Territorial sovereignty and the end of inter-cultural diplomacy along the “Southern frontier”

Abstract

European politics at the turn of the 19th century saw a dramatic reduction in the number and diversity of polities as the territorial nation-state emerged as the dominant form of political organization. The transformation had a profound impact on the periphery. The study examines how embracing the principle of territoriality transformed relations between settler societies and indigenous peoples in South America. As this shift coincided with independence from Spain, Creole elites rapidly dismantled the remnants of imperial heteronomy, ending centuries of inter-cultural diplomacy. The study illustrates this shift in the case of the “Southern frontier,” where Spain had maintained a practice of treaty making with the Mapuche people since the mid-17th century. This long-standing practice broke down shortly after Chile gained independence in 1818. What followed was a policy of coercive assimilation through military conquest and forced displacement — a policy that settler societies implemented elsewhere in the 19th century. In contrast to explanations that emphasize the spread of capitalist agriculture and racist ideologies, this study argues that territoriality spelled the end of inter-cultural diplomacy along the “Southern frontier.”

Keywords

Chile heteronomy inter-cultural diplomacy Mapuche sovereignty territoriality

Introduction

When the Spanish conquistadors first arrived in what is now Chile in the early 16th century, they encountered fierce resistance from the Mapuche people.¹ Unable to subdue the local population by force, the Spanish colonizers negotiated a peace along the empire’s “Southern frontier.” Frontier relations in Chile were brokered by large-scale gatherings known as parlamentos. Mapuche leaders swore allegiance to the Crown in exchange for the recognition of their territorial autonomy. Although these negotiations did not prevent frontier violence, following the Parlamento of Quillín in 1641, a discernible practice of managing inter-cultural relations through negotiations and treaty making emerged. As a result, Spain accepted the Mapuche territory as the southern boundary of its empire and garrisoned the frontier accordingly.

The case of the Mapuche is noteworthy for it represents the most enduring instance of diplomacy and treaty making between Spain and an indigenous people.² It provides an intriguing example of “localization,” the negotiation of an “heteronomous arrangement” that legitimized the presence of Europeans and stabilized relations with local polities without being based on a shared cultural background (Phillips and Sharman, 2015: 15).

However, this long-standing arrangement broke down shortly after Chile gained independence in 1818. What followed was a policy of coercive assimilation through military conquest and forced displacement — a policy that settler societies implemented elsewhere in the course of the 19th century.³ Although the Mapuche case was exceptional within the Spanish Empire, it formed part of a wider pattern of diplomacy and treaty making that rendered European empires composite polities with often-imprecise jurisdictions and “unevenly exercised authority,” especially along their frontiers (Benton and Ross, 2013: 7). The rapid dismantlement of heteronomy in present-day Chile forms part of a larger, global phenomenon that took place at about the same time, most notably, in the US, where Jackson’s Indian Removal Act 1830 marked a definite turning point away from accommodation in favor of displacement. This study argues that the embrace of territoriality as the basis for legitimate statehood explains the rapid end of inter-cultural diplomacy and treaty making that had proven stable in the Southern Cone for centuries.

Conventional accounts attribute the “pacification” of indigenous communities in the 19th century to the commercialization of agriculture and racist ideologies emanating from the core (e.g. Buzan and Lawson, 2015; Hobson, 2012; Keal, 2003). This is not to dispute that both were important aspects. Yet, ideas about racial superiority also informed earlier relations, and Mapuche communities were often key actors in trade. Similarly, technological change, such as the repeating rifle and, most importantly, the arrival of the railway, may explain why settler colonists were able to crush indigenous resistance to usurpation. However, these new technologies do not necessarily explain why Creoles regarded such steps as necessary in the first place.⁴ Rather, this study focuses on how ideas about legitimate statehood changed relations between indigenous communities and the newly emerging Chilean state. It argues that the principle of territoriality influenced the actions of early independence elites, who adopted the view that legitimate states extend their authority homogeneously throughout their territory.

Territoriality, thus defined, emerged gradually during the 18th century and gathered force in the wake of the Napoleonic Wars. At the Congress of Vienna, the last leftovers of “feudal heteronomy” were removed or delegitimized, effectively establishing exclusive territorial rule as the norm (Ruggie, 1993; see also Branch, 2014: 94, 135–138; Sheehan, 2006: 8). Building on recent legal and imperial history, the study contends that Creole elites, keen to buttress the legitimacy of the new states, were susceptible to this shift (Benton, 2002; Burbank and Cooper, 2010; Ford, 2011). In Chile (and the Americas more generally), the effect was exacerbated by republicanism, which relied on a territorial definition of the nation (Sabato, 2018: 3–4). Creole elites came to regard indigenous jurisdiction as an anomaly, and as a problem for nation-state consolidation. The analysis draws on historical records of treaties, conferences, parliamentary debates, and maps. It shows that the abandonment of inter-cultural diplomacy by Creole elites pre-dated capitalist agriculture and scientific racism, which only gathered force in the region in the second half of the 19th century.

The study presents a threefold contribution. First, it advances our understanding of the profound changes that the international order underwent during the 19th century (Buzan and Lawson, 2015). The birth of the modern states system is often associated with the transition from feudal heteronomy to the emergence of the sovereign territorial state (Ruggie, 1983; Spruyt, 1994). This process occurred gradually in Europe, but this shift arrived late, abruptly, and with force to the periphery in the early 19th century. It was part of a global transformation, and the Mapuche case allows us to study this global dynamic in a local context. As inter-cultural diplomacy along the Southern frontier has such a long history, it allows us to study the process over a long period of time and in depth.

Second, the study sheds light on how norms of legitimate statehood changed settler states’ relationships with indigenous peoples. Europeans may have envisioned the colonies as vast territories that could be neatly demarcated and carved up among European powers, but the reality on the ground was quite different. Just as early modern European polities were “composite states,” imperial projects resembled the “feudal heteronomy” of layered and overlapping authority. International Relations (IR) scholarship that examines European powers’ relations with indigenous peoples tends to do so from a normative perspective, and with little regard for changing practices. Whereas Britain’s dealings with indigenous peoples have received ample attention, the literature largely overlooks Spain’s long-standing practice of diplomacy and treaty making (Epp, 2001; Keal, 2003; Pearcey, 2016; for an exception, see Jones, 2013: 124–127). Spanish colonialism only features in debates on the legal arguments put forward to rationalize the conquest and subjugation of indigenous peoples (e.g. Crawford, 2002). However, the emphasis on legal doctrines easily misses the more varied practices on the ground (on the “practice turn” in legal history, see Wallenius, 2017).

