Juan Ricardo Aparicio Cuervo¹

13 de julho de 2026

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Esta série Especial do Boletim Lua Nova apresenta, reflexões produzidas por pesquisadoras e pesquisadores vinculados à rede internacional Justice in the XXI Century: A Perspective from Latin America (JUSTLA). O projeto, coordenado pela Universidade de Catania (Itália) e financiado pela União Europeia no âmbito da ação HORIZON-Marie Skłodowska-Curie Staff Exchanges, reúne 148 integrantes de 18 instituições da América Latina e da União Europeia.

Os escritos que seguem são um convite a atravessar diferentes territórios do conhecimento para (re)pensar a justiça no século XXI. Ao longo da série, o JUSTLA promove um diálogo entre pesquisas desenvolvidas em diferentes contextos e abordagens, de modo que o leitor e a leitora poderão acompanhar um movimento no qual ideias, contextos e práticas se entrelaçam para reinventar, no presente, o sentido da justiça.

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Introduction

Thinking about the relationship between democracy and hospitality, in his 1795 essay Toward Perpetual Peace, Immanuel Kant outlines universal hospitality as a fundamental cosmopolitan right (Kant, 1917). He defines it as the right of a stranger not to be treated with hostility upon arrival in another territory, thereby establishing a minimal legal condition for peaceful global coexistence. Yet, when examined from Latin America and the Caribbean, this principle appears less as a universal guarantee than as a historically situated and unevenly distributed practice shaped by colonial histories, political economies, and contemporary forms of exclusion. The darker side of modernity as Walter Mignolo (Mignolo, 2016, 2000) famously coined it, constructed the borders and exclusions while signaling a universal-male-rational-eurocentered human as the central axiom of this project. Both the experiences of slavery and the slave revolution in Haití marked the epitome of what was unthinkable into this normal and western order of things (Buck-Morss, 2005, Rolph-Trouillot, 1995). 

As is well known, Anibal Quijano (Quijano, 2000) introduced the concept of coloniality of power to highlight how race became the main factor in the structuring social relations from colonial times to the present. He demonstrated that race constituted the most effective instrument of domination of a global situation that began in 1492.  As a principle of social classification and distribution of populations with respect to issue of work, knowledge and nature, Quijano conceived it as the most effective until the present. Thus, race became the guiding principle that determines who produces knowledge and who produces culture, who has a salary, who is an owner, who is part of the labor force or the lumpenproletariat and which sector of the populations can be enslaved. This principle is internalized in what Maldonado-Torres (Maldonado-Torres, 2007) called coloniality of being. Also noteworthy is, in this respect, María Lugones’ (Lugones, 2008) work, since she expanded the concept of coloniality of power with the notion of coloniality of gender and sexuality, broadening the matrix of classification and hierarchization of bodies and populations. Key to our analysis are also  the contributions from the very rich tradition of Caribbean critical thought that includes the analysis of the plantation system as a fundamental matrix of power until today (Benitez-Rojo, 2010), the relationship between extractivism and violence, and about the bodies or populations that might  be sacrificed by current societies, and expelled from the  category of “the human”. (Ferdinand , 2022).

From this tradition of critical Latin American and Caribbean thinking, democracy and modernity cannot be understood apart from the historical production of vulnerability. Of course, the question of vulnerability also involves the distribution of the distances at which these resources are located, as well as the quality of those services. Without a doubt, as Marx stated (Marx, 1983, 1975) one of the effects derived from the movement of enclosures from the forests common in 18th and 19th-century England was the forced displacement of populations from those locations to the cities. For Arturo Escobar (Escobar, 2007), modernity associated with extractive modes of production and disputes over territories produce displacement; there are no modernization processes, both in the countryside and in the city, that do not involve the displacement of populations and/ or the erosion of the environment. Also, certain regions like the Caribbean and their patterns of development since the sixteenth century that link the plantation to the touristic resort are primal vectors for producing, reproducing and increasing this vulnerability (Ferdinand, Pantojas Garcia, Benitez-Rojo). Of course, not all populations are forced to move with the same intensity. For Colombia, as noted in the 2011 UNDP Rural Report, the current rural development exacerbates the vulnerabilities of peasants, indigenous people, Afro-Colombians, and women, thus compromising their well-being, especially in victims of the armed conflict. Therefore, it appears to be a direct relationship between forced displacement, high levels of poverty and vulnerability, and non-whiteness (Thomas).

