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Liberation Theology and Praxis in Contemporary Latin America: 3. Orlando Fals Borda’s participatory action research: At and beyond the crossroads of Camilo Torres’s neo-socialism and liberation theology

Liberation Theology and Praxis in Contemporary Latin America
3. Orlando Fals Borda’s participatory action research: At and beyond the crossroads of Camilo Torres’s neo-socialism and liberation theology
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table of contents
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Contents
  4. Notes on contributors
  5. Foreword: Theology in the footsteps of the martyrs
    1. The legacy of the martyrs commits us
    2. The risk of squandering this legacy
    3. The method of doing theology in the footsteps of the martyrs
    4. To conclude
    5. Notes
    6. References
  6. Acknowledgements
  7. Introduction: As it was in the beginning?
    1. Notes
    2. References
  8. 1. Conflict and ecclesiology: Obedience, institutionality and people of God in the Movement of Priests for the Third World
    1. Conflict and privilege
    2. Verticality and horizontality
    3. Containment and transgression
    4. Fragmentation
    5. Conclusion
    6. Notes
    7. References
  9. 2. Legacies of the ‘bridge man’: Catholic accompaniment, inter-class relations and the classification of surplus in Montevideo
    1. Those who come bearing gifts
    2. Roots of Catholic confluence in the Cruz
    3. Acompañamiento amid structural sin: between reciprocity and unconditional charity
    4. Bridges, networks and the (in)dignity of waste
    5. Conclusion
    6. Notes
    7. References
  10. 3. Orlando Fals Borda’s participatory action research: At and beyond the crossroads of Camilo Torres’s neo-socialism and liberation theology
    1. From critique of violence to rebellious social science
    2. Camilo Torres’s pluralism and the liberation social science tradition
    3. Engaged research and the theological question of social ethics
    4. In search of a methodological approach to Praxis
    5. PAR and liberation theology: epistemological differences and common challenges
    6. Notes
    7. References
  11. 4. The impact of liberation theology in the Latin American built environment
    1. Participatory processes rising in the 1960s
    2. Abstraction as a tool for privilege
    3. Participatory processes in Latin American architecture
    4. Liberation theology and Paulo Freire as antidotes to abstraction
    5. Colectivos and the heritage of liberation theology
    6. Notes
    7. References
  12. 5. When liberation theology met human rights
    1. Introduction
    2. Brazil’s liberation theology and transnational human rights
    3. Developing the rights of the poor
    4. Friends and networks of the liberationist mission
    5. The incidental exile of liberation theology
    6. Dom Hélder Câmara’s European tour
    7. Conclusion
    8. Notes
    9. References
  13. 6. ‘Women, the key to liberation?’: A feminist theology of liberation at the Catholic women’s conference at Puebla
    1. Introduction
    2. Literature review
    3. Background
    4. The Latin American woman as subject
    5. Population politics, the pill and the future of liberation
    6. Conclusion
    7. Notes
    8. References
  14. 7. Towards the possibility of an ecofeminist political theology: The case of the Con-spirando collective
    1. Women’s bodies and Radical Evil
    2. Ecofeminist answers to a post-secular world
    3. The case of the Con-spirando collective: an ecofeminist alternative in a post-secular world
    4. Final reflections
    5. Notes
    6. References
  15. Afterword. Contemporary witnesses to life and liberation: The persistent and evolving reality of Latin American martyrdom
    1. Latin American martyrdom: as it was in the beginning?
    2. The persistence of Latin American martyrdom: from origins to contemporary reality
    3. The theological challenge of contemporary martyrdom
    4. Creative synchronicity with the ‘living martyrs’ of today
    5. Notes
    6. References
  16. Index

Chapter 3 Orlando Fals Borda’s participatory action research: At and beyond the crossroads of Camilo Torres’s neo-socialism and liberation theology

Juan Mario Díaz-Arévalo

Orlando Fals Borda’s (1925–2008) pioneering contribution to the inception and development of participatory action research (PAR) made him one of the most influential Latin American intellectuals of the second half of the past century. The centrality of ethical principles, informed by his upbringing and education in the Presbyterian tradition, is a recurring reference in the literature on Fals Borda. Similarly, it has been generally acknowledged that his friendship with the Catholic priest Camilo Torres strongly influenced his radical thinking. Paradoxically, the analysis of the religious element in his career has been one of the most neglected aspects of the intellectual history of Fals Borda. With a few exceptions (Díaz-Arévalo 2017; 2018; 2022a; Moreno 2017; Poggi 2015; Rappaport 2020; Restrepo, G. 2016), religion has been described as a sort of passive influence rather than a field of active and creative engagement in his career. This chapter examines the cross-fertilisation of ideas and methods between sociologists and theologians concerned with human emancipation and liberation that underpins Fals Borda’s praxis as engaged social researcher. To do so, it examines the intellectual journey that goes from his analysis of political violence in Colombia, to his ideas of moral subversion, to his engagement with the peasant movement’s struggle for land, which resulted in his sociología del compromiso (engaged sociology) in 1970, and investigación activa militante (militant action research) in 1977. This chapter argues that this trajectory, which ultimately led to the inception of PAR, sprang not only out of his rupture with the functional positivist framework of sociological analysis but also out of two intertwined aspects: first, personal and professional convictions rooted in an ethically and theologically informed vision of social justice that he actively rendered into his praxis as an action-oriented researcher; second, his determination to contest a system of political exclusion and extreme social inequality without abandoning his role as a social researcher.

As Fals Borda himself recalls, ‘PAR had a demonic midwife: ancestral political violence that climaxed in the bogotazo of 1948 and [still] continues’ (2013, 162), a reference to the assassination of the Liberal leader Jorge Eliécer Gaitán, which resulted in the destruction of the centre of Bogotá and marked the beginning of a decade of civil strife. He also reminds us that at the inception of his method of PAR there were two tendencies among intellectuals: ‘the belligerent one represented by Camilo Torres, one of our founding fathers, who saw the only possible way forward in weapons and historical guerrilla wars’; and the other path of ‘civic resistance that was taken by autonomous institutions’ (2013, 162–3) such as the Rosca Foundation, a grassroots organisation that Fals Borda himself founded to support the peasant struggle for land in the early 1970s (Rappaport 2017). This provides us with a lens to examine the origins of PAR in a different light.