Finally, the study complicates the liberal narrative of international change (Jahn, 2005; Towns, 2009). According to Reus-Smit (2013: ch. 4), the independence of Latin American states presents one of the major waves in the expansion of individual rights. However, the political struggles of Creoles against imperial rule and “unequal entitlements” also led to the dismantlement of indigenous autonomy in the name of liberalism. It was not simply an unintended consequence, but part of the same struggle for control (see Lubbock, 2018). The shift from heteronomy to the “sovereign state” has a more problematic legacy than liberals tend to admit.

The remainder proceeds as follows: the next section reviews debates on the shift from feudal heteronomy to modern sovereignty. It tracks the reorganization of political authority in the wake of the Napoleonic Wars and the establishment of territoriality as the basis of legitimate statehood. It also examines recent accounts on how this shift reverberated in settler colonies globally. Then, the following section focuses on legal pluralism and “localization” in the Southern frontier. It analyzes the emergence of inter-cultural diplomacy and treaty making, and its rapid dismantlement following Chile’s independence. The subsequent section considers complementary accounts that emphasize capitalist agriculture and the spread of scientific racism to the periphery. The conclusion discusses the broader implications of the argument.

From feudal heteronomy to modern sovereignty

Ruggie (1983) maintains that the shift from medieval heteronomy to sovereignty gave birth to the modern inter-state order. Both represent radically different ways of political organization. Whereas sovereignty establishes a clear line between “international” and “domestic” politics, no such distinction existed in feudal Europe (Ruggie, 1983: 274). Overlapping authority claims, not mutually exclusive territorial jurisdiction, characterized this political order (Ruggie, 1983: 275). Feudal suzerainty was based on personal relationships of reciprocal rights and obligations (Nexon, 2009: 6). Typically, overlords demanded military service from their vassals in exchange for land. Vassals could furthermore swear fealty to multiple lords, resulting in a complex pattern of interlaced jurisdictions. This order included myriad different entities, both secular and ecclesiastical, united under a common conception of a universal community, the respublica Christiana (Muldoon, 1979).

Conventionally, the shift from feudal heteronomy to modern sovereignty is said to have occurred in 17th-century Europe. Prominent accounts explain the emergence of the sovereign state either as the result of increased military competition that forced rulers to centralize power (Tilly, 1985), in response to the growth of trade during the High Middle Ages that reconfigured political alliances (Spruyt, 1994), or as the consequence of a “revolution in ideas” following the Reformation (Philpott, 2001). These accounts share the view that the Peace of Westphalia (1648) marked a critical turning point that “altered the structure of the international system by basing political authority on the principle of territorial exclusivity” (Spruyt, 1994: 3).

The “Westphalian myth” has come under sustained criticism (Osiander, 2001; Teschke, 2003). At the risk of oversimplification, this literature emphasizes two points that are central for the present purpose.⁵ First, studies show that the process was gradual and not nearly completed by the 17th century (Hobson and Sharman, 2005: 72). In fact, many of the characteristics conventionally associated with the sovereign state only emerged during the 19th century. Teschke (2003: 6), for example, argues that before the global spread of capitalism during the “long nineteenth century,” international relations took place in a “mixed-actor” system. Thomson (1996), in turn, posits that states only monopolized the use of legitimate force in their external relations after the Napoleonic Wars. More recently, Branch (2014) proposes that new cartographic technologies changed dominant ideas about the spatial organization of political authority. Although the process began in the 18th century, the Napoleonic Wars exacerbated this change toward territorial exclusivity, most notably, through the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806. Following the Congress of Vienna, the “remaining medieval complexities and overlapping claims” were largely resolved “in favor of exclusive territorial rule over clearly delineated states” (Branch, 2014: 33).

Liberal constructivists have long argued that the “Atlantic Revolutions” of the late 18th and early 19th centuries accelerated the shift from “dynastic” to “popular sovereignty” (Bukovansky, 2002: 165, 209; Reus-Smit, 1999: 127–128). Popular sovereignty is premised on the idea that political legitimacy rests upon the consent of the people. However, in the Americas, despite the political discourse of universal rights that surrounded independence from European empires, self-government only came for some.

Conventional English School accounts tell a similar narrative of the gradual expansion of a supposedly European international society as a progressive force for good (Bull and Watson, 1984). Yet, as multiple studies demonstrate, European powers became less tolerant of polities that did not live up to a “standard of civilization” (Gong, 1984; Keene, 2002). The international order that emerged from the Napoleonic Wars strengthened the position of sovereign states at the same time as it delegitimized other non-territorial forms of political organization (Agnew, 2005: 446; Sheehan, 2006: 8). This study shows that the fusion of political sovereignty with territoriality was a particularly toxic mix for the relationship between settler societies and indigenous communities (see also Pearcey, 2016).

Heteronomy and empire

The idea that the contemporary international order emerged from a largely endogenous process confined to Europe not only ignores the fact that heteronomy persisted after 1648, but also fails to consider that most European powers were empires (Anghie, 2005; Hobson, 2012; Keene, 2002). However, rather than following an overarching logic or clear rational design, these empires were often “cobbled together” (Buzan and Lawson, 2015: 131–134). Even at the height of its power, the British Empire, according to Darwin (2009: xi), appeared “unfinished, untidy, a mass of contradictions, aspirations and anomalies.” Unlike the nation-state, which assumes the homogeneity of its people, empires are built on unequal rights: “The concept of empire presumes that different peoples within the polity will be governed differently” (Burbank and Cooper, 2010: 8). The viability of empires often relied on support from brokers, which gave local communities a stake in stabilizing the arrangement and provided a limited degree of political autonomy. Of course, this does not mean that imperial overlords did not exploit others. However, as Welsh (2017: 146) concludes:

we should not exaggerate the ability of European imperial powers to master completely the colonial spaces that they encountered … European empire was a fabric “full of holes”, whose boundaries were often ill-defined, whose territorial jurisdiction was uneven, and whose legal authority was enmeshed with the law and customs of indigenous subjects.

Although hardly consensual, empires reflected what Nexon and Wright (2007: 253) termed “heterogeneous contracting.” Unlike modern notions of sovereignty, political authority was regarded as divisible and not compartmentalized in mutually exclusive jurisdictional domains.

