenous) political agency.

2. TK politics in Brazil: a subaltern success story?

While the scientific exploitation of indigenous knowledge in the Amazon dates back to the era of European colonialism, it was only in late 1980s that ethnobotanologists began to systematically investigate TK in Brazil. Their contacts with indigenous communities led them to the insight that indigenous knowledge is imbedded in a comprehensive worldview that transcends the borders between nature and humankind. However, indigenous spokespersons also learned from their conversations with the researchers. They realised that the protection of nature was highly esteemed by transnational environmental organisations and scientists. Based on this insight, they increasingly used an environmentalist discourse to defend customary practices.⁴⁷ Their strategy was given extra impetus by the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992. Indigenous spokespersons perceived the event as an opportunity to present themselves as ‘guardians of nature’ to justify their demands for the respect of their customary rules with regard to TK.⁴⁸

Over the years, indigenous spokespersons also connected environmental arguments to the international human rights discourse.⁴⁹ During the Brazilian transition to democracy in the 1980s, they succeeded in framing the abolishment of assimilationist policies as an integral part of the country’s democratisation process.⁵⁰ More than 20 years after Brazilian democratisation, however, this argument is losing some of its appeal. It is for this reason that indigenous actors are currently emphasising the genuine link between human rights and environmental issues to defend their claims for the legal recognition of their customs.⁵¹ In preparation for the Rio + 29 Summit in 2011, indigenous representatives issued the Manaus Declaration, which explicitly claims that ‘the continuing gross violations of our rights […] remain as key obstacles to the achievement of sustainable development’.⁵²

The broad and comprehensive policy frame enables indigenous representatives to cooperate with a broad range of other groups such as the Quilombólas (descendants of the former African slaves), rubber-tappers, Ribeirinhos (riparian communities in the Amazon), and the influential Landless Movement.⁵³ Despite slightly diverging priorities, all these groups agree on the need to protect subsistence lifestyles.⁵⁴ Together, they are able to exert substantial political pressure, which has manifested itself in impressive demonstrations and marches both in the capital and in rural areas.⁵⁵ Even the conservative media in Brazil cannot afford to ignore their protests, which means that their claims are brought to the attention of the whole Brazilian society.

The ‘environmentalisation of social conflicts’⁵⁶ also resonates with the perceptions of many middle-class Brazilian citizens. Its emphasis on the sustainable use of natural resources and associated TK corresponds with their critical attitude towards the conservative establishment of large landowners, whose behaviour is often portrayed as reminiscent of 
colonialism. Although most Brazilians are well aware that the view of indigenous groups as the ‘guardians of nature’ or ‘noble savages’ is an oversimplification, indigenous spokespersons enjoy more popularity than the powerful yet overly complacent agribusiness 
representatives. Actually, the overlap between the interests of Brazilian middle-class environmental NGOs and indigenous groups is real with regard to their resistance to the deforestation of the Amazon basin and the excessive expansion of industrial agriculture.⁵⁷

At the beginning of the 2000s, the broad alliance won a landmark victory after the extremely unbalanced contract conditions between a transnational pharmaceutical corporation and a Brazilian research institute had provoked a public scandal. To curb the protests, then-President Cardoso introduced a presidential decree that drew on the legislative proposals of left-wing parties to establish strict access restrictions to biological resources. It also entailed an obligation to obtain indigenous PIC to the use of associated TK.⁵⁸ Indigenous groups could further exploit this window of opportunity when Marina Silva, a prominent former member of the rubber-tapper movement, was appointed as minister of environment. Between 2003 and 2008, Silva strengthened the self-determination rights of indigenous groups against the fierce resistance of the ministry of science and technology and the even harsher protests of the ministry of agriculture.⁵⁹ Under her leadership, the ministry developed procedural rules that were supposed to ensure that TK could only be accessed if indigenous communities agreed to its disclosure.

