San Luis, Argentina – For years, Miguel Gil has visited classrooms and communities, identifying children who are descendants of the Huarpe people. Miguel is the Omta, the spiritual leader of the pre-existing Huarpe Pinkanta Nation, now based in the province of San Luis, located in central Argentina.

However, they are not the only Huarpe communities. In the provinces of Mendoza and San Juan, other groups inhabit lands along the geographic border of these three provinces.

As a child, Miguel’s grandmother would take him to the countryside with a large apron to gather plants. During breaks, they would hold ceremonies, sing, and dance. “Everything was there,” Miguel recalls in an interview with TRT Español. “The language, the identity, the life.”

His grandparents passed down essential knowledge that shaped his childhood. “Everything I am and everything I share comes from them,” he says. “The ceremonies, the culture, the language. Talking about identity always gives me strength; I never hesitate.”

Rediscovering Identity

Recognising his roots, Miguel promotes what he calls a “rediscovery of identity,” which combines language, spirituality, and material culture. “Today, through surnames and oral history, we know that three out of ten people in this region—the Cuyo region in the central-west of the country—are Huarpe. The problem is, no one ever asked us, not in school or anywhere else, who we really were,” he explains.

Inspired by research and using their own tools, the Pinkanta people began a journey of cultural and identity recovery. Instead of waiting for public policies from the government, they decided to start at the grassroots level: within families and schools.

In schools, Miguel has worked with children who, after creating their family trees, began to recognise themselves as Huarpe. Over the past decade, he has visited various public schools in the capital of San Luis province.

According to the latest national census conducted in 2022 by the National Institute of Statistics and Censuses (INDEC), 25,615 people in Argentina identified as part of the Huarpe people. In San Luis province, 1,322 individuals were recorded, an increase from the 2010 census, which counted 881.

Miguel notes that the impact of this work has been profound: “Many began asking questions at home, talking to their grandparents, and recovering their family history. The most moving part was seeing that they no longer wanted to hide it.”

One of the key elements is recognising indigenous ancestry through surnames. By examining the maternal and paternal surnames of children and young people, they start tracing connections to ancient Huarpe families.

When these surnames appear “whitened” or Europeanised—with Italian or Spanish origins—the investigation delves further back in the family tree, to grandparents or great-grandparents. Often, original surnames were hidden or replaced. But when names like Talquenca, Luna, or Gatica are found, they recognise a Huarpe root.

This process is not just about gathering data; it’s also a spiritual awakening. For many families, learning the origin of their surname is the first step toward rebuilding their identity.

“The most surprising thing was that even those who weren’t indigenous wanted to be,” Miguel recalls, referring to his work with primary school students in San Luis.

Fight against structural racism

“We always knew we were indigenous, but we didn’t show it,” Miguel explains. “The Western education we received as children told us ‘extermination, denial, non-existence.’ And that shaped us from the start.”

Although the Argentine Constitution recognises “the ethnic and cultural preexistence of indigenous peoples,” structural racism has pushed many communities into invisibility.

“They always told us we didn’t exist, but our surnames, our ceremonies, and our knowledge prove otherwise,” says Gil.

The theory of “whitening,” which permeated centuries of official history, sought to erase any indigenous traces in the construction of the nation-state. But as Gil points out, that plan was not entirely successful.

What hurts the most, he notes, is the normalisation of exclusion. “They accept your differences but don’t include you. They take your knowledge but don’t recognise you as a person. I’ve experienced this from school to this day,” Gil says.

A Huarpe University degree

Miguel Gil is convinced that the transmission of knowledge cannot depend solely on Western academia. For this reason, he advocates for the creation of a university programme based on the Huarpe worldview: a proposal where knowledge is passed down through lived experiences, not academic titles.

“Our culture is practical. The countryside provides medicine, food, and shelter. In our language, Yumen is the countryside, Neñe is the food it provides, Nurumya is the remedy, Taytey is the home. Everything is interconnected,” Gil explains.

This holistic vision is passed on to children through everyday actions. From learning the names of things in their native language to making offerings of gratitude to the sun and the jarilla, the mother plant of the Huarpe people.

“We want to train professionals with identity. A Nurumya is not just a doctor; they are a healer who understands the relationship between plants, the body, and the spirit. A communicator with identity doesn’t just repeat what the TV says; they convey the truth of the land,” Gil explains.

Resistance at home

With little sustained state support, Huarpe communities have found a stronghold of resistance in their homes. Gil shares that while his older children felt ashamed to show their indigenous heritage, his youngest daughter proudly carries her names in their native language on her identity documents.

“My older kids didn’t want to wear the poncho in fourth grade. Today, the younger ones celebrate their 15th birthdays with Huarpe ceremonies. That means something has changed,” Gil explains.

Still, the struggle is far from over. The Huarpe language is not officially recognised, and many educational projects are hindered when they clash with institutionalised Western knowledge, as members of the community point out.

Looking back to move forward

Gil’s message extends beyond his community. It carries a universal dimension. In the face of climate change, displacement, and the loss of connection with nature, Huarpe culture—like many others—offers alternatives.

“We are surrounded by carob and chañar trees—native to the Cuyo region—and no one uses them. People buy expensive remedies and don’t realise they have everything they need right next to their homes,” he says.

“Our life is practical, experiential. If a child learns that this fruit can heal, feed, or build, they will have tools for life,” Gil adds.

To be Huarpe today, according to Gil, is “to live against the current.” It means choosing to light a fire instead of using a gas stove, gathering tea instead of buying it, and speaking to the first star of the evening before turning on a cellphone. “We live in a constant struggle between identity and modern life. But we resist because we have roots.”

The identity document, with names in the native language, is an act of resistance. “Having the language on the ID means it cannot be erased. It’s a firm seed to return to the path.”

Gil believes the Huarpe people have much to teach. “In the face of climate change and the chaos of the modern world, our culture offers another way to live, to heal, to love. We have knowledge that can save lives. All that’s missing is for people to listen.”

He believes nature is beginning to speak to awaken the world. “I hope that one day a tree will walk, an animal will speak,” Gil says, concluding: “And then humanity will understand that there is another possible path.”

This article was first published by TRT Español