“Legal pluralism” was a common feature of empire. It also characterized the Spanish Empire, even though IR scholarship tends to concentrate only on the early colonial period and the legal debates on the rightfulness of the conquest (the so-called “Valladolid debate” between Bartolomé de las Casas and Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda). The response of the Spanish Crown to the abhorrent treatment of indigenous peoples in the aftermath of the debate receives hardly any treatment. A series of reforms in the mid-17th century, for example, sought to counterbalance settler autonomy, including the recognition of ancestral political structures and communal property rights. The reforms formed part of the Laws of the Indies, which distinguished between the república de los españoles, composed of European settlers, and the república de los indios. Indeed, although the colonial regime discriminated against indigenous peoples — establishing a racially defined social hierarchy — it allowed for some degree of political autonomy under Spanish overlordship and provided a (limited) means to defend their interests through colonial institutions (Mallon, 2011: 284). This, for example, explains why many (if not the majority of) indigenous peoples sided with the Spanish Crown during the wars of independence: they defended their rights against the Creole usurpers (Echeverri, 2011).⁶ Creole elites not only resented their relegation to a subordinate position below peninsulares, as Reus-Smit (2013: 124) would have it, but also resisted these measures, most famously in the case of Gonzalo Pizarro’s revolt against the “New Laws” of 1542. As elaborated later, legal pluralism also defined Spain’s relationship with those people who remained outside settler society for much of the colonial period (Elliott, 2006: 142–143). This allowed for inter-cultural diplomacy and treaty making despite the absence of a common cultural understanding.

Legal historians argue that the “legal pluralism” that characterized European overseas empires came under increasing pressure in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars (Benton, 2002). Ford (2011), for example, demonstrates that in the cases of Georgia and New South Wales, Crown courts initially only claimed jurisdiction over settler societies, recognizing indigenous autonomy in legal matters. This changed noticeably during the 1820s and 1830s. She argues that “settler sovereignty” conflated territoriality with legitimate statehood: it “arrived at the same time as post-Napoleonic European states embarked on a campaign to assert jurisdiction over their plural peripheries, a project that was destructive of European indigenous law and self-governance” (Ford, 2011: 4). The process took place in settler societies globally. As Prucha (1994: 6–7) shows in the case of the US, treaty making with indigenous peoples continued after the Indian Removal Act 1830 until 1868, but the logic and nature of these treaties changed fundamentally (see also Banner, 2005: 4). Analyzing the texts of almost 600 treaties negotiated between US authorities and indigenous peoples during the “long nineteenth century,” Spirling (2012: 85) finds that the terms of these agreements became increasingly harsh after 1825. Settler elites’ embrace of territoriality sheds light on this shift.

Territoriality on the periphery

The shift from heteronomy to homogeneity is well documented, as is the heteronomous nature of empire. To date, however, these debates remain disconnected. The study draws on both literatures to explain the end of inter-cultural diplomacy in the Southern Cone. In doing so, it shows the importance of the emerging territorially defined nation-state in transforming the relationship between settler societies and indigenous peoples; it also makes the case for the greater incorporation of insights from legal pluralism into debates on the origins of the sovereign state.

Creoles’ appropriation of territoriality as the principle of legitimate statehood spelled the end of the heteronomous arrangement on the Southern frontier. The independence of the new states in South America was the result of the collapse of the Spanish and Portuguese empires. The Spanish American states were politically volatile and, as republics, emerged in an unfriendly international environment. This heightened the need for legitimation (Schulz, 2014). From the perspective of Creole elites seeking both internal and external validation, legal pluralism came to be seen as a problem for nation-state consolidation. In response, elites selectively appropriated an emerging European norm to fit their local circumstances and needs (Acharya, 2004: 241). The idea that states should have clearly defined and non-overlapping boundaries emerged gradually in the course of the 18th century. The development was not exclusive to Europe, but formed a part of wider Enlightenment reforms to rationalize governance, including the Bourbon reforms. However, the explicit reorganization of the European order following the Napoleonic Wars established territoriality as the principle of legitimate statehood. Territoriality therefore became the model that informed nation-state building in the New World.

In the Chilean case, the problem posed by autonomous Mapuche was compounded by the fact that many indigenous communities had sided with royalists during wars of independence (and thereafter). Republicanism exacerbated this dynamic. Not only was sovereignty conflated with territoriality, but the nation-building project that republicans envisioned defined the nation in exclusively territorial terms.

While it is true that Creoles appealed to strict legal and political equality in their dealings with indigenous peoples (in part, to mobilize the subaltern population during the wars of independence and the civil wars that followed), they also dismantled the special privileges that indigenous peoples acquired during the colonial period, including the recognition of ancestral authority structures and, importantly, communal property. Per Simon (2017: 2), the descendants of European settlers throughout the region faced a similar dilemma: “How could they end European rule of the Americas without undermining Creole rule in the Americas?” In that sense, the usurpation of indigenous rights was not simply the unintended consequence of the gradual expansion of individual rights, as suggested by liberals.

Inter-cultural diplomacy and treaty making along the “Southern frontier”

The history of the “Southern frontier” demonstrates that the Spanish were not always able to dictate the terms of their relationship with indigenous peoples. A combination of Mapuche resistance and the presence of a “strategic frontier” along which Spain feared that indigenous peoples would ally with its European competitors created favorable conditions for negotiated accommodation rather than outright conquest. The result was heteronomy undergirded by inter-cultural diplomacy and treaty making. The practice peaked in the latter half of the 18th century. It broke down following Chile’s independence (1810–1818). Many Mapuche communities supported the royalist faction during the war of independence and were consequently stigmatized as enemies of the new nation. After the expulsion of the last Spanish forces from Chilean territory, Creole elites rapidly embraced “settler sovereignty”: the belief that the remnants of imperial heteronomy needed to be extinguished in an international order increasingly defined by territorially bound nation-states.

Figure 1 illustrates the rise and decline of the parlamento in present-day Chile from c.1540 to 1900 based on Contreras Painemal’s (2010) historical study of inter-cultural diplomacy in the Southern Cone. It excludes all negotiations and treaties not explicitly linked to a parlamento, and does not consider assemblies held outside the territory of present-day Chile, for both the colonial and republic periods.⁷ The dotted line reports the 25-year average to facilitate the interpretation of long-term trends.

Figure 1.

Parlamentos celebrated between Chile’s settler society and Mapuche communities, 1540–1900.

Figure 1 shows how the celebration of parlamentos gradually became regularized during the 17th and 18th centuries, peaking in the decades prior to the onset of independence. Particularly striking is the increase during the late 18th century. Although treaty making became widespread throughout the Americas during this period, the Chilean case stands out because of its longevity. The practice fell into disuse in the early 19th century, and was disrupted during the wars of independence.

The sharp drop in the late 18th century is somewhat exaggerated because the parlamentos of the late colonial period became more elaborate and costly, and were supplanted by other diplomatic means, such as the invitation of resident Mapuche “ambassadors” to the capital, Santiago. A second peak is evident during the military occupation of the Araucanía in the second half of the 19th century with the aim of advancing the presence of the Chilean state and opening Mapuche territory for European colonization. What Figure 1 does not show is that the nature of the parlamento itself changed over time.