Since Silva’s departure, however, indigenous groups struggle to defend the internationally comparably high standards of self-determination rights. Most notably, they are attacked from the Brazilian life science industry and public research institutions. Both industrial and public researchers refer to the fact that the protection of indigenous PIC is not recognised in international intellectual property law.⁶⁰ This makes it possible for transnational pharmaceutical companies to circumvent Brazilian regulations and to obtain patent protection in the US and in Europe if they seek to protect inventions that are based on the use of TK from Brazil. Brazilian researchers, in contrast, are restricted by domestic regulations because domestic authorities only grant patents if the indigenous PIC can be documented.⁶¹

To address these imbalances, indigenous spokespersons cooperate with Brazilian diplomats at the international level. Together, they have demanded an amendment of international intellectual property law⁶² that would obligate transnational firms to also document the recognition of indigenous rights in patent applications in the jurisdictions of industrialised countries.⁶³ However, despite the support of many developing countries, Brazilian diplomats have not been able to overcome the resistance of the majority of industrialised countries,⁶⁴ who favour the interests of their domestic pharmaceutical industries.⁶⁵ The US has not even ratified the relevant environmental agreements (i.e. the Convention on Biodiversity and its further specifications in the Nagoya Protocol), and the half-hearted European implementation has made it clear that industrialised countries will not assume any responsibility for the protection of TK in foreign jurisdictions.⁶⁶

Against this background, representatives of the Brazilian pharmaceutical industry loosely cooperate with transnational environmental groups to lobby for a relaxation of domestic regulations. The latter are also interested in weakening the legal position of indigenous groups because the non-disclosure of indigenous TK may complicate their preservation projects.⁶⁷ At the same time, the powerful lobby of large landowners incessantly seeks to curtail indigenous rights, partially because of the landowners’ material self-interests in facilitating land acquisitions and partially for ideological (racist) reasons,⁶⁸ which ultimately draw upon lingering colonial sentiments.

Despite diverging motivations, the opponents of indigenous self-determination have recently achieved legislative reform that weakens the administrative authorisation procedures for the access to TK. As of yet, however, indigenous groups and their allies, including at least some officials from public ministries,⁶⁹ have been able to uphold the mandatory recognition of indigenous self-determination rights.⁷⁰ To broaden the support base for their claims, they are currently expanding the framing to include the increasing protests against the neo-conservative government and connect their demands to the protection of Brazilian ‘sovereignty’ against the ‘sell-out’ of the country’s resources by large landowners.⁷¹ It remains to be seen whether this strategy will ultimately be helpful in withstanding the pressures of an increasingly authoritarian political climate in Brazil.

3. TK politics in India: the many faces of subalternity

Like those in Brazil, indigenous groups in India connect their political claims to TK to an environmentally friendly and sustainable lifestyle. Spokespersons of the Mundu (an Adivasi community in Jharkhand), for example, refer to the principle of ‘bugina’, which they translate as ‘borrowing from nature for an equitable living’.⁷² In a similar way, an association of healers in Tamil Nadu claims that their ‘knowledge must be used to heal people and not to make profit’ to defend a non-disclosure of TK if commercial interests are involved.⁷³

Nevertheless, it is rather difficult for Adivasi representatives to credibly defend their customary rules in terms of the sustainable use of environmental resources. Although their subsistence economy is generally based on sustainable practices, this does not preclude the occasional clearing of wooded areas or the killing of marauding elephants.⁷⁴ Against this background, the Adivasis’ defence of their customary rules as being environmentally sound is often met with considerable scepticism from both traditional Hindus and urban ­middle-class citizens.

Equally problematic is the second pillar of the Adivasi frame, which places great emphasis on political self-determination. Against the historical background of the curtailment of their autonomy under British colonial rule, many Adivasi communities associate the freedom to decide about their resources with a general mistrust of the state and its authorities.⁷⁵ The emphasis on self-governance, however, brings Adivasi groups into conflict with other local communities because the latter are afraid that particular forms of indigenous customary governance (e.g. hereditary rules) could ultimately restrict their own access to natural resources. Moreover, the degree of desired self-governance is strongly debated among the different Adivasi groups themselves.⁷⁶

While the discrepancies of indigenous claims can be understood as a consequence of locally varying degrees of colonial and contemporary oppression,⁷⁷ they prevent Adivasi representatives from developing a coherent policy frame that would allow them to connect their demands to the claims of potential allies. Moreover, their more radical demands provoke negative reactions within the broader population.⁷⁸ Many Indians associate self-determination with the threat of secession, which is highly sensitive because of the country’s experiences during the partition period and the ongoing border disputes. Against this background, Adivasi spokespersons are not able to steer the Indian debate on TK towards their own interests. Instead, multiple actors seize on their claims, conflating them with their own perspectives. At the risk of over-simplification, four different frames can be distinguished.