Hence, a key argument of both the critical humanitarian and disaster studies field has been that humanitarian crises and disasters—often framed as exceptional disruptions—are better understood as moments that reveal the normal functioning of deeply unequal societies. From hurricanes in the Caribbean to landslides in the Andes and floods in Central America, these events expose how risk, protection, and abandonment are unevenly distributed. Rather than interrupting democratic order, they illuminate its structural limits.

“There Are No Natural Disasters”: Rethinking Vulnerability

A central insight of critical disaster studies is that “there are no natural disasters” (Aparicio Cuervo & Mena , 2025). While hazards such as hurricanes or earthquakes are natural phenomena, disasters are produced through social conditions that make certain populations more exposed and less protected. Vulnerability is therefore not accidental but historically constructed. The contrast between the casualties of the Haiti earthquake in 2010 with dead tolls of 100,000-160,000 with the one of Santiago de Chile in the same year and relative equal magnitude, with 525 dead, clearly speak of the unequal distribution of vulnerability across the region.

In Latin America and the Caribbean, this distribution is deeply embedded in socio-spatial inequalities that are also racialized, sexualized and gendered. Informal urban settlements often expand into risk-prone areas due to exclusion from formal housing markets (Oyama, Lahournat, & Sayama, 2026). Coastal and island communities are exposed to rising sea levels and extreme weather events while lacking sufficient infrastructure and state support. Rural populations facing land dispossession and environmental degradation are similarly vulnerable to climatic shocks.

In this same vein of the coloniality of nature, one could also think about how other situations, such as the vulnerability associated with climate change or the environmental devastation produced by mining and oil exploration, the so-called “war on drugs,” the expansion of the agricultural frontier for livestock and the commercialization of forests, as well as factors associated with what Harvey would call accumulation by dispossession. What Thomas called the accumulation by adaptation in reference to processes of displacement and alienation under climate change adaptation programs would also qualify as coloniality of nature. From this standpoint, following Hilhorst & Jansen, the question of disaster or humanitarian emergency now shifts to the analysis of the distribution of vulnerabilities. The 2010 earthquake in Haiti illustrates this dynamic. Its catastrophic consequences were the result not only of geological forces but of long-standing inequalities, fragile institutions, and global economic dependencies. Likewise, recurrent hurricanes in the Caribbean disproportionately affect communities already marginalized by colonial legacies and uneven development (Aparicio Cuervo & Macías Perdomo, Hurricanes, reconstruction, and resistance: thinking through vulnerability in the Caribbean., 2025). 

The persistence of vulnerability in the region cannot be understood without engaging Latin American and Caribbean critical thought. As already mentioned, Aníbal Quijano’s (Quijano, 2000) concept of coloniality of power highlights how colonial hierarchies continue to shape contemporary social relations. These hierarchies organize access to land, labor, and knowledge along racialized and economic lines, producing enduring inequalities.In the Caribbean, plantation economies established during colonial rule continue to inform patterns of land distribution and economic dependence (Pantojas Garcia, 2022). Tourism-driven economies in places such as Jamaica or the Dominican Republic create enclaves of prosperity while exposing workers and local communities to precarious conditions and environmental risks. Wealth is concentrated, while vulnerability is dispersed.

Humanitarianism as an “Arena of Dispute”

In Latin America and the Caribbean, humanitarian responses are frequently entangled with development agendas and state policies. The regional response to Venezuelan displacement of in the Darien Gap used by African migrants to arrive to the United States, for instance, combines humanitarian assistance with security measures, revealing tensions between protection and control. The creation of a “humanitarian space” of neutrality, exceptionality and emergence also meant the arrival of a biopolitical and even necropolitical regime of migrants crossing borders while others are left behind in the jungle by human-trafficking mafias. Hence, migrants are both recipients of aid and subjects of regulation, and sometimes abandoned and left behind. 