Emergence

Shortly after the fall of the Incan Empire (1532), the first Spanish conquistadores followed the Incan path south into present-day Chile, where they faced heavy resistance from the local population. Pedro de Valdivia founded the first Spanish settlement and capital of Chile, Santiago, in 1541. It was sacked the same year. Pushing southward, the European newcomers founded a string of settlements, many of which faced the same fate. Valdivia was captured and executed by Mapuche in 1553. The Mapuche had successfully resisted the Incan expansion prior to the arrival of the Spanish. Then, during the so-called “Arauco War,” they resisted European colonization. As Sharman (2017) recently pointed out, Europeans had by no means a clear military advantage in colonial encounters prior to the 19th century. In a general uprising in the late 16th century, the Mapuche defeated the Spanish and destroyed all settlements south of the Biobío river, thus ending the conquest and establishing the “Southern frontier” as a matter of fact (Bengoa, 2000: 36–37; Jones, 1999: 148). In response, Spain established the Real Situado in 1603, a professional standing army stationed along the frontier and financed by silver from Peru.

Imperial rivalries also played a role along the “Southern frontier.” The end of Spanish naval supremacy toward the late 16th century allowed its rivals to make inroads into the Americas. By the mid-17th century, the Dutch West India Company had captured Brazil’s sugar-producing north-east. Shortly thereafter, the Dutch also seized the opportunity offered by Spain’s partial retreat, occupying the island of Chiloé and the city of Valdivia in 1643. The presence of a European rival raised the specter of an alliance between the Mapuche and the Dutch, leading to the reinforcement of Spain’s garrisons and the further fortification of its settlements.

These conditions facilitated the emergence of the parlamento as a distinct frontier practice. The assemblies brought together high-ranking colonial authorities with Mapuche leaders. The latter swore allegiance to the Crown in exchange for gifts, and, importantly, the recognition of their territorial autonomy, often sanctioned through treaties. Initially the result of sporadic peace negotiations during the “Arauco War,” over the course of the 17th and 18th centuries, these assemblies increasingly followed an established protocol. Mapuche presented their grievances, and the Spanish the “capitulations” necessary for peace or the renewal of a pre-existing alliance. They were accompanied by lavish feasts paid for by the Crown, the largest of which drew in thousands of attendees (Méndez Beltrán, 1982; Zavala, 2005). They carried through into peacetime, but remained irregular.

However, while historians and anthropologists agree on the general tenets of this practice — its evolution, ceremonial aspects, and the nature of the festivities that accompanied these events — they disagree on its meaning. One common interpretation suggests that Spain formally recognized the “independence” of the Mapuche between the Biobío and Toltén rivers starting with the Parlamento of Quillín in 1641 (Bengoa, 2000: 38). Others see them as a means for reducing the costly burden of frontier defense. Villalobos (2013), for example, argues that the parlamento was an instance in which militarily defeated Mapuche leaders surrendered to the Spanish colonizers (see also Herzog, 2015: 82). In this view, early assemblies played an important role in opening up Mapuche territory for Christian missionaries. Occupying the middle ground between these two extremes, Zavala (2005: 49) sustains that the parlamento reflected an “inter-ethnic compromise,” as Spain adapted to indigenous diplomatic customs.

The debate cannot be settled here. However, it is misleading to project modern notions of sovereignty and territorial statehood onto a 17th-century treaty between heterogeneous entities. Indeed, the resulting treaty, the “Capitulations of the Peace between the Spanish Crown and the Araucanian Indians of the Kingdom of Chile,” explicitly refers to the “vassalage” of the caciques, or indigenous nobles, who personally entered into the pact with the Spanish Crown (Abreu y Bertodano, 1746: 416). Vassalage, of course, implies the recognition of a hierarchical relationship in which a superior authority confers the right to rule to a subordinate actor in exchange for the latter’s loyalty. As such, it does not define the relations between two territorially exclusive sovereign entities. Rather, it should be read as an expression of the type of heteronomous arrangement that was typical at the time.⁸

It is also true that both sides frequently disregarded the terms of the agreement. Spanish colonial officers regularly complained about the untrustworthiness of the “barbarous” Mapuche (Bengoa, 2000: 39–40). However, this does not mean that Spain did not take these efforts seriously. Tellingly, the accord of Quillín entered the official treaty collection of the Crown and was recognized by Philip IV in 1643 (Levaggi, 2002: 77–79). Although Spain would not renounce its dominion over the Americas in any sense, the Crown made important and unusual concessions, including the recognition of a permanent boundary and the exemption of its indigenous allies from paying tribute (Weber, 2005: 208). Quite the contrary, Spain incurred great expenses in hosting its indigenous allies.

Despite these differences, authors agree that the assemblies stabilized frontier relations and transformed life along the “Southern frontier” (Villalobos, 1995: 192–193). The constant contact with Spanish officials, soldiers, missionaries, and settler society had a profound impact on the Mapuche. Subsistence agriculture was replaced by livestock, textile, and salt trade. The frontier also shaped socio-political relations, gradually replacing a more horizontal social organization in which political authority was temporary and diffused with a more permanent and hierarchical (patriarchal) structure (Boccara, 1999: 448; Herr, 2014: 75).⁹

The parlamentos contributed to this process by generating the need to delegate authority and leadership. Fewer indigenous leaders increasingly represented larger territorial units (Boccara, 1999: 455–456). Spanish records from the late 18th century show that colonial officials saw their Mapuche interlocutors as representatives of larger territorial conglomerates, which corresponded to the four confederations of Mapuche communities (Zavala et al., 2015: 45). In much the same vein, the Parlamento of Tapihue (1774) resolved that the four butalmapus should nominate resident ambassadors to Santiago in order to deal with the Spanish “as if it were a Parlamento General” (reprinted in Zavala, 2015: 317). Heteronomy meant that there was no contradiction between local authority and imperial rule.

The stabilization of the frontier in the 18th century gave way to flourishing trade. Although the frontier trade never became fully monetized, some Mapuche emerged as influential middlemen, most notably, the Pehuenche, who controlled the mountain passes and therefore the lucrative salt trade. The frontier trade linked indigenous communities on both sides of the Andes with the silver mines in Northern Chile and Upper Peru (today’s Bolivia and Peru). Livestock raising increased the importance of controlling land as a source of wealth, strengthening the centralization of power in the hands of individual Mapuche leaders and exacerbating the move from self-sufficiency to market agriculture (Bengoa, 2000: 63). As these exchanges opened the door to abuse by local officials, colonial authorities first attempted to restrict the frontier trade. However, by the late 18th century, the parlamento had expanded far beyond its original scope, becoming an instrument to regulate and facilitate commerce.

In sum, the parlamento of 1641 was not the first. Nor did the signing of a treaty mean that either party would necessarily honor its terms. It did, however, set a precedent for later diplomatic assemblies. This localized practice created the basis for coexistence despite the lack of a shared cultural understanding. By the early 18th century, it provided for a more stable and enduring peace that lasted until after Chile’s independence.