First, many left-wing intellectuals and parts of the Indian communist parties take up the claims of the Adivasis. These actors sympathise with indigenous groups and other peasant communities in a more general sense; however, they distrust the anti-modernisation implications of indigenous customs.⁷⁹ Many communists in India adhere to a rather orthodox interpretation of Marxism, including its implicit modernisation bias.⁸⁰ From this perspective, traditional lifestyles must be overcome to develop a capitalist economy that can eventually be transformed into a communist society. Thus, while supporting indigenous resistance against the Indian state, these actors have no interest in safeguarding the customary rules of Adivasi groups.

The second group consists of Indian environmentalists and transnational environmental NGOs. While some of them recognise the intrinsic value of customs,⁸¹ many activists are concerned about the environmental harms that may result from the allegedly unsustainable lifestyles of Adivasi groups. Even scientifically trained biologists warn against ‘romanticising’ indigenous environmental practices.⁸² In the view of many (not only Indian) environmentalists, the Adivasis are ‘backward’. While appreciating indigenous knowledge, they draw on modern environmentalism to claim that the Adivasis must be prevented from destroying India’s biodiversity.

Third, the debate on TK is often associated with passionate anti-colonial discourses. In this view, transnational pharmaceutical firms are accused of ‘bio-piracy’ by plundering Indian biodiversity. This perspective is best expressed in the words of Vandana Shiva: ‘In the first colonization, the land of indigenous people was robbed from them. Through intellectual property rights and patents, the minds and bodies of indigenous people are being pirated, life itself is being colonized’.⁸³ In this discourse, all Indians are presented as being ‘indigenous’, which implies that the customary rules of the Adivasis are a secondary priority, so long as the general Indian population must defend itself against ongoing colonial oppression. Although this perspective is mainly put forward by Indian intellectuals, critical NGOs from industrialised countries partially subscribe to the same view.⁸⁴

Fourth, Indian scientists and government officials often refer to TK as empirical evidence for the superiority of ‘Indian science’.⁸⁵ While arguing that ‘the whole world could benefit from their [the Adivasis’] knowledge’,⁸⁶ they mainly aim at protecting India’s economic interests.⁸⁷ From this perspective, the demands of the Adivasis must be subordinated to the scientific progress of the country.⁸⁸ Being aware of the diverging perspectives of the indigenous population, scientists complain that ‘getting the tribals to cooperate and share their traditional knowledge may pose a big problem’.⁸⁹

The multiplicity of overlapping yet partially contradictory frames is mirrored in Indian TK policies. Since the late 1990s, bio-exploration projects have proliferated across the whole subcontinent. Some of these initiatives recognise indigenous customary rights and accept the non-disclosure of TK.⁹⁰ They draw on the principles of PIC⁹¹ as it is formulated in international human rights law and applied in Brazil (see section 2). Other projects, in contrast, completely ignore the self-determination rights of indigenous groups. There are several reported cases in which the Adivasis were evicted from their own lands to facilitate the economic exploitation of natural resources after they had disclosed their knowledge.⁹² Finally, many initiatives simply do not care about the consequences of their interactions with the Adivasi communities. TK is extensively documented for preservationist purposes; however, the subsequent distribution and potential misuse (from an Adivasi perspective) of the information remains completely disregarded.⁹³

The heterogeneity of Indian TK-related initiatives is facilitated by the ambiguities of the legal framework. Both the National Biodiversity Act (2002) and the Biodiversity Rules (2004, amended in 2014) require the consent of governmental authorities; however, the Adivasi and other local communities have no statutory ‘right to say “no”’ to the access of their knowledge.⁹⁴ While the regulations stipulate the establishment of local biodiversity management committees (BMCs) to ensure the participation of indigenous actors, these bodies often do not exist on the ground. Even if the BMCs are institutionalised, they only have consultation rights and are therefore unable to prevent the authorities at the state or national level from granting access to TK against the will of the local population.⁹⁵