For the benefit of conceptual clarification, this study differentiates Fals Borda’s early formulations of militant action research (1979), which paved the way for the inception of PAR, from the most mature systematisation of PAR developed in the early 1980s (Díaz-Arévalo 2022; Fals Borda 1988; 1991; Hall 2005). This is not to suggest that the seeds of PAR were not already there in his radical activism. It simply means that his praxis as an intellectual of the peasant movement, which allowed him to transform traditional and innovative methods of research into participatory experiences, was also marked by a series of epistemological and methodological deficiencies, as will be discussed later. Fals Borda (1979) himself acknowledged that his early action research was conceptually and methodologically ambiguous. However, these deficiencies, which belong to a stage of intense searching and experimentation, are often uncritically transferred to the more mature elaborations of PAR. This is the case of Boaventura de Sousa Santos’s (2018) celebratory version of Fals Borda’s PAR, which lacks an empirically grounded account of how PAR was practised in Colombia and other places, contributing to not only a general amnesia about the origins of PAR but also underestimating the role that it still plays in the emergence and expansion of artisanal knowledges.1

In a previous article (Díaz-Arévalo 2022a), I looked at the relations and experiences within the Protestant tradition that overlapped with Fals Borda’s ideas about social change, and how this appears in his academic works. This chapter focuses instead on Fals Borda’s relations and experiences within the Catholic field; chiefly, his encounter with the priest Camilo Torres and subsequently with the theology of liberation, elaborated by Catholic and Protestant theologians alike, which enabled him to incorporate elements of Catholic humanism into his radical thinking. As the Presbyterian theologian Richard Shaull observed, what captured the imagination of the young generation committed to the struggle of the masses, of which Fals Borda was a part, was the humanism embodied in local ideologies: ideologies such as the Indigenous Marxism of the Peruvian José Carlos Mariátegui and Jorge Eliécer Gaitán’s autochthonous socialism that Shaull saw as being rooted in ‘the traditional humanism of the Iberian soul’ (1962, 14).

Drawing upon archival research, this chapter is divided into five parts. The first part looks at the process that goes from Fals Borda’s analysis of the period known in Colombia as la Violencia (the Violence) to his ideas of moral subversion, a framework to examine social change. The second part examines Fals Borda’s interpretation of the historical and political significance of Catholic priest Camilo Torres’s revolutionary decision. The third part focuses on the question of social ethics, a point of contention between conservative Christianity and engaged sociologists and theologians. The fourth part looks at the two-way methodological interaction between action-research-engaged theologians in the early 1970s. The chapter closes by highlighting both epistemological differences between liberation theology and PAR and common challenges ahead.

From critique of violence to rebellious social science

The role of violence in the break with traditionalism

In 1959, with the decisive collaboration of Camilo Torres, Fals Borda founded the School of Sociology at the National University of Colombia, the first of its type in Latin America. Like most programmes of sociology created across Latin America during the early 1960s, this became integral to the implementation of the US developmental policy for Latin America. Although Colombia became the showcase for the Alliance for Progress, Fals Borda considered that an adequate response to war-torn Colombia not only required economic development and agrarian modernisation but also necessitated overcoming the legacy of the country’s most recent past: a decade of political violence known as la Violencia, from 1948 to 1958, which began with the assassination of the Liberal leader Jorge Eliécer Gaitán and spiralled into all-out conflict between the Conservative government, which deployed a political police force and paramilitary squads, and improvised self-defence Liberal guerrillas. This turbulent period, with a death toll amounting to 200,000 civilians, had given way to the establishment of the National Front, a power-sharing agreement that provided for alternating Conservative and Liberal presidencies and an equal representation in all executive and legislative bodies which endured from 1958 to 1974 (Gutiérrez and Guataquí 2009). In contrast to the attempts of this bi-partisan coalition to consign la Violencia to oblivion, Fals Borda thought that facing it was a vital step towards overcoming it (in Guzmán, Fals Borda and Umaña 2005 [1962], 11–18).

Moreover, as vice-minister of agriculture, 1959–60, he grew concerned with the socio-political disadvantages of top-down reconciliation which did not permeate or benefit the social bases that had been devastated during the 1950s. As a rural sociologist, he was also dissatisfied with official narratives that depicted la Violencia as the result of the peasantry’s natural aggressiveness and moral disorder.2 There was still a more personal reason to break the curtain of silence drawn over the country’s immediate past: a sense of moral responsibility as a member of a new generation, a generation that, he thought, had the responsibility to ‘foster change for the better of the country’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. Instituto Antropología Social, 2).

The combination of all these aspects impelled Fals Borda along with a group of researchers from the newly founded Faculty of Sociology to write the first sociological analysis of la Violencia. To produce this book, the authors drew on the personal archive of Monsignor Germán Guzmán, one of the eight members of the National Commission to Inquire into the Causes and Present Situation of la Violencia in the National Territory (a body created by the interim government in 1958) and the only one that had kept the records of thousands of interviews with individuals and groups involved in the conflict across the country (Jaramillo Marín 2012). The resulting text was the first volume of La Violencia en Colombia: Estudio de un proceso social (LVC) (Guzmán, Fals Borda and Umaña 2005 [1962]).3

Although the compendium of atrocities and despicable crimes became the most conspicuous face of la Violencia, Fals Borda’s analysis did not dwell on these horrors. His analysis instead focuses on two crucial aspects of the conflict: first, what he calls ‘structural cleavage’, that is, the loss of the monopoly of legitimate violence when the coercive institutions of society (such as the political police and the army) turned into predatory forces, and the law courts began to grant impunity to cover up political crimes (1964, 28); second, the transfer of power from the centre to the periphery, which led, he argues, to the break with traditionalism. For Fals Borda, such a complex and accelerated process of social disintegration and integration at various levels of power, top-down and bottom-up, gave rise to a radical transformation of collective values or a ‘moral crisis’; a state that he defined as ‘anomical’ rather than anarchic and that went hand in hand with the abolishment of core features of the legality and the legitimacy of state institutions.4

Distressing as it was to read, LVC was highly praised by politicians and even high-ranking military officials who agreed that, first, such a thoroughly documented account sadly bore faithful witness to the most recent history of the country (El Espectador 12 July 1962) and, second, that any attempt at reconstruction of the war-torn social fabric should acknowledge that the main causes of la Violencia were social inequality, fanaticism and a political system which deterred social change by democratic means.

Despite its initial positive reception, the book soon became the target of virulent attacks after Liberals and Conservatives used it as a tool of mutual recrimination at congressional debates. While avoiding comments on any topic in the volume, the Conservative press went from criticism of the ‘sectarian’ and ‘poisonous’ book to personally attacking its authors – a ‘renegade priest and friend of criminals’, ‘a Protestant sociologist’ and ‘a freethinking lawyer’ – arguing that their personal backgrounds made them incompetent to analyse Colombian reality (El Siglo 15, 20, 25, 28 September, 1, 4 October 1962). After four months of acrid debate in the national press, the leadership of both parties claimed the National Front was established in order not to speak of la Violencia anymore (Fals Borda 1963, 49), and that any attempt to analyse its origins or who bore responsibility for the conflict might destabilise the Grand Coalition (El Tiempo 24 December 1962).