The breakdown of the frontier arrangement

Over centuries, Spain negotiated a stable frontier arrangement with the Mapuche based on diplomacy, treaty making, and, increasingly, commerce. This order broke down shortly after Chile gained its independence from Spain. The Chilean government resuscitated the parlamento in the second half of the 19th century, but its form and content significantly changed. Whereas the assemblies of the colonial period formed part of Spain’s “paternalistic pacification” (Adelman and Aron, 1999: 830), republican elites ceased to accept the Mapuche as legitimate political actors. Rather, the parlamento became an instance where the Chilean state dictated the terms of surrender during the military campaign against the Mapuche, termed euphemistically as the “Pacification of the Araucanía” (1861–1883).

As elsewhere in Spanish America, self-rule came to Chile as the result of the legitimacy crisis that erupted during the Napoleonic Wars. Napoleon invaded the Iberian Peninsula and forced the Spanish king to abdicate in 1808. In response, Spanish Americans took control via the Creole-dominated municipal councils or cabildos, proclaiming to govern in the name of the deposed king. Once restored to the throne in 1813, Ferdinand VII denounced the liberal constitution adopted only a year earlier at Cádiz and attempted to reassert metropolitan rule, provoking Creoles to declare their independence.

However, local elites in Chile were divided in their loyalties, and in 1814, royalists regained control. Pro-independence elites initially fled to Argentina, where they joined forces with the liberation army of San Martín. The combined patriot army crossed the Andes, defeated the royalists, and declared the independence of Chile in 1818. Remaining royalists retreated southward to the fortified cities of the frontier, where they received the support of the Crown’s indigenous allies. Together, they waged a guerrilla war against the incipient Chilean state, which responded with a scorched-earth campaign. The last Spanish forces in South America were expelled from Chiloé in 1826.

The victorious patriot faction needed to legitimize the new regime, both domestically and internationally. The continuing presence of Spanish forces in Southern Chile gave rise to concerns over the viability of the new state. The situation of Chiloé, in particular, became a central concern of the authorities during the 1820s. The issue was raised in debates over the British loan contracted in 1822, and a small fraction of the funds was earmarked for a parlamento to negotiate with the Mapuche (Congreso Constituyente, October 22, 1823, in Letelier, 1887–1908: VIII, 333). The situation along the frontier also threatened to undermine Chile’s international standing. Political stability in the South was necessary to guarantee independence and to gain international recognition. In fact, whereas the US extended recognition in the early 1820s, the first European power, France, only followed in 1830, and although the US and Britain competed for the commercial favor of the new regimes in South America, Britain delayed full diplomatic recognition of Chile until 1841 due to London’s concerns over its stability (by contrast, Mexico, Colombia, and Argentina were recognized in 1825; Spain protracted until 1844) (Nichols, 1948: 139).

Due to their support for the royalists, the Mapuche were targeted as traitors and enemies of the emerging nation-state. However, the Mapuche were not a united front, and individual leaders switched sides during the conflict. Those who had supported the royalists did so because they regarded them as the defenders of the status quo, who could guarantee their political privileges and protect their commercial interests (Herr, 2014: 70; Jones, 1999: 168). Royalists successfully exploited these concerns and invoked the colonial treaties, portraying the leaders of the independence movement as usurpers (Casanova, 1999: 35). Although some indigenous communities joined the republican forces, the incipient Chilean state had difficulty garnering support.

For Reus-Smit (2013), the Creoles’ appeals to self-rule undergirded one of the major waves in the expansion of individual rights. Yet, individual rights were a double-edged sword that elites wielded against indigenous peoples. Reus-Smit (2013: 147) downplays this contradiction as a mere conflict of interest between “nomadic herdsman” and “wealthy landowners” (see Lubbock, 2018). Already during the wars of independence, Creoles dismembered the colonial corporate legal structure. As argued earlier, local elites resented this regime of unequal rights not only because it reserved the highest colonial offices for peninsulares, but also because the colonial order had recognized the communal rights of indigenous peoples, which provided a check on settler autonomy.

In 1813, the governing junta decreed the dissolution of the semi-autonomous “pueblos de indios” and their resettlement in formally established towns in order to address their “extreme misery, inertia, incivility, lack of morality and education” (Casanova, 1999: 26). Shortly after assuming power as Supreme Director of Chile, Bernardo O’Higgins, the leader of the independence forces (and illegitimate son of Spain’s last governor), declared the legal and political equality of all indigenous peoples inhabiting Chilean territory. Although the decree of 1819 recognized indigenous people as having the same rights as Chilean citizens, as Herr (2014: 70) points out, the liberal policies of the new regime effectively “stripped the Mapuche of the autonomy they had had since the colonial period.” In an open letter of the same year, O’Higgins offered an alliance to “our brothers, the inhabitants of the southern frontier” (Crow, 2010: 4). Accordingly, the “the liberal system” would oblige settler society to correct past abuses. O’Higgins exalted the parallels between the long-standing Mapuche resistance against the Spanish and Chile’s struggle for independence. This analogy became a common trope in the new South American republics as state ideologues identified Creoles as the legitimate heirs of pre-Columbian rulers (Earle, 2007). Of course, this did not mean that indigenous people would have a say in the new states. Yet, as O’Higgins explained, “the tribes of the South” would no longer have to deal with the king’s servants, but rather with “the leader of a free and sovereign people, who recognizes your independence, and will soon ratify this recognition in a public and solemn act” (Gazeta Ministerial de Chile, March 13, 1819, in Biblioteca Nacional, 1954: 113).

The Mapuche occupied an ambiguous position in the new state. On the one hand, the decree of 1819 recognized them as full citizens. While this gave them political standing, it also abolished the legal corporate privileges that the Mapuche had enjoyed during the colonial period, and that they had fought to protect. Importantly, the new regime refused to recognize territorial rights, and allowed for the commercialization of Mapuche land. On the other hand, the Mapuche were treated as a separate people. By the 1820s, there was an emerging consensus among elites in Santiago that the “Mapuche question” presented a problem for nation-state consolidation. Yet, there was no agreement about how to proceed.

What became clear, however, was that Creoles in the capital considered the land that the Mapuche inhabited to be part of Chile’s territory. In line with O’Higgins’s promise to celebrate a parlamento, the 1820s saw several attempts to negotiate the relationship in order to gather Mapuche support for the new state. In a departure from the colonial practice, however, these meetings were considerably smaller and not attended by high-ranking republican dignitaries (Crow, 2010: 10; Zavala, 2005: 50). Arguably, the most important assembly of the period took place between the military commander Pedro Barnechea and the representative of the Mapuche Francisco Mariluán in 1825, only a few weeks after the final defeat of the Spanish forces at Ayacucho, Peru. However, the continuing presence of Spanish forces within what was regarded as Chilean territory raised the urgent need for a defensive alliance against a possible Spanish re-conquest.