International interventions following disasters also illustrate these tensions. In Haiti, as Mark Shuller (Schuller, 2016) has illustrated, the experience showed after the 2010 earthquake, external actors played a central role in post-earthquake reconstruction, often shaping priorities and by passing local participation. Such interventions raise questions about accountability and the distribution of authority in humanitarian contexts. Ultimately, it speaks of power relations, of who can suffer, who counts and who hast the power of leading the reconstruction agendas. Indeed, I want to bring up precisely the same question or provocation that Derrida raised in The Politics of Friendship (273) about whether the humanitarian does not also participate in the process of fraternal humanization that is precisely being questioned by these critical voices.

Thus, understanding humanitarianism as an “arena of dispute” (Hilhorst & Jansen, 2010) highlights how crises become sites where actors negotiate power, legitimacy, and knowledge. These interactions between governments, local and international NGOs, first respondents and affected communities are never solely determined from the high-level offices: these interactions are also mediated, negotiated and resisted through both open contestation and the “everyday forms of resistance”.  Far from suspending politics, emergencies intensify them, revealing underlying conflicts and opening possibilities for contestation.

The Caribbean: Disaster, Reconstruction, and Political Struggle

The impact of Hurricane IOTA on the Colombian archipelago of San Andrés, Providencia, and Santa Catalina in 2020 offers a concrete example of these dynamics (Aparicio Cuervo & Macías Perdomo, 2025). The devastation exposed longstanding vulnerabilities rooted in colonial history, economic marginalization, and limited state presence amplified by its particular extractivist pattern of develomoment in the hands of the Andean government.

In the days after IOTA hit the archipelago, Government-led reconstruction efforts emphasized rapid rebuilding but faced criticism for centralization and lack of community participation. The Raizal population raised concerns about cultural preservation, architectural models, and decision-making processes. These tensions reflect broader struggles over recognition and autonomy on the large history between the Andean country and the Archipelago. During days and months after IOTA hit the island, local communities organized collective responses, mobilizing resources and advocating for their rights. Initiatives such as the Raizal Dignity Camp became spaces of political engagement, demonstrating the agency of affected populations (Aparicio Cuervo & Macías Perdomo, 2025).These experiences reveal that disasters do not simply produce victims but also political subjects who negotiate, resist, and reshape governance processes. 

As we argue on an article following the reconstruction agenda (Aparicio Cuervo & Macías Perdomo, 2025, Bendeck, 2021), a plethora of collective actions, including the establishment of the Raizal Dignity Camp, sit-ins, poetry acts, legal suits, and even the speed boats in the first days after Iota struck, showed unconformity with the pace and rationalities of the relief and reconstruction agendas. But the communities were also doing much more. As Nigerian philosopher Bayo Akomolafe (Akomolafe, 2019)) argues in relation to climate change, they were not insisting on an impossible solution to the problem of climate change, but were acknowledging that climate change was already present, and that they had to work and live with it. In this respect, the archipelago’s social leaders were also discussing a critical design (Escobar, 2017) for a different future for the islands given that tropical storms and hurricanes will continue to arrive every year. It is in these situations when the “arenas of dispute” become central sites over the contestation of the past, the present and also the future. 

Vernacular Humanitarianisms and Everyday Practices of Care

The concept of vernacular humanitarianism captures these grassroots responses (Brkovic, 2023). It refers to forms of care, solidarity, and assistance that emerge from communities themselves, often outside formal institutional frameworks. Across the region, such practices are central to survival. In Brazilian favelas, Colombian comunas, and rural indigenous territories, networks of mutual support provide essential resources during crises. These practices are grounded in local knowledge and social relations, challenging external models of intervention. The COVID-19 pandemic further highlighted these dynamics. Community kitchens, mutual aid networks, and grassroots health initiatives played crucial roles in addressing immediate needs while articulating broader political demands. These practices expand the meaning of democracy, showing that it is not only enacted through formal institutions but also through everyday acts of care and solidarity (Cortes Severino, 2026). They reveal forms of political agency often overlooked in dominant narratives.