The decision of the establishment to consign la Violencia to silence deepened Fals Borda’s distrust of the National Front’s ability to understand the extent and depth of the damage caused by la Violencia and to act accordingly. Intellectually, the writing of LVC marked Fals Borda’s move away from functionalism as a framework of analysis, as its focus on social structure, institutions and social functions was found to be of limited use in understanding the dynamics of conflict in Colombia (Cendales et al. 2005). Moreover, the reaction to LVC confirmed his fears that the establishment was reluctant to ground policy on scientific research. Thus, LVC marked the beginning of a shift that can be described as moving from attempting to inform policy to directly supporting the oppressed in their struggle for liberation (Feagin, Vera and Ducey 2014, 165–94).

Subversion as a framework of socio-historical analysis

After the second presidential period of the National Front from 1962 to 1966, which became a symbol of ‘elitism, authoritarianism, aloofness and corruption […] often under the control of personal fiefdoms’ (Gutiérrez and Guataquí 2009), Fals Borda and many representative members of this generation found their politics to be increasingly revolutionary. Thus, the pertinent question became how to be a revolutionary. According to Fals Borda (1970/71), the deaths of both the Catholic priest Camilo Torres (who was killed during his first combat as a guerrilla fighter in February 1966) and Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara (who was killed in Bolivia in November 1967) marked the climax of a type of revolutionary endeavour in Latin America. ‘Now’, he argues, ‘follows the anti-climax … the examination and careful reorganisation … New utopias, new directives toward dissent will very likely appear because the basic problems of Latin American society persist and invite rebellious thought and action’ (1970/71, 77).

Subversion and Social Change in Colombia (1967; 1968; 1969; henceforth Subversion) was Fals Borda’s first attempt to examine the revolutionary potential of Torres’s message, while exploring new models of socio-political contestation. While other commentators at the time portrayed Torres as an ‘immature’ and ‘defrocked priest’ trapped in Marxist dialectics (see, for example, El Tiempo 17 February 1966; La República 18 February 1966; Andrade 1966, 177–81), in this book, Fals Borda did not seek to challenge this portrayal, entrusting this task, instead, to Torres’s biographers (Broderick 1975; Caycedo 1972; Guzmán 1967; 1967a; Habegger 1967. See also Villanueva Martínez 1995; Lüning 2016 [1969]). Nor did Fals Borda attempt to provide historical background to those narratives that depicted Torres as a ‘martyr’ of a popular cause. Instead, by approaching Torres in a manner reminiscent of that of Benjamin’s ‘dialectical image’ (Benjamin 2006), Fals Borda sought to recover his political significance; that is, to retrieve his moral subversion as a positive category for social transformation able to lead a new cycle of civil resistance (Fals Borda 1969, xiii).5

To accomplish this task, Subversion, a book written during the academic year of 1966 when Fals Borda was visiting professor at the University of Wisconsin, broke out of the chronological straitjacket into which partisan historians had constricted national historiography. Calling into question the truth of the past embedded in such exclusionary narratives, it aimed to take a snapshot of four social orders in the history of Colombia, while highlighting the factors that influenced the transitional process of radical social change in Colombia.6 With ‘moral subversion’ as a framework, the book sought to actualise a not-yet-encountered but already-imagined order defined by the ideals of a more just and equitable society. Subversion’s aim, as will be explained in the next section, was to connect the struggles of the socialist movement since its origins in Colombia in the 1920s with Camilo Torres’s neo-socialist attempt to subvert the liberal-bourgeois social order established by the National Front (Fals Borda 1969, xii).7

Sociologist José A. Silva Michelena, to whom Fals Borda had shown the first draft of Subversion (1967), asked him why he had not simply used the term ‘revolution’ instead of subversion (ACH-UN, FOFB. Subversión, 52). For Fals Borda, ‘subversion’ was a notion loaded with historical meaning, whereas ‘revolution’ was a household word devalued by historical events as much as by timid institutional attempts at social reform in Colombia, such as Liberal President Alfonso Lopez Pumarejo’s Revolution on the March of 1934–8 and 1942–5.8 Moreover, the nature of power in the late 1960s – based on the advanced technologies of war and repression, sophisticated social control and the increasingly complex social organisation of urban-industrial communities – had rendered obsolete the classical model of revolution originating in eighteenth-century Europe. Hence, Fals Borda’s main concern was how to contest what Latin Americanist William McGreevey (1970) described as ‘the porosity of Colombia’s elite’ and its ability to co-opt dissident movements without causing social change.

The first edition of Subversion (1967) was encouraged by signs of ideological and political renewal that had arisen from within the Liberal Party in the mid-1960s, which Fals Borda rushed to interpret as the emergence of a real opposition to the National Front (1968, xiv).9 The lack of real opposition to bi-partisan coalition created a ‘revolutionary social vacuum’, which led Fals Borda to see the creation of a movement that could lead the country towards a new social order – the neo-socialist order – as ‘the subversive task of the moment’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. Europa II, Suiza, 16). Accordingly, the second edition of Subversion (1968) was addressed to a new generation of non-conformists, dissidents and political activists beyond the traditional political cadres, and non-sectarian communists and socialists with the aim of contributing to ‘doing subversion well’ (1968, xvi).

Camilo Torres’s pluralism and the liberation social science tradition

In his comments on Subversion (1967), Silva Michelena drew Fals Borda’s attention to the chronic inability of Colombian subversive groups to become a viable political option – a situation closely related to Colombian social conservatism, which was reinforced not only by the Catholic Church’s alliance with the Conservative Party but also through the adoption of traditional values in key social institutions such as the family and schools. Therefore, Silva Michelena wrote, ‘this is one of the factors that made Camilo an ideal leader for Colombia but, as you have said, [Camilo] can be revived and it would not be the first time that a dead person makes a revolution’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. Subversión, 54).

Although Camilo Torres’s vision of a pluralist utopia was distorted by realities almost immediately after he expounded it, Fals Borda agreed with Michelena that there already existed the minimum ideological and organisational elements ‘to initiate a new cycle of subversive development in Colombia that will lead to another order, the fifth of the historical series’ (1969, 170). If Fals Borda regarded Camilo Torres as the standard-bearer of a new subversion in Colombia, it was not because Torres was a priest who preached the new socialist revolution in religious tones. It was because the moral direction of his pluralist utopia had become the crossroads at which many disenfranchised and even rival leftist factions converged (López-Pacheco 2017, 176; Pereira 2008, 394–5). Moreover, Fals Borda’s critical retrieval of Torres’s ideological drive was an effort to reclaim the utopian and moral ingredients from those who turned them into a mere justification for armed struggle.