However, Indian regulations place much more emphasis on the prevention of bio-piracy. Transnational firms are at least legally subjected to strict authorisation procedures to prevent unremunerated access to TK. Even more important is the establishment of the Indian Traditional Knowledge Digital Library (TKDL), which documents both the written medicinal knowledge of the Vedas (Hindu scriptures) and the TK of indigenous communities. Whereas access to the database is narrowly restricted for non-Indian researchers, its content is used to contest patent applications in industrialised countries on the basis of prior (Indian) knowledge and to support the research projects of the Indian pharmaceutical industry.⁹⁶

On the international level, the Indian government has joined the (hitherto unsuccessful) efforts of other biodiversity-rich countries (e.g. Brazil) to amend international intellectual property law. In contrast to Brazil, however, the Indian government strongly restricts the participation of Adivasi spokespersons at international meetings to silence their demands for self-determination rights.⁹⁷ Despite severe limitations (e.g. non-issuance of passports),⁹⁸ some Adivasi spokespersons seek to establish their own contacts with transnational human rights groups. However, to date, their contacts remain limited to rather uninfluential ‘environmental justice’ groups in Europe and the US.

The mere idea that the Adivasis might decide against the disclosure of scientifically and environmentally relevant knowledge makes it difficult for indigenous actors to find supporters. Mainly because of their geographical and institutional origins, most transnational environmental NGOs are deeply shaped by the traditions of Western thought. They assume that the protection of the environment must be reconciled with scientific and economic progress.⁹⁹ Some environmental justice groups, however, attempt to integrate indigenous worldviews into their claims and demands.¹⁰⁰ Nevertheless, they tend to somewhat over-emphasise the solidarity of indigenous TK practices because this interpretation fits in with their own critique of capitalism. Thus, although even these transnational actors would gain more traction, it remains questionable whether they would be able to understand, let alone support, some indigenous actors’ willingness to commercialise TK as long as their self-determination rights are preserved.

Conclusion

Taken together, the case studies on TK policies in Brazil and India show that a synopsis of the social movement and postcolonial literatures helps to develop a more nuanced picture of subaltern political agency. While the social movement literature provides useful analytical tools to understand the scope conditions for indigenous success, the postcolonial literature allows deeper insights into the limitations of subaltern agency in the context of coloniality. Taken together, the two approaches offer a more comprehensive explanation than only one of the literatures could provide (see Table 1).

Table 1. Subaltern political agency and its effects in Brazil and India.

Subaltern strategies	Effects in Brazil	Effects in India
Environmentalist and human rights framing	Successful because of its congruence with widespread ideals of democratisation	Unsuccessful because of (a) historically rooted internal divisions, and (b) contradictions between daily practices and prevailing stereotypes (‘noble savage’)
Alliance-building with domestic and transnational groups	Successful because of the prevailing, historically rooted distrust against large land owners; cooperation with international NGOs can be controlled by indigenous spokespersons	Largely unsuccessful because of historically rooted fears of secession; both international and domestic NGOs misinterpret indigenous claims because of their own (elitist) worldviews
Accessing the international political arena	Hardly successful because of the colonially shaped structure of the global political economy

NGOs: Nongovernmental organisations.

At least at first glance, the Brazilian case study largely supports the expectations of the social movement literature. It could be shown that the indigenous groups were able to develop a consistent and widely accepted policy frame, which has enabled them to form alliances with other societal actors. Due to its political weight, this coalition has succeeded in accessing the political system, which in turn shows a certain degree of responsiveness to its demands. However, the relative success of Brazilian indigenous groups cannot be exclusively attributed to their political agency. Historical coincidences such as the country’s relatively recent democratic transition have facilitated their achievements because they increased the salience of the human rights discourse among a broader public. However, it seems fair to say that the indigenous actors have seized the opportunities to use them in their own favour.