Democracy, Hospitality, and Inequality

Thus, revisiting Kant’s concept of hospitality in this context underscores its limitations. While formulated as a universal right, hospitality is unevenly realized or is deeply conditioned, also following Derrida. Borders, legal regimes, and social hierarchies determine who is welcomed and who is excluded. Migration flows across the region—particularly from Venezuela, Haiti, and Central America—illustrate these inequalities. Migrants face precarious conditions, discrimination, and legal uncertainty. Hospitality becomes a contested practice shaped by negotiation, resistance, and control. This perspective shifts the focus from abstract rights to concrete practices. In contrast, following Derrida, an unconditional hospitality becomes a site where democratic principles are enacted, challenged, and redefined.

Humanitarian Justice and Democratic Transformation

The 2025 Istanbul–Bergen Declaration on Humanitarian Justice² calls for a shift from assistance to justice. It emphasizes the need to address structural causes of vulnerability, recognize historical inequalities, and strengthen the agency of affected communities. This framework aligns with Latin American and Caribbean critical approaches that foreground relational and situated understandings of politics. It suggests that humanitarian action must go beyond immediate relief to engage with long-term transformations. Thus, integrating humanitarian justice into democratic thought reorients debates toward equity, accountability, and recognition. It highlights the importance of locally grounded practices and challenges technocratic approaches that overlook context.

To question what is the criterion that underlies today the new therapeutic approach to the communication/administration of forgiveness and reconciliation, of humanitarian aid and assistance, of reconstruction of places and territories after devastation, of the paradigm and possibility of conflict resolution, of what Bruno Mazzoldi, in a suggestive text on the report on the Salado Massacre, called the “transitional super substances of the team-building dynamics” of Truth and Historical Memory Commissions; and of could be currently called “the memory boom” and the “time of the victims.” Understanding these legacies and inheritances constitutes a central task of deconstruction. In Derrida’s own words, “it is not only a philological and etymological task or a task of the historian, but rather a responsibility to a heritage that is at the same time the heritage of an imperative or a set of mandates” (Derrida, 1997: 45). 

Thus, a decolonial approach to democracy, humanitarian action and disaster and relief reconstruction seeks to transform these dynamics by recognizing multiple forms of knowledge, life, and organization. It challenges dominant development models and centralized governance structures. In Latin America and the Caribbean, such approaches and recent calls for a decolonial risk and disaster management draw on indigenous and Afro-descendant traditions that emphasize relationality and coexistence (Marchezini, González-Muzzo, & Martinez Rodas, 2021). Concepts such as buen vivir offer alternative visions of collective well-being. Thus, a decolonial democracy is not only about redistribution but about rethinking how knowledge is produced and how decisions are made. It foregrounds practices of care, solidarity, and hospitality as central to political life.

Conclusion

In conclusion, humanitarian crises and disasters are not exceptional events but moments that reveal structural inequalities. Rethinking democracy from vulnerability allows us to understand these inequalities as constitutive rather than accidental. In Latin America and the Caribbean, this perspective challenges conventional approaches to governance, development, and humanitarianism. It calls for transforming the conditions that produce vulnerability rather than merely responding to crises. Ultimately, this requires a different democracy: one grounded in justice, care, and recognition. A democracy attentive to vulnerability and capable of addressing the historical-structural vulnerabilities even beyond the emergencies (Mena & Aparicio Cuervo, in press). 

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* Financiado pela União Europeia. As opiniões e pontos de vista expressos são, no entanto, exclusivamente dos autores e não refletem necessariamente os da União Europeia ou do projeto HORIZON-MSCA-2023-Staff Exchanges JUSTLA – Justice in the XXI Century: A Perspective from Latin America, Grant Agreement: 101183054. Nem a União Europeia nem a autoridade concedente podem ser responsabilizadas por eles.

** Este texto não reflete necessariamente as opiniões do Boletim Lua Nova ou do CEDEC. Gosta do nosso trabalho? Apoie o Boletim Lua Nova! 

1. Associate Professor Department of Anthropology Universidad de los Andes. ↩︎
2. https://www.humanitarianstudiescentre.nl/humanitarian-justice/, last accessed June 16, 2026. ↩︎