Therefore, Fals Borda’s method of ‘reviving’ Torres consisted in reappropriating through historical inquiry at least three aspects of his pluralism that Fals Borda sought to render into an autochthonous ideological framework for political action: (1) the politics of human dignity, which Torres encapsulated in the concept of ‘efficacious love’ (Torres 1971, 351; see also Díaz-Arévalo 2022a) – a moral imperative that was at odds with the ritualistic type of religion which has little ethical significance in everyday life. In Colombia, a highly segregated society where most people live in poverty, Torres wrote (La República 16 June 1965), effective charity had to point to the practical and social implication of Christian faith; (2) pluralistic dialogue and criticism of false binaries, which aimed at de-spiritualising politics. Torres’s dialogue with the Marxists and the communists challenged the ideological Manicheism held by the church–state alliance which had perceived all good to rest on one side, and all evil on the other. Torres’s dialectic is no longer between good and evil but between justice and dignity on one hand, and exploitation and oppression on the other. As he put it, when religion makes people take human problems seriously, it is no longer religious alienation. So, in contrast to the dominant groups who blamed the socio-political turmoil on inimical outsiders or foreign conspiracies, mostly communist, Torres declared, ‘I am not, nor will I ever become, a Communist. However, I am prepared to fight together with the Communists for our common goals: against the oligarchy and United States domination; for the winning of power by the people’;10 and (3) participatory politics which represented a direct challenge to the National Front’s exclusionary politics whose ideology was phrased in terms of internal national security and had allowed the oligarchy to rule uncontested over a society which had been torn asunder.

Fals Borda’s actualisation of Camilo Torres as a utopian image for teletic – or goal-oriented – politics was by no means uncritical of Torres’s final decision. For Fals Borda (1968), the rapid spread of guerrilla warfare throughout Latin American was a ‘social fact’ that reflected the existence of acute and historical social problems in the region. Therefore, the problem of violence as ultima ratio was not so much in its justification as in the conditions and limitations of its use. Justifications had been ongoing for centuries, at least since Thomas Aquinas’s classical thesis on just war (Fals Borda 1969, 166). The problem, as Fals Borda noted, was the excessive reliance on military success that led armed groups inspired by the success of the Cuban Revolution to blindly duplicate the Sierra Maestra pattern in the early 1960s (1968, 457). The case of Torres illustrates this point. Torres saw his decision to join the guerrillas as the means to consolidate his previous political work as a leader of the Frente Unido (United Front), which had been officially launched just five months before, in May 1965. In his last letter to his brother Fernando, written from his guerrilla campsite in the mountains of Santander, Torres stated that, ‘following the work of agitation, this stage is necessary and will consolidate the previous stage. I am prepared for a long struggle but sure of victory … If I get left behind, because they kill me, I believe that the work already done will prevail’ (ACH-UN. Fondo Camilo Torres Restrepo, 81).

For Fals Borda, Torres’s self-deluding confidence in the immediate success of armed struggle, as well as that of other popular leaders in the region, was his tactical error. Aware of the need for a long-term and more complex strategy for political action, Fals Borda posited that the alternative was the creation of a popular counter-elite ethically and politically prepared to subvert the unjust social order imposed by the coalition of the National Front. This, however, posed the practical challenge of finding ‘strategic groups … akin to Torres’s ideal of service to collaborate with them in the concrete revolutionary task’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. RI, Suiza, 18).

One of these groups was Golconda, with which Fals Borda tried to engage. Led by Monsignor Gerardo Valencia Cano, the group was formed by Father René García and a group of priests of the Archdiocese of Bogotá; a group of nuns and teachers of the girls Catholic School Marymount led by sister Leonor Esguerra; and the Marxist mathematician Germán Zabala and a group of his students, with whom he led an educational experience, the Integral Educational Model (modelo educacional integral, MEI), at the Central Colombian Institute (Pérez-Prieto 2016, 92). By adopting a ‘militant pastoral methodology’, which was inspired by the see-judge-act approach of the Young Christian Workers created by the Belgian priest Joseph Cardijn (Cervetto 2017), the articulation of these three groups and their pedagogical practices in the popular districts of Bogotá sought to realise Torres’s revolutionary ideal; that is, to create the basis for ‘the political, pedagogical and spiritual unity of the popular classes’ (Pérez-Prieto 2016, 93).

However, Fals Borda’s plan to work with the ‘revolution of the cassocks’ (Restrepo, J. 1995), as Golconda was known, never came to fruition. On the one hand, Golconda rapidly lost momentum as its members scattered following persecution, the emergence of ideological differences, and the fact that some of its leaders joined the ELN (Ejército de Liberación Nacional) guerrilla group (Zeitlin, in Torres 1972, 45–6).11 On the other, Fals Borda had decided to create an independent centre for social research in which he sought to employ a group of twelve scholars from the Faculty of Sociology that he had created a decade earlier. This proposal was received with deep reservations with some of Fals Borda’s former colleagues deeply concerned about the radicalism of his ‘new ideas’.

The ideas that surprised some of Fals Borda’s former colleagues were those espoused in his conception of sociología del compromiso (engaged sociology) with which he sought to respond to Marx’s invitation to change the world instead of just contemplating it (Bonilla et al. 1972, 19–33). Fals Borda’s engaged sociology had reached academic prominence at the 9th Latin American Congress of Sociology in Mexico, 1969, where the debate between engaged and objective sociology was at the core of the congress. Arguing that claims to non-involvement, neutrality and objectivity in social inquiry served consciously or unconsciously to preserve social injustice, Fals Borda (1970) spearheaded the arguments in favour of engaged sociology against Aldo Solari’s value-free sociology (2011 [1969]). The former’s ideas provided the key lines adopted by the conference’s final declaration, which defined engaged sociology as a current that sides with the underprivileged, seeking to contribute to empowering key groups for social change while contesting the underlying values of instrumental positivism – chiefly, its self-delusionary notions of ‘objectivity’ and ‘neutrality’ and its methodological practice restricted to functionalist research methods (Fals Borda 1970).

Fals Borda’s engaged sociology resonated with social researchers, popular educators, Protestant and Catholic theologians and activists, who had all gathered under the emerging ecumenical umbrella of the liberationist paradigm. In fact, Fals Borda’s Ciencia propia y colonialismo intelectual (1971) – a series of essays in which he further expanded his ideas on engagement, decolonialism and the sociology of liberation – came out at the same time as Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez’s seminal Teología de la liberación (1972 [1971]).

