Neoliberalism by force in Ecuador

Protesters kneel before soldiers as a form of protest against violence in El Arbolito Park, on October 12, 2025 in Quito, Ecuador. Photo © Ana Sofía Armand.

Reportage • Ana Sofía Armand and Lisbeth Moya González • October 23, 2025 • Leer en castellano 

"We are not terrorists. We are ancients." So reads a slogan that appears alongside images of Aya Huma that have been circulating online over the last weeks in Ecuador. 

The Aya Huma is an ancestral figure who, according to the Andean worldview, represents guidance, wisdom, and strength. And in the context of the national strike that began on Thursday, September 18, 2025, it has taken on new meanings.

It appears with its face covered, just like the protesters, who wear masks to protect their identities, and their faces, from tear gas. The slogan that accompanies Aya Huma is a popular response to the attempt to criminalize protest and resistance, as is taking place under the government of Daniel Noboa.

It also denounces the persistence of structural racism and the historical exclusion of Indigenous peoples, especially in contexts such as this.

“Every strike opens up a Pandora's box of resentment and racism that exists within different people, as well as revealing the government's neglect of social sectors,” said Lisbeth Aguilar, a Kichwa-Otavalo lawyer, during a video interview with Ojalá.

Ecuador is not a country that tolerates would-be dictators: presidents Abdalá Bucaram, Jamil Mahuad, and Lucio Gutiérrez were overthrown in 1997, 2000, and 2005, respectively. Street protest has long been fundamental in the overthrow of governments.

Since Lenin Moreno’s government, there have been three national strikes. The first took place in October 2019 and lasted almost two weeks, leaving at least 12 people dead. It achieved the repeal of Decree 883, which eliminated fuel subsidies. The second took place in June 2022 and left at least seven people dead. It also sought to revoke fuel price increases and review economic and security policies.

The current cycle of mobilization made up the third national strike. It was called by the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (CONAIE) and began on September 22, 2025 to reject the policies of Daniel Noboa's government, targeting in particular a proposal to eliminate subsidies for diesel, among other things. The national strike in Ecuador was lifted on October 22, one month after it began.

“In light of the brutal repression ordered by the government of #DanielNoboa, with three dead and dozens injured, we’ve made the difficult but necessary decision to end the #ParoNacional2025, clear the roads, and retreat to our territories to protect the lives of our people,” CONAIE said in an official statement. Even so, some Indigenous organizations, including the Union of Indigenous and Peasant Organizations of Cotacachi (UNORCAC) have not recognized this decision, and continue to protest. 

The crisis in Ecuador has not let up since Daniel Noboa took office. His term began with an escalation of organized crime violence, in the face of which he declared an internal armed conflict, and has been marked by the energy crisis. The protests that fuelled the national strike took place throughout the country, with epicenters in Imbabura, Cotopaxi, Pichincha, and Cuenca, where blockades, marches, and clashes with police were reported.

A protester wears an Aya Huma mask during a student protest. Central University of Ecuador (UCE), October 30, 2025, Quito, Ecuador. Photo © Lisbeth Moya.

The high cost of the month long strike

Persecución Ecuador platform, which monitored violence during the national strike, reported that, as of October 18, 2025, the 27th day of the strike, there had been 117 events of repression, including three alleged extrajudicial executions, 38 injuries, and 57 arrests.

Repression against demonstrators has taken many forms, including the blocking of bank accounts belonging to leaders, attacks on journalists as they covered events, the shutting down the Internet during episodes of state violence, and the deportation of a foreign journalist.

There have also been arbitrary arrests and various examples of excessive use of force, including with live ammunition and excessive quantities of tear gas, which caused the death of an elderly person due to inhalation, and affected others with no involvement in the strike.

Other forms of criminalization include the intimidation and closure of media outlets, entry into medical centers to prevent treatment of the wounded, and the militarization of the Central University of Ecuador (UCE).

People who map resistance reported that by October 15, 2025, 547 collective actions, including vigils, symbolic actions, marches, road closures, sit-ins, assemblies, and pot-banging protests had taken place.