The Indian case study, in contrast, more directly confirms the critical caveats of the postcolonial literature. This holds particularly true with regard to the question of ‘framing’. Although social movement scholars also examine ideological differences as a barrier for the development of a coherent policy frame,¹⁰¹ the postcolonial lens makes it possible to understand the deeper dimensions of these difficulties. As the contestations on indigenous self-governance illustrate, the ability to formulate frames also depends on historical legacies that go back to the era of colonisation. Against the background of historically diverging experiences with the British colonisers,¹⁰² it is far more difficult for the Adivasi groups to develop a common frame than for the Brazilian Índios, whose historical experiences are (comparably) more homogeneous.¹⁰³

However, a simple reference to the colonial experiences of the indigenous communities themselves would be too short-sighted because history also shapes the public reception of their demands. This becomes especially evident with regard to the sustainability pillar of the indigenous frame. There is no reason to believe that the Adivasis would be more or less environmentally friendly than the Brazilian Índios. However, the minor inconsistencies between indigenous discourses and practices remain without consequences for the perception of indigenous claims by the Brazilian middle class, whereas the same deviations have strong implications for Indian mainstream debates. In both cases, indigenous practices at least partially contradict the cliché of the ‘noble savage’. However, Brazilian left-wing middle-class citizens still feel more sympathy for the indigenous groups than for the (colonially rooted) large landowners, whereas the more complicated relationships of the colonial Hindu elites with both the British colonisers and the Adivasi communities¹⁰⁴ lead to a different reception.

Perhaps even more important, the Indian experience of the country’s violent partition strengthens the prevailing distrust against indigenous self-determination because it can be associated with the threat of secessionism. Moreover, the more recent colonial past (when compared to Brazil) inspires Indian elites to perceive themselves as subaltern. To a certain extent, this makes it possible for them to frame the exploitation of the Adivasis’ traditional knowledge as a necessity to compete with industrialised countries, which are often still understood as colonising powers. It is not by accident that TK is often referred to as a means to illustrate the superiority of ‘Indian science’.¹⁰⁵

Nevertheless, the postcolonial literature is not only useful for understanding the effects of particular ‘frames’; it also facilitates an understanding of what happens if indigenous actors do not succeed in establishing a broadly acceptable policy wording. Under these circumstances, the claims of indigenous communities are taken up by more powerful actors who conflate such claims with their own convictions and interests. This holds equally true for domestic elites and transnational actors. Whereas Indian Marxists and nationalists understand the expropriation of indigenous TK as a continuation of colonial practices, transnational actors are more likely to focus on the environmental value of Adivasi lifestyles. Both sides, however, ignore the importance of self-determination, which is the central claim from an indigenous perspective. With regard to the risk of misrepresentation of subaltern voices, it seems that the social movement literature could learn a lot from postcolonial critique. Admittedly, social movement scholars also hint at tensions between transnational civil society actors and local groups. However, the resulting (even unconscious) misinterpretation of subaltern claims is more thoroughly discussed by postcolonial authors, because they place more emphasis on the boundedness of particular worldviews and because they are more aware of the power differences between transnational as well as domestic elites and subaltern voices.

Finally, both the Brazilian and Indian case studies show that postcolonial authors have a valid point with regard to their interpretation of the global political economy. Despite relatively successful domestic political agency, Brazilian indigenous movements eventually founder on the material interests of industrialised countries, and the internationally prevailing sustainability discourse provides hardly any room for indigenous customary rules. While indigenous communities are indeed frequently allowed to take part at international meetings, their demands with regard to self-determination are disregarded as soon as they collide with the overarching goals of ‘green capitalism’.¹⁰⁶ Apparently, the literature on transnational advocacy coalitions fails to acknowledge that the ‘master frames’ of transnational actors eventually depart from economic interests and normative (environmental) expectations that are deeply rooted in the experiences and mindsets of former colonial powers.¹⁰⁷ Against this background, it seems that the social movement literature (and probably also the wider literature on international relations) still has a long way to go to fully apprehend the eventually global implications of ‘coloniality’, which go far beyond historical legacies in the Global South.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Jana Hönke (University of Groningen), Jutta Joachim and Luuk Schmitz (Radboud University Nijmegen), Ken Shadlen (London School of Economics), Shalini Iyengar (Srishti Institute of Art, Design and Technology, Bangalore), and three anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

The research for this article was supported by the Fritz-Thyssen Foundation (Az. 50.15.0.023PO, July-August 2015) and the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (Project D 7, SFB 700 Governance in Areas of Limited Statehood, 2010-2014).

Notes on contributors

Thomas R. Eimer

Thomas R. Eimer is an Assistant Professor for international relations at Radboud University. His research is on property rights regulations in complex multi-level systems and emerging economies.

Notes

1 Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?”