Gutiérrez, a classmate of Camilo Torres at Louvain, had participated in the Second Vatican Council of 1962 to 1965 and was the key ideologue of the Medellín CELAM (Consejo Episcopal Latinoamericano y Caribeño) Conference (Hart 1978, 196). Resident, as he was, of a Lima shantytown, Gutiérrez claimed that neutrality was impossible and that denying the existence of the class struggle was ‘to put oneself on the side of the dominant sectors’ (1998 [1973], 158). In contrast to dogmatic theology, which prioritises doctrine over mundane realities, Gutiérrez argues that theology, as reflection, is the ‘second act’ since the first act is ‘commitment to the poor’ (1973, xxiii). Gutiérrez’s experience, like that of many liberation theologians and activists living in marginalised areas across Latin America, fostered the creation of popular biblical circles and ecclesial base communities. The analysis of ‘institutionalised violence’, similar to what sociologist Johan Galtung would term ‘structural violence’ a year later (Guardado 2022), led those engaged with the poor to interrogate their own contexts against the teachings of the Gospel (Berryman 1987) and, vice versa, to question, as Fray Antonio de Montesinos did in his sermon on the Sunday before Christmas 1511 in Hispaniola (now Haiti/Dominican Republic), ‘For whose benefit?’ ‘In whose interest is it to make such and such a claim about God?’ (in Bradstock and Rowland 2002, 62–3).

Engaged research and the theological question of social ethics

In July 1970, on his return to Colombia after almost three years in Europe, Fals Borda officially resigned from the National University of Colombia in order to dedicate himself to radical activism. One year later, with the aim of advancing social research that supported marginalised groups in their struggles for social justice, Fals Borda established La Rosca de Investigación y Acción Social (the Circle of Research and Social Action; henceforth La Rosca) along with the theatre director Carlos Duplat and three fellow Presbyterians, namely: Víctor Daniel Bonilla, a journalist and ethnographer, who worked with the newly created Indigenous council of Cauca; Gonzalo Castillo-Cárdenas, a sociologist and pastor; and Augusto Libreros, an economist and Presbyterian pastor.

Elsewhere, I have analysed the impact that the 1966 World Conference of the World Council of Churches had on Fals Borda’s critical thinking (Díaz-Arévalo 2022a). For our present purpose, however, it is sufficient to note that this progressive movement led by the theologian Richard Shaull raised concerns regarding the role of traditional theology in times of global challenges such as the nuclear threat, the war in Vietnam and the poverty in which two-thirds of the world population lived, leading to the realisation that renewal of the Church’s mission must include concern for the people involved in revolutionary struggles for social justice (ACH-UN, FOFB. Congreso Mundial Iglesias, 65). True to these considerations, La Rosca set its base in the western plains of the Atlantic Coast where the struggle of smallholders and land workers against large landowners was more intense and had a major impact in terms of land distribution (Rappaport 2017; 2020). In 1972, when Fals Borda joined the peasant movement’s struggle for land, President Misael Pastrana (1970–74) had begun dismantling the official machinery that had been set up by the former administration to carry out an ambitious agrarian reform (Rivera Cusicanqui 1982; Zamosc 1986). The peasant movement responded to Pastrana’s counter-reform with hacienda occupations which were, in turn, violently suppressed. Indeed, along with many others who joined the peasants’ action, Fals Borda was jailed for his participation.

La Rosca, however, not only raised concerns within the establishment but also sparked confrontation within the Presbyterian Church over the funding that Fals Borda had secured for La Rosca from the National Committee on the Self-Development of People (NCSDP), an organisation of which Fals Borda was a co-founding member and that works under the auspices of the United Presbyterian Church of the US (Moreno 2017, 141).12 The Colombian Presbyterian Synod decried the fact that the US Church had funded La Rosca, ‘a Communist revolutionary organisation dedicated to promoting class struggle’, as they saw it (ACH-UN, FOFB. IAP [Investigación Acción Participativa], 126). Through open letters and leaflets distributed by hand at the NCSDP annual meeting, the National Synod, led by Emery Lorentz, a US missionary based in Colombia, protested against what they saw as NCSDP’s interference in national affairs and demanded the US Church revoke its decision. Fals Borda ultimately resigned as a member of the NCSDP and a second instalment of $75,000, due to be paid in early 1974, was suspended. In addition, the conflict with the Synod escalated to the point that Fals Borda was excommunicated because of his alleged communism. Nonetheless, Fals Borda found a generous source of financial support for La Rosca in the Swedish International Development Agency (SIDA) and, despite his excommunication, also obtained help from the Dutch Churches’ Foundation, Cross the Bridge.

The feud with the Presbyterian Synod of Colombia over the NCSDP grant serves as a backdrop for examining the question of social ethics; a crucial point of contention between the liberationist paradigm and what Fals Borda viewed as the churches’ old paradigm. While the former was aligned with the principles of engagement with the poor previously mentioned, the latter was crudely described by Fals Borda as characteristic of ‘institutions loaded with the most conservative views, far from the genuine interests of the people in need [and] adept at giving moral support to an unjust system’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. Alterantiva, 50).

The discussion of the relationship between religion and social action had been addressed by Fals Borda and theologians such as W. César and Richard Shaull in the book Protestantismo e imperialismo (César et al. 1968). However, the specific question of social ethics became an issue of analysis for La Rosca after some leaders of the peasant movement expressed their concern about the influence of fast-growing evangelical groups which were indifferent or even opposed to the peasants’ struggle for land in the region (CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, 4081). La Rosca therefore launched a research project on the experience of participation in the Pentecostal community in Córdoba, on the Atlantic Coast, an area under the influence of the peasant movement.

The research project, coordinated by María Cristina Salazar, Fals Borda’s wife, explored the socio-historical and theoretical basis for the traditional conservatism of the Protestant churches in Latin America, given that their members seemed uninterested in the socio-political destiny of their countries (CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, 4099). Through a comparative analysis of the development of Protestantism in Colombia, Chile and Brazil, and the adoption of the critical views of theologians such as Rubem Alvez (1970), César Waldo (1968) and Lalive d’Epiney (1967), Salazar argues that the lack of a clear social ethics in Protestant churches relates to the fact that their message appeals to the individual, requiring him or her to make a decision of a religious nature, yet leaving them to their own devices in the political and social spheres (Tilich 1962, in Salazar CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, 4082). Moreover, as Libreros (1969) argues, the relationship between the individual and the social is presented as a duality, not a dialectic. While the latter suggests a tension that demands the active engagement of the individual to transform society, the former suggests an irreconcilable either/or type of relation.

For d’Epiney the reactionary role of Protestantism in Latin America (a sort of ‘Latin American McCarthyism’ or passive socio-political strike) resulted from the attempt to shift the Protestant groups too quickly towards structures and conventions that had dominated the older churches in Latin America. As d’Epiney had concluded at the Conference of Church and Society held in Uruguay in 1967, these older churches were founded on the same principles as the traditional hacienda in Latin America: ‘they offer men a possible escape from their historic situation, from their responsibility as men, from their solidarity with other men’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. Congreso Mundial Iglesias, 384).

