By Vera Spangler
¿Dónde está Julia Chuñil? – Where is Julia Chuñil?
I’ve been in Santiago, Chile, since March for a three-month research stay as part of my PhD. My time here has been marked not only by academic work and explorations of higher education, but also by an ongoing encounter with a story that has surfaced again and again in my daily life here – the story of Julia Chuñil.
I first heard her name when I joined the 8M march for International Women’s Day. The march was massive. Streets overflowed with chants, banners, drums, rage, colour. But amid the collective feminist energy, something cut through with sharp urgency – a repeated cry, painted on signs and screamed into the streets. ¿Dónde está Julia Chuñil? Her name was being called out, not just as a question, but as a demand. It echoed again and again. I saw her name on handmade banners and posters, painted onto cardboard and stretched across fabric. Her face appeared, always with her dog. At that time, I didn’t know who she was or what had happened. But something in the collective force of the question stayed with me.
Weeks later, in Valparaíso, Chile’s coastal town of culture and art, I turned a corner and there she was again. Her face painted on a wall. It was a mural, tender but resolute, showing Julia next to her dog.
Back in Santiago, I’ve passed hand-drawn posters on lampposts and graffiti on walls just around the corner from my local supermarket. The question ¿Dónde está Julia Chuñil? has become part of the city’s surface. It’s alive in public space, inscribed in protest and pain.
Julia Chuñil, a Mapuche woman and long-standing defender for land rights in southern Chile, disappeared in November 2023 under suspicious circumstances. The Mapuche are the largest Indigenous group in Chile and their ancestral territory, known as Wallmapu, covers large parts of the south. Throughout her life, Julia dedicated herself to protecting native forests and defending her community’s territorial rights. She led efforts to defend a large expanse of forest in the Máfil commune, where she also served as president of the Putreguel Community. On the day of her disappearance, Julia entered the forest with her dog and never returned. Her family and community searched extensively, but no trace of her was found. Those close to her believe it is unlikely that she simply got lost or suffered an accident. Julia knew the forest well. If she had been injured, they say, some sign would have been found. Their concern is that something else may have happened to her. The land she fought to protect is officially owned by Juan Carlos Morstadt Anwandter, whose family settled in southern Chile in the 19th century, during a period when the Chilean state actively encouraged European immigration, particularly from German-speaking regions. Vast areas of land were granted free of charge to settler families – land taken from the Mapuche. These grants enabled settlers to amassed significant economic and political power. The legacy of this colonisation is still visible today, with German surnames remaining prominent among Chile’s economic elite.
Latin America remains the deadliest region in the world for those who defend land, nature, and territory. Although Chile sees fewer attacks than countries like Colombia or Brazil, defenders continue to face threats and violence. The NGO Escazú Ahora has documented multiple such cases in Chile – Julia Chuñil among them. The organisation advocates for the full implementation of the Escazú Agreement, the first regional treaty in Latin America and the Caribbean to explicitly protect defender of land and rights. Yet, progress has been slow, particularly in areas such as transparency, justice, and citizen participation. Despite early promises of President Gabriel Boric for substantial change for the Mapuche people, the state has done little to protect defenders or confront the structural roots of violence. The struggle for territorial restitution continues, as Indigenous communities demand the return of lands forcibly taken in the 19th century – much of which remains in the hands of corporations and large landowners.
As Julia’s disappearance gained attention, her case began to transcend the immediate struggle of her family and community. It has since become a collective demand, a popular cause that exposes the role of the state in perpetuating systemic violence. From a sociological perspective, Julia’s case highlights how social movements respond to structural violence by transforming individual injustices into collective political claims, reshaping public discourse and social memory in the process. This demand has resonated deeply with feminist and dissident movements alike, which for years have held the state accountable for femicides, hate crimes, political imprisonment, and, as in Julia’s case, disappearances under democratic regimes. Julia Chuñil’s life and struggle embody the enduring legacies of colonial violence. As a Mapuche woman and land defender, she devoted herself to challenging a long history of dispossession and injustice. Her disappearance is not an isolated case, but part of a broader and deeply rooted pattern of state violence – disappearances, threats, and systematic harassment that have long shaped the lives of Indigenous activists in Chile.
Julia Chuñil’s story is, at its core, one of colonial violence and resistance. She fought for the land stolen from her ancestors. Her struggle was not only for territory, but against the historical injustice that continues to shape the lives of Indigenous peoples in Chile. Julia’s story speaks to urgent political realities, but it also offers a lens through which to reflect on how power, identity, and resistance are lived. It raises questions at the heart of sociology – how injustice becomes visible, how collective struggles take form, and how state violence is resisted through acts of presence and protest. This blog post has no neat conclusion. But I write it as a small act of visibility, in solidarity with those who refuse to let Julia’s name be forgotten. She may be missing, but she is not gone. Her face is in the streets. Her name is on the walls. Her struggle is ongoing.
Once again, we ask:
¿Dónde está Julia Chuñil?