2 Spivak, “Righting Wrongs,” 531.

3 e.g. Kapoor, Postcolonial Politics of Development; Escobar, “Imagining a Post-Development Era?”; and Maggio, “Can the Subaltern Be Heard?”

4 Escobar, Territories of Difference.

5 Cott, “Indigenous Peoples’ Politics in Latin America,” 394.

6 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory. A Critical Introduction; and Grosfoguel, “Decolonizing Post-Colonial Studies.”

7 e.g. Spivak, “Scattered Speculations on the Subaltern and the Popular”; and Shiva, Protect or Plunder?

8 Byrd and Rothberg, “Between Subalternity and Indigeneity.”

9 Drahos, Intellectual Property, Indigenous People.

10 Eimer and Bartels, “From Consent to Consultation?”

11 Faizi and Nair, “Adivasis: The World’s Largest Population.”

12 Santilli, “Biodiversidade e Conhecimentos”; and Barpujari and Sarma, “Traditional Knowledge in the Time of Neo-Liberalism.”

13 See Faizi and Nair, “Adivasis: The World’s Largest Population.”

14 See Verdum, “Povos Indígenas no Brasil.”

15 Henne, “Multi-Sited Fieldwork in Regulatory Studies.”

16 Spivak, “Scattered Speculations on the Subaltern and the Popular.”

17 Byrd and Rothberg, “Between Subalternity and Indigeneity,” 6.

18 Maggio, “Can the Subaltern Be Heard?,” 419.

19 R. Guha cited by Edwards, “Labor, Agency, and State‐Building,” 5.

20 Cott, “Indigenous Peoples’ Politics in Latin America.”

21 Tarrow, “Outsiders Inside and Insiders Outside”; and Rucht, “Movement Allies, Adversaries, and Third Parties.”

22 Keck, “Social Equity and Environmental Politics in Brazil.”

23 Hadden, Networks in Contention.

24 Tarrow, “Outsiders Inside and Insiders Outside.”

25 Benford and Snow, “Framing Processes and Social Movements.”

26 MacSheoin, “World According to Social Movement Journals.”

27 Tarrow, Strangers at the Gates. States, Movements, and Opportunities.

28 Keck and Sikkink, Activists beyond Borders, 12–13.

29 Ibid.

30 Grosfoguel, “Decolonizing Post-Colonial Studies.”

31 Said, “Identity, Authority, and Freedom.”

32 Said, Culture & Imperialism.

33 Bhabha, “Signs Taken for Wonders.”

34 Borde, “How Popular Culture at Different Scales.”

35 Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man.”

36 Kapoor, Postcolonial Politics of Development.

37 Fanon, Wretched of the Earth.

38 Bortoluci and Jansen, “Toward a Postcolonial Sociology.”

39 Tarrow, “Dualities of Transnational Contention.”

40 Bhabha, “Freedom’s Basis in the Indeterminate.”

41 Keck and Sikkink, Activists beyond Borders, 27–8.

42 Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?”

43 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory. A Critical Introduction.

44 Guha, “Gramsci in India: Homage to a Teacher.”

45 Spivak, “Righting Wrongs.”

46 Guha, “Gramsci in India: Homage to a Teacher.”

47 Keck, “Social Equity and Environmental Politics in Brazil.”

48 Indigenous spokesperson, August 3, 2011, Brasília.

49 Engle, Elusive Promise of Indigenous Development.

50 Kyrillos and Stolz, “Políticas Indigenistas no Brasil,” 101–2.

51 da Cruz and Sayago, “Povos Indígenas no Cenário das Discussões.”

52 Tebtebba Foundation, “Manaus Declaration.”

53 Spokesperson of the river communities, August 3, 2012, Brasília; representative of the rubber-tapper movement, August 12, 2015, Manaus; indigenous spokesperson, August 12, 2015, Manaus.

54 Santilli, “Biodiversidade e Conhecimentos,” 33.

55 Guzmán, “Subalternidade e Soberania.”

56 da Cruz and Sayago, “Povos Indígenas no Cenário das Discussões,” 49.

57 Allegretti, “A Construção Social de Políticas Públicas.”

58 Bucher, Der Schutz von Genetischen Ressourcen, 201–26.

59 Azevedo, “Regulation to Access to Genetic Resources.”

60 CEO of a Brazilian pharmaceutical company, July 27, 2015, São Paulo; researcher at a public research institute, July 29, 2011, Rio de Janeiro.