For Rubem Alvez, head of the Union Theological Seminary and new director of studies of the Latin American Committee of Church and Society, the roots of the problem of the churches’ conservatism were not only socio-cultural. He argued that they were also part of the spiritual inheritance of Latin American Protestantism, which is encapsulated in the motto ‘convert the individual then society will be transformed’ (1970, 10). Social ethics based on this principle can hardly produce categories for understanding problems of a structural nature. According to Alvez (1970, 11), the mutation of the political character of Calvinism (transformation of the world for the glory of God) into individualistic ethics, based on the consciousness of being morally different or superior, had stripped Calvinism in Latin America of its social ethics. Hence, for the Latin American Protestant, man does not change his world, he rejects it: ‘Criticism of the structures is avoided, and criticism of the individual takes its place. It is the same ideology which in the US ascribes the plight of the poor to the fact that “they do not try hard enough”’ (1970, 11–12).

Salazar concludes by arguing that by replacing the critique of the structural with the critique of the individual, Protestant ethics manage to create an illusory happiness that is stronger than in traditional peasant Catholicism due to its emphasis on emotions and very intense sentimental experiences (CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, 4112). Therefore, under the current social structures of the country, the lack of social concerns in Pentecostalist groups appears to be detrimental to the historical tasks of the Colombian peasantry for its own liberation (CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, 4113).

In search of a methodological approach to Praxis

Fals Borda and his associates were aware that an ethical framework for social action also required methodological strategies able to connect theory and practice. Therefore, they also found the attitude of left-wing groups towards the fast-growing influence of evangelical groups in the region extremely concerning. As Fals Borda wrote, ‘there is no known concrete plan of action to counteract this counter-revolutionary influence, except to bemoan it or ignore it; that is, to underestimate it’ (CDRBr//M, fol. 0731, fol. 4162).

Seeking to render their action-oriented research agenda into methodological approaches to work with the marginalised became one of the major epistemological questions with which La Rosca was confronted. The various labels created to name their work as engaged social researchers, such as engaged sociology, committed sociology and the sociology of liberation, among others, are indicative of their efforts to connect Freire’s ongoing spiral of praxis with scholarly inquiry and theorising, as well as with their pastoral work.

The same was true for most theologians and social researchers seeking authentic engagement with the poor. The creation of ecclesial base communities and cadres demanded novel methods and strategies of participation, which resulted in an intense period of experimentation in action-oriented research and reflection undertaken with the bases. With their multiple variations, approaches such as the action-research cycle (inquiry-reflection-action) and the militant pastoral methodology (see-judge-act), then widely adopted by liberation theology (Girardi 2012, 5), developed in parallel within the framework of praxis defined by Paulo Freire. This demanded that the oppressed engaged in reflection on their own reality: ‘reflection – true reflection – leads to action’, wrote Freire. As he continues, ‘when the situation calls for action, that action will constitute an authentic praxis only if its consequences become the object of critical reflection … Otherwise, action is pure activism’ (2005 [1970], 66).

According to Fals Borda, the link that allowed engaged groups to combine thought and action in the praxis research process was the adaptation of Marxism to local conditions (1974, 61). Following Mariátegui’s refusal to abide by dogmatic or mechanical Marxism while seeking to adapt Marx to Peruvian reality (Munck 2022), La Rosca, as its funding act indicates, sought to adopt the technical-practical aspects of Marxism as a working method, not as ideology and even less as dogma, with the aim of adapting it to Colombian rural reality (ACH-UN, FOFB. IAP, Rosca, 202). Something similar applied to most liberation theologians, who did not adopt Marx’s ideas wholesale but, always within the modus cogitans of religious epistemology (Lamola 2018), borrowed concepts and methodological pointers which they found helpful.

This section focuses on three techniques developed by La Rosca which are illustrative of at least two aspects: first, an intense period of methodological exploration of theologians and sociologists united by their commitment to the struggle of the marginalised; and second, efforts to integrate practical aspects of Marxism into a methodology that, at the same time, responded to a theologically informed framework of social ethics.

Participation-insertion

Participation-insertion rather than a technique of research was a sine qua non condition for genuine engagement. According to La Rosca associates, only those embedded in popular struggles are able to discover what their skills are and how these can be most useful to the cause of the poor (Bonilla et al. 1972, 37). The practice of ‘insertion’ (inserción) sought to curb the facile enthusiasm which had led many to interpret the connections between liberation, commitment and social science superficially and hence identified the task simply as a form of intervention and agitation of the masses (Fals Borda 1974, 63–4). It also aimed to respond to the failure of traditional techniques such as observation by participation and observation by experimentation (intervention) effectively to connect scientific research and political action, let alone to advance the fight for liberation. The notion of ‘insertion’ also emerged from activist theologians and pastors – within their revolutionary or pre-revolutionary commitment – providing a clearer methodological framework, something like a ‘breakthrough’ (1974, 62). Echoing Gustavo Gutiérrez, for whom insertion was the first and most basic stage of praxis as a method, Fals Borda stated: ‘[insertion] implies that the scientist is involved as an agent within the process he is studying, because [he learns] not only from his observation but also from the work he carries out with the persons with whom he identifies’ (Fals Borda 1973, 27; italics in original).

The practice of insertion was guided by three basic principles: (1) it is inextricably linked to the social groups with which the researcher works; (2) it varies, evolves and is modified according to local political conditions or the correlation of social forces in conflict; (3) it depends, to a large extent, on the overall social change strategy adopted in the short or medium term. In practical terms, it was considered a gradual process of preliminary analysis that did not necessarily include the participation of community members. Some of the aspects of this non-linear approach included: getting familiar with the local group and its history and conditions, establishing contact with key internal and external actors, identifying potential strategic sub-groups, documenting conflicts and tensions, and conducting socio-demographic analysis (Bonilla et al. 1972, 39–43). Again, more than a new approach, this technique summarises aspects that Fals Borda had put into practice during his previous research experience with rural communities in the 1950s.

Knowledge through action

The aim of militant research was not only to collect, systematise and accumulate scientific knowledge on and for the masses. More importantly, Fals Borda (1974, 65) argued, the purpose of action-oriented research was to strengthen the opportunities of the marginalised to act upon their reality in ways that would accelerate social change (ACH-UN, FOFB. IAP, Rosca, 241). Seeking to engage local people, La Rosca trained cadres of militant researchers, which included teaching them how to read and write, training them in the use of ethnographic techniques of self-investigation and the analysis of class struggle, and forming circles for critical thinking and collective analysis (Fals Borda 1974a; 1979, 48–50). This not only implied replacing academic audiences with local groups but also adjusting the process of knowledge production and dissemination. Inspired by Mao Tse-tung’s ‘militant observers’, through which he sought to advance his motto ‘to the masses – from the masses – to the masses’ (Bonilla et al. 1972, 35), La Rosca prioritised the needs and issues identified by the peasants they worked with, facilitated research on the historical roots of the conflicts identified, and developed different levels of scientific language to communicate effectively with intellectuals, activists and the masses (Fals Borda 1974, 4). The most significant of these was a technique called systematic devolution (devolución sistemática), which consisted of ‘returning the results of the research to these key sectors or groups with a view to achieving greater clarity and effectiveness in their action’ (Bonilla et al. 1972, 45). As Rappaport (2020, 93) has pointed out, rather than ‘returning’ finished outputs to a passive audience, systematic devolution facilitated ‘the creation of educational vehicles geared to their audiences’ capabilities and needs’ (2020, 133), including graphic stories, pamphlets and puppet shows.