The contradictions that emerged from the territorial definition of the Chilean nation-state are apparent in the treaty of 1825. For one, the treaty asserted that Chile’s territory stretched from the Atacama Desert to the province of Chiloé (art. 2), and confirmed that all individuals inhabiting the area “between the two lines” would be treated as Chilean citizens (art. 3), subject to Chilean law (art. 5). Although not explicitly mentioned, the territory thus defined included the Araucanía. For another — and perhaps for the last — time, republican authorities recognized the vestiges of imperial heteronomy: the treaty referred to local Mapuche authorities as “cacique governors” (art. 14), an interlocutory role sanctioned by the Laws of the Indies, and mentioned the existence of the “four Bultralmapus [sic]” (art. 16); the treaty also recognized some form of limited indigenous jurisdiction in cases involving “scandalous thefts” (art. 19) and reaffirmed the Biobío river as the “dividing line” between the Chilean state and its allies (art. 20). This leads Crow (2010: 6) to conclude that the Mapuche achieved some degree of “negotiated autonomy” during the 1820s. In her view, the constitutional ambiguity of the early republican period provided space for such an arrangement as it was unclear whether Chile would become a centralized or federal state — the implication being that federalism would have been more conducive to indigenous autonomy. The fact that the Mapuche sided with federalist forces in the rebellions of 1830 and the 1850s suggests that they shared this view. However, it is questionable whether a federal constitution would have protected indigenous rights as other federal states, notably, the US, failed to do so. More importantly, however, as the US example illustrates, Crow’s (2010) analysis overlooks the shift from heteronomy to territoriality that was happening on a global scale at that time.

The ambiguity that arose from the territorial conception of the nation-state is also evident in early constitutional debates where the standing of the Mapuche was discussed. The 1820s were Latin America’s “age of proposals,” during which the new states experimented with different constitutional designs. Chile was no exception. At least four different constitutions were introduced and abandoned in the 1820s before a highly centralized political order was established in 1833 (which remained in place until 1925).

In general, these constitutions did not mention indigenous peoples explicitly. Only the constitution of 1822 included a vague reference to Chile’s paternalistic responsibilities regarding the “care for the civilization of the Indians of the territory” (art. 47; see also Casanova, 1999: 38). Mirroring European practice of the time (Rowe, 2014), from 1822 onward, Chile’s constitutions delimited the state’s authority by defining the “natural” geographic boundaries of the new state.

The 1828 constitution followed the “natural” definition of the state’s limits, establishing its territorial organization into eight provinces (art. 2). Similar to the Treaty of Tapihue (1825), Mapuche territory was included by implication. In line with the Constitution of 1822, all people inhabiting the territory were regarded as part of the “political union.” However, there was still debate over whether the incorporation of the Mapuche was, in fact, lawful as some members of the constitutional assembly considered the Mapuche a separate nation, if not a separate polity altogether (Casanova, 1999; Crow, 2010). Deputy Julián Navarro Gutiérrez, for example, criticized the definition of the provinces because it imposed the Chilean political system upon a people that, “up until now has considered itself independent” (June 11, 1828, in Letelier, 1887–1908: XV, 88). José Gaspar Marín supported the view, asking rhetorically: “what gives us the right to annex what lies beyond that which has been prescribed by treaties between nation and nation since time immemorial?” (Letelier, 1887–1908: XV, 88–89). For others, the situation was clear: the Mapuche were Spanish vassals who had accepted their subordination in “thousands of acts of vassalage” (José Muñoz Bezanilla, in Letelier, 1887–1908: XV, 91).

Following this logic, because the Mapuche accepted the authority of the Spanish Crown, and because the Chilean state was the legitimate successor of Spain, the Mapuche were therefore subject to Chilean law. In fact, as Francisco Ramón Vicuña explained, “Chilean” and “Araucano” were, in fact, synonymous: “Yes, gentlemen, the Araucanos are natural Chileans, they only lack time to develop the ideas that civilization instills” (Letelier, 1887–1908: XV, 89). Ultimately, the latter view won out as the constitution left out any references to Mapuche autonomy or territorial rights.

It is clear from the constitutional debates that Chilean elites embraced the notion of territoriality in the course of the 1820s. Initial ambiguities concerning the place of the Mapuche in the new state were resolved by negating colonial precedent.

Imagining a homogeneous nation-state

The shift from heteronomy to territoriality can also be observed in the spatial representation of political authority. Branch (2014) argues that maps increasingly portrayed state authority as homogeneous and spatially bound over the course of the 18th century (see also Turnbull, 2003: 91). After the Napoleonic Wars, territoriality became firmly established in Europe. Hence, the shift from feudal heteronomy to modern sovereignty can also be traced in maps. Pre-modern European maps were not geographic representations of authority, but showed “centers of control,” such as castles and towns, from where authority radiated outward, reflecting the “non-spatial forms of rule” that characterized pre-modern Europe (Branch, 2014: 24). By contrast, modern sovereign statehood is based on discrete boundaries, “the elimination of non-territorial forms of authority,” and “the implementation of exclusively territorial rules in the political practices of states” (Branch, 2014: 77). The result was a shift from the depiction of sites of power to homogeneous authority defined by linear political boundaries.

In a recent study, Goettlich (2018) criticizes this interpretation. In his view, the actual definition of linear boundaries was often a slow-moving political process that, even today, remains unfinished. The important point, however, is that Europeans established territoriality as a benchmark of legitimate statehood by the early 19th century. Goettlich’s (2018: 7) example of Europeans’ reluctance to define linear boundaries between imperial domains in Africa highlights this point. It was regarded a permissible in imperial affairs but considered an anomaly between (and within) sovereign states. Non-European polities, such as the Ottoman Empire, China, or Japan, were keenly aware of this emerging civilizational standard, as well as of the stigma that obvious aberrations, such as the extraterritorial privileges of the treaty ports, implied (Gong, 1984; Zarakol, 2011).¹⁰

The limitations of Branch’s (2014) account, then, stem from his focus on doctrine rather than practice. In his account, the “modern” representation of political authority in maps was first developed to show European dominion over the Americas. European powers neatly separated their colonial possessions by drawing linear boundaries, most notably, in the Papal Bulls of 1493 and the ensuing Treaty of Tordesillas between Portugal and Spain (Branch, 2014: 110). Only later was this technique applied to Europe itself. However, by focusing on doctrine, Branch (2014) misses the more varied practices on the ground, which closely mirrored the developments in Europe.¹¹

In Spanish America, early republican elites delimited the new states based on the principle of uti possidetis, according to which the new states inherited the boundaries of pre-existing colonial units (Lalonde, 2002: 28–29). Although this logic seems straightforward, in practice, it disregarded the often-unclear boundaries between the vice-royalties and other administrative areas. It also disregarded the heterogeneous nature of the colonial political order itself.