In this context, the violence of state forces has been undeniable. For example, a video of the murder of Cotacachi community member Efraín Fuérez is circulating online, in which armed soldiers beat him and a man who came to his aid while he was mortally wounded on the ground.

Diverse forms of resistance

This strike was unique in that it was mainly sustained in Indigenous territories. Quito, the capital, remained mostly peripheral to the events, as Jess Caiza, a student at the Central University of Ecuador, explains.

“The resistance in the territories has shown that the ability to mobilize doesn’t exist in Quito, and this has exposed the racism that’s still super present, and it's why we were unable to sustain the strike from the city,” explained Caiza who was arriving to the UCE to join her classmates in the protest.

On the night of October 15, the UCE was taken over by the military, violating university autonomy. Even so, students held demonstrations the following day.

The cold is constant in Quito, and it’s been raining, which means the tear gas is even more effective. Over the last month, young people could be seen on street corners blowing tobacco smoke into the faces of their tear-gassed comrades to ease the pain. At times, it was impossible to distinguish between the fog and the gas. Even so, student actions persisted.

“We held several sit-ins in Plaza Indoamérica, in front of the university; these sit-ins allowed us to close the streets and keep the roads blocked for hours, always accompanied by music and art,” said Caiza. “We’ve also organized cultural events, community potlucks, and spaces for children.”

“El que no salta es de cartón” (He who does not jump is made of cardboard) is a verse by the Ecuadorian band Mugre Sur which has been present during national strike protests. The song, strongly critical of Daniel Noboa's administration, makes a mockery of the use of life-size cardboard figures during his presidential campaign.

Artists formed networks of support during the protest, deploying street art as a tool for denunciation and popular education. But their organizing started well before September 2025.

“When Daniel Noboa merged the ministries of Education, Culture and Heritage, and Sports via Decree Number 60, artists took action by going out into the streets and carrying out activities to express our rejection of a measure that further jeopardizes our livelihoods,” explained Minotauro, an artist who asked to use a pseudonym when we spoke to them out of fear of repression.

Our source explained how artists have joined forces with UNORCAC and communities that continue to resist in their territories. They also work together to support struggles against mining projects promoted by the government in the territories of Imbabura, Las Naves, Palo Quemado, Quimsacocha, and Fierro Urco.

An Indigenous woman confronts soldiers during protests in El Arbolito Park, in on October 12, 2025. Photo © Ana Sofía Armand.

Transfeminist assemblies

Other networks have sprung up to support those who are in permanent struggle, among is an effort at articulation carried by the Transfeminist Assembly. Ojalá spoke with various members of this organization, which oversaw the collection and delivery of donations in together with leaders from communities in Imbabura, as well as coordinating with cultural centers, organizations, and individuals who contributed supplies and provided transportation.

“Our collection efforts seek to break with the logic of welfare and reactivate class solidarity, understanding care as a principle in the broader construction of the struggle,” explained members of the Transfeminist Assembly. They have been putting their bodies on the line in the streets, and they, too, asked to speak anonymously and collectively.

The role of the Transfeminist Assembly goes beyond logistical support, protest, and emotional accompaniment. They’ve formed alliances in Quito that have organized assemblies with various groups every Thursday. These meetings first arose in the context of the dissolution of ministries and the government's attacks.

In these spaces, everyone is free to speak, and collective solutions to social tensions are sought. Protests are organized in a manner that seeks to sustain long-term collective processes.

While the Noboa government shuts down dialogue, criminalizes, and represses protesters with bullets, different sectors—Indigenous peoples, feminists, students, artists, and the population more generally—continue to organize collective actions that seek to make their demands visible, as well as sustaining spaces from which they can mobilize.

The political climate in coming months will reveal whether these forms of coordination and resistance, beyond the national strike, will succeed in influencing the national political agenda or opening new avenues for dialogue between those who are mobilized and the state.

Amidst so much difficulty, there is also beauty. Indigenous women standing up to soldiers, students caring for their comrades affected by tear gas, people handing out food grown with their own hands on the land, healing the wounded with ancestral medicines, and community members singing and dancing in a circle in the middle of the demonstration, as if it was part of Inti Raymi, the most important celebration within Andean cosmovision. 

In these ways, the strike also became a collective song of resistance to pain.