From a pastoral perspective, engaged praxis departed from the traditional approach, which focused on the cult, indoctrination or charitable work. This engaged approach included the creation of ecclesial base communities and biblical circles where people read and interpreted the Bible or formed communal organisations that also helped the participants understand the conditions under which they lived. For Fals Borda, however, it was crucial that social research did not become subordinate to pastoral ends. On the role of the churches in setting out the early stages of the research agenda, Fals Borda wrote that ‘the blessing of the church opens doors and destroys cultural resistances. Pastors, priests and missionaries have frequently cooperated in this field, but it is important to remember that the aim is the stimulation of self-development and the people’s own sense of responsibility’ (1974, 66).

Encouraging liberation through the critical recovery of history

Commitment to the struggle of oppressed groups and identification of potential avenues for action also required various techniques to encourage people to pursue desired goals. Chief among the ‘techniques of incentivisation’ (incentivación) was the critical recovery of history (Bonilla et al. 1972, 50–51). By increasing historical awareness and mobilising wider support for the peasants’ struggle for land, critical recovery of history was seen as the means to bridge the gap between research and action. This technique brought together researchers and cadres to carry out historical analysis, giving attention to life stories, communal enterprises, structures or institutions of self-governance or resistance in the past, which could be reactivated in class struggles of the present (Fals Borda 1974, 66). The medium to disseminate this new knowledge also differed from traditional outputs. Fals Borda and his associates produced, for example, a series of graphic stories seeking to activate the collective memory of a community. In this way, critical recovery was intended to help increase the agency of the community while allowing the researcher to ‘begin his work at the real level of the political awareness of the people, and not at his own’ (1974, 66).

The technique of the critical recovery of history allowed La Rosca to retrieve narratives that belonged to the Christian history of salvation, that is, those of the Old and New Testaments as seen from the perspective of liberation. In stark contrast to the Christ of colonial times, liberation theology rediscovered the praxis of Jesus and the prophets whose words and deeds no longer served or justified the vested interests of the groups in power (Berryman 1987, 28; Gutiérrez 1998 [1973], 12). One of La Rosca’s graphic brochures, Escucha Cristiano, merits particular attention in this regard. Derived from La Rosca’s research project into the political conservatism of Protestantism in Latin America led by Salazar and discussed previously, it displays theological-political content with a view to promoting ecumenical liberating praxis among traditionally conservative evangelical groups. Contrasting images of opulent lifestyles with the plight of the poor, Escucha Cristiano uses biblical quotations to criticise believers’ disregard for social injustice and inequality. These pamphlets, as Rappaport points out (2020, 64), depart from the research report that describes the empirical context and elaborate their graphic narrative based on biblical exegesis, a method commonly used by ecclesial base communities and inspired by liberation theology and by Marxism.13

In 1975 La Rosca was legally closed after prolonged conflict with the Maoist left and severe political and ideological divisions within the National Peasant Association (Asociación Nacional de Usuarios Campesinos, ANUC). Fals Borda’s refusal to establish his own political movement, or to side with either the official line or the radical left of the ANUC, forced him temporarily to abandon his activities in the region (Parra 1983; Zamosc 2009 [1987]), before transforming La Rosca into Fundarco, an organisation primarily concerned with research (Rappaport 2017).

PAR and liberation theology: epistemological differences and common challenges

Thus far, this chapter has examined three stages of Fals Borda’s intellectual journey: that of the analyst of political violence in Colombia, of the theorist in search of a subversive framework for sociological analysis, and that of the militant researcher who sought to put into practice his own radical sociological ideas.

In the face of the widespread emergence of violent revolutionary movements fighting against exclusion and domination, Goulet defined the late 1960s as the period when many Latin American intellectuals fought their battles around ‘conflicting loyalties’ (1974). Similarly, he points out, Fals Borda faced three crucial options: ‘that of the detached scholar versus the active revolutionary intellectual; that of the institutionally successful professional versus the marginalised outcast; that of the “marker of history” versus the Christian witness to transcendence’ (1974, 53). Bringing together three different aspects of Fals Borda’s work, this chapter has highlighted that his radical ideas and activism were much less the result of his abandoning the functionalist framework of analysis than a consequence of the vision of social justice that had led him to break the silence surrounding la Violencia.

Along the same lines, this chapter has indicated that Fals Borda’s engagement with the struggle of the poor designated both a field of action and an epistemological crossroads at which theologians, social scientists, educators and activists converged. Echoing Gutiérrez’s (1973, xxiii) theological perspective, according to which commitment to the poor was the ‘first act’ of the praxis of liberation, the founding act of La Rosca stated that its aim was ‘to make of the very politically engaged action with the landless (or militancy) a scientific experience’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. IAP, La Rosca, 248).

Looking at the origins of PAR, this chapter has examined a series of overlapping concerns, both conceptual and methodological, between engaged social researchers, activists and theologians. Nonetheless, there are important differences between PAR and liberation theology, as well as common challenges.

As one may imagine, the main difference between social science and theology is of an epistemological nature; that is, the way questions such as what is understood by knowledge, how it is acquired, and how it is justified, are addressed. For all its contributions to validate and legitimise the knowledge-creating capacity of people outside traditional models and institutions (Díaz-Arévalo 2022), PAR, as most approaches within the participatory paradigm, belongs to the sphere of the scientific paradigm, in which knowledge is gained through the process of data collection, empirical verification and analysis. As indicated earlier, Fals Borda’s search for methodological approaches to transform reality were meant to validate action as a locus of scientific knowledge production, and not only as the means to support a political struggle.

The modus cogitans of liberation theology is instead grounded upon religious epistemology and, hence, mediated through religious notions of social practice. By looking through the epistemological lens of the poor, liberation theology departed from the classical models of theological production, helping to create an alternative way of doing theology within the Christian tradition (Boff 1989). Lamola, however, contests the assumption that this represented a materialist-transformative epistemological break, and goes even further by questioning the possibility of liberation theology becoming a theoretical tool for socio-political transformation (2018). Given its commitments to metaphysics, ecclesiastical orthodoxy and fidelity to biblical reflection, liberation theology’s concept of orthopraxis, Lamola argues, results in a mystification of historical reality (2018, 2). For others, liberation theology’s concern with human suffering and social injustice represents a novel framework for theological analysis. However, as Alberto Parra has pointed out, Gutiérrez’s liberation theology’s singular merit is not the inclusion of ‘new topics’ for theological reflection but ‘a new way of doing theology whose principle, means and end is the praxis of liberation’ (2021, 58 and 228). Such an innovation spread beyond Latin America and Roman Catholicism, giving way, for instance, to Black theologies of liberation and Islamic liberation theology, or influencing the emergence of other critical theologies such as feminist and eco-theology (Guardado 2022).