Contrary to Branch (2014), colonial maps often followed the model that he associates with pre-modern Europe. Instead of drawing linear boundaries, even late colonial maps depicted Spain’s authority in the New World in the form of settlements and other “centers of control.” Colonial maps of Chile, for example, focused on Spain’s settlements in largely disconnected valleys that run from the Andes to the Pacific Ocean (Sagredo Baeza, 2009: 245). Figure 2 is typical in that regard, showing Spanish settlements, forts, and missions along the Southern frontier (indigenous communities and their relationships are marked in red in the original). From this map, dating from 1768, it is not evident where Spanish authority ends and Mapuche authority begins. In fact, they appear to overlap — a clear reflection of imperial heteronomy.

Figure 2.

Excerpt from “Map of the Kingdom of Chile” (“Mapa del Reyno de Chile”) (1768), signed by Ambrosio (O’)Higgins, the later governor of Chile and viceroy of Peru.

The embrace of territoriality was not a uniquely European phenomenon. In fact, the same shift can be observed in Chilean maps from the early republican period. The creation of geographically accurate maps became an important task following independence as Latin American states sought to define their boundaries and assert their authority. As in Europe, maps became useful instruments for legitimizing the state. In Chile, the first national map was commissioned in 1823 to comply with the mandate of the 1822 constitutional assembly, which ordered a survey for the purposes of the division of political administration (Sagredo Baeza, 2009: 237). However, as this and other early attempts failed, the state contracted the French naturalist Claudio Gay to map the country and its resources in 1830. He created the first detailed geographic map of Chile, published in 1854 (see Figure 3).

Figure 3.

Claudio Gay’s “Map for the Intelligence of the Physical and Natural History of Chile” (1854).

Like other European naturalists hired by Latin American states for similar purposes, Gay followed the Humboldtian approach of using natural history to underscore the characteristics and viability of nation-states (Appelbaum, 2013: 393; Sagredo Baeza, 2009: 247). As Chile’s constitutions since 1822 had established, and as Figure 3 reveals, the country’s political boundaries were envisioned as naturally defined by its geography. The difference between the maps from the late colonial period could not be starker. Instead of highlighting settlements, the uniform color and the north–south orientation represent the homogeneous political authority of the state (Sagredo Baeza, 2009: 249). The map shows the territorial organization of the republic, including a reference to the presence of “independent Indians.” However, it is clear that political control over the Araucanía belonged exclusively to the Chilean nation-state, of which the Mapuche were now a part. Gay’s map is not just a faithful depiction of geography, but part of a political project informed by the idea that legitimate states project their authority homogeneously within a defined boundary. It was explicitly commissioned for that purpose.

Explaining the breakdown of the Southern frontier arrangement

Chilean elites embraced the principle of territoriality during the 1820s and 1830s, leaving little space for Mapuche autonomy. By the mid-19th century, the last relics of imperial heteronomy had fully disappeared. Elite disagreement over the new constitutional order escalated into civil war in 1829. The liberal faction was defeated in 1830, ushering in the “Portalian order” based on a strong centralized state and an authoritarian constitution that remained in place until 1925. The conservatives consolidated state control over the traditional agricultural heartland of the Central Valley, leaving the question of the Southern frontier unresolved (Bengoa, 2000: 153). Creole elites sought to establish control over the territory that they had claimed since the constitution of 1822, gradually removing existing ambiguities about the boundaries of the new state. In this broader trend, territorial authority was contested not just with indigenous peoples, but also with neighboring states, which underwent similar processes. Internationally, this pitted the republics against each other: Chile fought Bolivia and Peru during 1836–1839 and 1879–1884; the natural borders with Argentina were defined in 1881, although tensions persisted throughout the 20th century; and Chile occupied the Strait of Magellan in 1843 in order to assert sovereignty over Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. Although these areas were often remote and sparsely populated, elites in Santiago regarded the establishment of effective control as a priority for the new state that warranted significant resources; unlike the mineral-rich north, the south was of little economic significance at the time.

Starting in the 1840s, demand for Chilean wheat soared due to increased demand from the booming mining sector and fueled by the gold rushes in Australia (1851) and California (1848–1855). This prompted individual settlers to seek land beyond the Biobío, which they acquired through a combination of legal purchases and outright fraud. Despite the earlier victory of centralist forces, civil strife over the country’s political organization continued in the 1850s. As during the wars of independence, the Mapuche were not passive bystanders. In fact, they openly allied with federalists and seized the opportunity to expel settlers in an attempt to re-establish control over their ancestral lands (Arreola, 2000: 132; Bengoa, 2000: 171–172). Following the failed 1851 revolution, the government of Manuel Montt restructured the frontier administration, creating the province of Arauco and increasing the military presence in the region. Historians argue that this definitely ended the policy of “accommodation and integration” that had been pursued since the 17th century (Arreola, 2000: 133). However, as previously demonstrated, the basis for accommodation had been steadily eroding since the 1820s.

In 1859, a second revolt against centralist forces coincided with a general Mapuche uprising. Once again, the Mapuche were seen as a threat to nation-state consolidation. Thereafter, concrete plans were made for the final conquest of Mapuche territory. Alerted to the pending military intervention, Mapuche leaders made a final and desperate bid for autonomy by declaring the French adventurer Orélie Antoine de Tounens as King of Araucanía and Patagonia on the understanding that he would secure foreign backing for their cause. Unsurprisingly, no foreign military aid was forthcoming. However, the episode created a sense of urgency among Chilean officials who had long been concerned about a potential alliance between the Mapuche and a foreign power (Jones, 1999: 177–178). This hastened the implementation of the so-called Saavedra Plan, which consisted of a military campaign to incrementally push back and fortify the frontier, making the seized land available to European immigrants. Chilean authorities celebrated a number of parlamentos with Mapuche leaders in the 1860s, with the intention of negotiating their surrender and acceptance of the advancement of the frontier. Similar to developments in the US, once the military and economic balance definitely shifted in favor of settler society, the terms of these treaties became increasingly one-sided (Spirling, 2012).

The “Pacification of the Araucanía” was modeled on similar policies in the US, leading to the creation of a reservation system in 1866 (Jones, 1999: 176; Klubock, 2014: 31–46). In 1869, command passed to José Manuel Pinto, who waged a war of extermination against the Mapuche (Bengoa, 2000: 207). Chile’s victory in the War of the Pacific (against Bolivia and Peru) freed up troops for its campaign in the south. In addition, Chile settled its disputed border with Argentina in 1881, effectively splitting Mapuche territory and sealing off possible escape routes across the Andes (the actual linear boundary was defined by British arbitration in 1904). Despite fierce resistance, the last Mapuche uprising was crushed the same year, and their last stronghold of Villarrica fell two years later. The parlamento was used to negotiate the surrender of Mapuche communities, which explains the uptick in the number of assemblies in the 1860s noted earlier (see Figure 1). Although the institution was resuscitated, the underlying purpose and practice was fundamentally different.