61 Hathaway, “A Biopirateria no Brasil.”

62 More specifically, they demand the amendment of the WTO Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property (TRIPS). The proposed disclosure requirement would make it possible to contest patents in the US and in Europe which are based on the use of TK. While the direct use of indigenous knowledge would fall under “prior art” and lead to the revocation of a patent because of the lack of innovativeness, the indirect use of TK could be traced in order to check whether indigenous groups have agreed to disclosure of their knowledge. See Dutfield, “Protecting the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.”

63 Indigenous spokesperson, August 30, 2012, São Paulo; Brazilian diplomat, August 4, 2011, Skype interview.

64 Hufty, Schulz, and Tschopp, “Role of Switzerland in the Nagoya Protocol Negotiations.”

65 Representative of the German pharmaceutical industry, September 14, 2012, Berlin.

66 Morgera, EU and Environmental Multilateralism.

67 Representative of a transnational environmental NGO, August 24, 2011, Brasília.

68 Member of the Brazilian Congress, agribusiness caucus, August 6, 2015, Brasília.

69 Brazilian government official, July 28, 2015, Brasília; representative of a Brazilian environmental NGO, July 30, 2015, São Paulo.

70 Santilli, “Biodiversidade e Conhecimentos.”

71 Movimento dos Pequenos Agricultores, “Brasil: Organizações Populares Definem Dia.”

72 Written communication with an Adivasi activist, October 28, 2015.

73 Malayali, “Bio-Cultural Community Protocol.”

74 Shah, In the Shadows of the State, 105–20.

75 Ibid.

76 Indian indigenous rights activist and scholar, February 22, 2012, Ranchi Jharkand.

77 Kashwan, Democracy in the Woods.

78 Adivasi representative, February 18, 2012, Maheshmunda Jharkand.

79 Member of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), February 6, 2012, New Delhi; Indian political science professor, February 22, 2012, Ranchi.

80 Lerche, “Global Alliance against Forced Labour.”

81 Representative of an Indian environmental NGO, March 3, 2011, New Delhi.

82 Representative of an Indian civil society group, February 7, 2012, New Delhi.

83 Shiva, Protect or Plunder?, 9.

84 Schittecatte, “Opposing Trade-Related Intellectual Property Rights.”

85 Spivak, “Scattered Speculations on the Subaltern and the Popular.”

86 Leading scientist of the Indian Council of Scientific and Industrial Research, March 5, 2012, Pune.

87 Dutfield, “TRIPS-Related Aspects of Traditional Knowledge.”

88 Indian government official, February 8, 2012, New Delhi.

89 Thapa and Devi, “Preservation of the Traditional Knowledge of Tribal Population,” 103.

90 Member of an Indian environmental NGO, February 25, 2012, New Delhi.

91 Representative of an Indian environmental NGO, February 9, 2012, Pune.

92 Drahos, Intellectual Property, Indigenous People, 159–62.

93 Nordin, Hassan, and Zainol, “Traditional Knowledge Documentation.”

94 Kohli and Bhutani, ‘Balancing Act’, 19.

95 Barpujari and Sarma, “Traditional Knowledge in the Time of Neo-Liberalism.”

96 Narula, “Impact of Indian Patent Law”; and Drahos, Intellectual Property, Indigenous People, 156–7.

97 Member of an Indian environmental NGO, February 25, 2012, New Delhi.

98 Adivasi representative, January 31, 2012, New Delhi.

99 Spokesperson of a German human rights NGO, July 11, 2017, Cologne.

100 Martinez-Alier et al., “Is There a Global Environmental Justice Movement?”; and Tramel, “Convergence as Political Strategy.”

101 Hadden, Networks in Contention.

102 Guha, “Neel‐Darpan: The Image of a Peasant Revolt.”

103 Kyrillos and Stolz, “Políticas Indigenistas no Brasil.”

104 Guha, “Neel‐Darpan: The Image of a Peasant Revolt.”

105 Spivak, “Scattered Speculations on the Subaltern and the Popular.”

106 Borras Jr. et al., “Converging Social Justice Issues and Movements,” 1231; and Eimer and Bartels, “From Consent to Consultation?”

107 Spivak, “Righting Wrongs.”