What explains the breakdown of the practice along the “Southern frontier”? Conventional explanations highlight the importance of “ideologies of progress” and Chile’s insertion into the globalized world economy. The study does not dispute the importance of these factors. However, it argues that neither fully explains the collapse of the frontier arrangement. First, as argued earlier, Mapuche communities became key actors in frontier trade during the 18th century. The Pehuenche, in particular, traded livestock and salt to settlers, both of which were not widely available in the area and were critical to supporting mining operations in the north. Arguments that contrast the interests of capitalist settler societies with those of indigenous communities allegedly based on subsistence economies ignore the latter’s historical agency in market relations.

Furthermore, as Pinto (2003: 78) emphasizes, economic and political elites in early independence Chile were principally interested in expanding mining activities in the northern deserts. The expansion of agricultural lands beyond the Central Valley did not figure prominently until the mid-19th century. There is little doubt that land speculation became an important driving force behind the military occupation of Mapuche territory in the late 1840s. Demand for wheat changed the Chilean state’s interest in the use of land, devaluing the traditional Mapuche commodities and disrupting the system of frontier trade. However, this power transformation occurred only after Chilean elites embraced the principle of territoriality. By the 1840s, it was already clear that settler society no longer regarded heteronomy as appropriate, which delegitimized the Mapuche as political actors.

Similarly, the study does not question the importance of racism and ideas about the cultural and racial superiority of Europeans and peoples of European descent. However, as Pagden (1995) shows, similar ideas were employed to legitimize Spanish colonialism. Such ideas are also evident in the testimonies of colonial authorities who reported on the parlamentos. The depiction of the frontier as a clash between civilization and barbarism existed during the colonial period, and was present in the political discourse of the early 19th century. However, this discourse became increasingly radicalized and framed in racial terms toward the latter half of the 19th century (although more of the Lamarckian than Darwinist variant). Whereas early republican discourse was primarily paternalistic, Chile’s elite came to blame the Mapuche for protracting the formation of the nation-state. Nineteenth-century historiography played its part by perpetuating the image of the treacherous “savage Indians” who had betrayed the country by waging a “war to the death” against the new nation (for the classic statement, see Vicuña Mackenna, 1868).

As in the case of capitalist agriculture, the rise of scientific racism toward the second half of the 19th century exacerbated the process of coercive assimilation that was already underway. Rather than being a mere pretext, racist ideologies were deeply connected to changing ideas about the relationship between race and nation throughout Latin America (see Stepan, 1991). Following Alexandrowicz (1967), revisionist English School accounts argue that 19th-century international society contracted as European powers came to disregard the legitimacy of political communities that did not comply with an evolving “standard of civilization” (Keene, 2002). Neither economic forces nor racism can be disregarded as important explanatory factors. However, the contraction of international society needs to be understood in the context of the global spread of the principle of territoriality.

Conclusion

European politics at the turn of the 19th century saw a dramatic reduction in the number and diversity of polities as the territorial nation-state emerged as the dominant political organization. The transformation also had a profound impact on the periphery. This study has shown that the shift from imperial heteronomy to modern state sovereignty ended the practice of inter-cultural diplomacy along the “Southern frontier.”

Its history provides an intriguing case of “localization,” a distinct practice of diplomacy and treaty making that legitimized the presence of Europeans without being based on a shared cultural understanding. It provides an insightful case that represents the longest-standing example of treaty relations between Spain and indigenous people, which is often overlooked in the literature. Yet, it also formed part of a global pattern of treaty making that was fundamentally disrupted in the 19th century.

Alongside explanations that emphasize the spread of capitalism and racist ideologies, this study has argued that it was territoriality that spelled the end for inter-cultural diplomacy. During the 1820s and 1830s, Creole elites firmly embraced the idea that legitimate states project their authority homogeneously throughout their territory — a vision of statehood that was not compatible with the heteronomous arrangements of the colonial period. As a result, indigenous autonomy became seen as an anomaly, and as a problem for nation-state consolidation.

The study has shown that the shift from heteronomy to modern sovereignty transformed international order. Although the process was gradual and slow at the “core,” it came late, abruptly, and with force to the periphery. In the span of less than two decades, a frontier arrangement based on the parlamento that had endured for centuries was dismantled. Although much has been written on the European experience and the rise of modern sovereignty, the findings of this study emphasize the need to pay closer attention to the dynamics in the periphery.

By focusing on practice rather than doctrine, the study offers a clearer picture of the shift from heteronomy to modern sovereignty in the Chilean case. It shows how practices underpin social and political orders, and how socially meaningful patterns of action can suddenly shift.

Lastly, the study highlights how liberal accounts misconstrue the independence of Latin American states as a key moment in the expansion of individual rights. While it is undeniably true that Creoles argued against colonial domination, it is misleading to paint their disregard for indigenous autonomy as a mere side effect of independence. The quest for independence from Spain and the dismantling of indigenous self-rule were part of the same political process: the creation of territorially defined nation-states.

Today, settler societies across the globe struggle with the legacy of colonialism and the dispossession of indigenous peoples. Chile is no exception; strong notions of territorial sovereignty continue to inform the state’s reactions to Mapuche claims for autonomy. This study has shown how such conceptions have been historically constructed, concealing long-standing practices of inter-cultural diplomacy. Rather than taking territorial sovereignty for granted today, the relationship between political authority and territory needs reconsideration in order to resolve indigenous struggles for self-rule.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to Jordan Branch, Quentin Bruneau, Filippo Costa Buranelli, Douglas Howland, Laura Levick, Tom Long, Rafael Sagredo Baeza, Joshua Simon, Ann Towns, and Betty Zyvatkauskas for commenting on earlier drafts, and to Constanza Barraza and Fabian Flores for their research assistance. Thanks are also due to the editors and reviewers of EJIR for their helpful comments and suggestions. All mistakes remain my own.

Funding

I gratefully acknowledge the financial support of CONICYT, Chile, through FONDECYT N°11170185 and the Millennium Institute for Foundational Research on Data.

Notes

Author biography

Carsten-Andreas Schulz holds a DPhil from the University of Oxford and is currently an Assistant Professor of International Relations at the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Chile. His research focuses on Latin America and the evolution of international order. It has appeared or is forthcoming in International Studies Quarterly, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, International Relations, and Latin American Politics and Society.

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