The widespread legacies of both militant action research and liberation theology suggest that a good way to conclude this chapter is by pointing to a challenge that both PAR and liberation theology, each within their own epistemological spheres, have faced since their origins: the participation of the marginalised.

Looking at the links between liberation theology and PAR, Girardi recalls that liberation theology’s option for the poor was to be only an initial stage, whereby the Christian community should commit to a moral and intellectual conversion; that is, to promote the full realisation of the people as the subject of theology (2012). ‘Ultimately, we will only have an authentic Liberation’, Girardi states, ‘when [the oppressed themselves] become the protagonists of theological reflection and research’ (2012, 5) and the role of specialists be that of stimulating and promoting their initiatives.

The challenge to liberation theology was not simply to create more inclusive hermeneutical communities but to contribute to the genuine participation of those traditionally marginalised and excluded from theological elaboration. This meant nothing less than critically analysing and transforming the docente-discente divide on which the churches had established their prerogative to teach, preach and indoctrinate. For Presbyterian theologian Richard Shaull, recognising the hermeneutical privilege of the poor is the task of a new generation of liberation theologians (Barreto 2004). They do not want simply ‘to be with the poor and do theology for them’, Shaull argues: ‘instead, they wanted theology to rise from the poor themselves’ (cited in Barreto 2004, 169). In order to take up this task, one would have to take into account the socio-historical analysis of the development of liberation theology and its influence on contemporary critical thinking within and beyond the theological realm.

The history of PAR has been beset by similar concerns. As argued in the introduction, PAR developed out of Fals Borda’s militant research and hence its evolution was conditioned by a conflictive context that demanded radical socio-political action. Retrospectively examining his own engaged (value-oriented) sociology, Fals Borda pointed out that the relation between research and action depended very much on the ability of the conscientious researcher and committed cadres to ‘work at the level of political consciousness of the masses to successively bring them to “good sense” and revolutionary class consciousness’ (Fals Borda 1979, 46). Alfredo Molano, one of La Rosca’s close collaborators, thus stated that militant research was ‘a politicized version of participant observation […] a form of “profane evangelisation”’ (ACH-UN, FOFB. IAP, Rosca, 208), while others have stressed that the implementation of techniques of militant research, such as the analysis of class struggle and the ideological formation of revolutionary cadres, were not immune to reproducing subject–object asymmetries (Poggi 2015; Rivera Cusicanqui 1987, 51; Sousa Santos 2018, 262). However, ‘engagement’, which was much more a watchword of the researcher’s commitment to the peasant struggle than a methodological guide, served as a first step towards rejecting the traditional distinction between ‘observers of the process’ and ‘people under observation (as in a laboratory)’ to start seeing them both as ‘thinking and acting subjects within the research task’ (Fals Borda 1974, 65).

The popularisation of PAR in the 1980s and 1990s and its use, misuse and abuse by development organisations and donors sparked radical criticism of PAR as instrumental, co-opted and trendy (Cooke and Kothari 2001). However, looking at the guiding principles of Fals Borda’s militant research and the techniques tried in the field, it is possible to discern the germ of the three ontological bases that later came to define PAR: a method of social research, an educational act, and a means of taking transformative action (Hall 1975, 1982). Drawing on these pillars, and with an emphasis on participation, Fals Borda redefined the methodological approach of his action research, laying the basis for what became known as PAR: (1) collective and dialogical research through traditional ethnographic techniques as well as art-based approaches including graphic stories, puppet shows and drama; (2) critical recovery of history through exercises of collective memory and analysis of archivos de baúl (kitchen archives); (3) valuing and fostering local culture to promote action and participation; (4) co-production and multi-level dissemination of knowledge made accessible through different formats to local communities, organisations and researchers; and (5) systematic devolution that facilitates what Swantz (1975, 45) calls a ‘two-way educative communication’. Rather than a fixed set of methodological techniques, these also operate as epistemological principles which aim to challenge the hegemonical distinction between researched and researcher and hence break with the monopoly of knowledge (Díaz-Arévalo and Ruiz-Galvan 2024).

For all the epistemological differences in the ways theological knowledge and social knowledge are produced and validated, the common historical grounds of PAR and liberation theology reminds us that praxis, understood as the coherence between knowing, saying and doing (Parra 2021) is the crossroads at which efforts to support people’s own struggles through collectively self-deliberated action converge.

Notes

  1. 1. Drawing almost exclusively on Fals Borda’s Ciencia propia y colonialismo intelectual (1970), a book written before his engagement with the peasant movement, Sousa Santos argues that: ‘Fals Borda distinguishes between participant-observation, observation-intervention, and observation-insertion, the last one corresponding to PAR’ (2018, 331). Sousa Santos’s (2018, 247–67) account of Fals Borda’s pioneering work paradoxically presents PAR as synonymous with a technique that Fals Borda himself described as outdated and surpassed by his own experience in the field and theoretical elaborations on more mature ideas on action research (1979).

  2. 2. President Alberto Lleras stated in his speech on the day he took office: ‘We saw with amazement how there had been a reserve of savagery in our people which defied entire centuries of Christian preaching, of civil order, and of advanced communal existence’ (in Fals Borda 1964, 28).

  3. 3. The bulk of the first volume of LVC (Guzmán, Fals Borda and Umaña 2005 [1962]) deals with the antecedents, history and geography of la Violencia (part 1) and the socio-anthropological characterisation of the groups in conflict (part 2), and was mostly written by Guzmán. With its comprehensive chronology and painstaking descriptions, these two parts made it a ‘book-archive’ (Sánchez 2007, 21), which remained the main empirical source for academic research on la Violencia until the late 1970s. The third part consists of three chapters, the first discussing the social consequences of la Violencia. The second, authored by lawyer Eduardo Umaña, examines what Martz (1975, 304) described as ‘the total inadequacy of the Colombian judicial system in dealing with [it]’, which explains impunity as one of the main causes of the escalation of political violence. The book closes with Fals Borda’s sociological analysis of the phenomenon (399–420).

  4. 4. For the functionalist framework, the ‘anomical stage’ defines a dialectical process according to which the collapse of a system of values does not occur without a corresponding series of values in predicament or transition (Cfr. Fals Borda 1964, 29). In the Colombian case, Fals Borda argues, this transition was accelerated by the drastic changes that conflict imposed in rural areas. Estimates suggest that the number of self-defence guerrilla fighters – men, women and children, mostly former rural workers – was between 40,000 and 55,000 by 1953. The police and paramilitary squads, which also massively recruited among the rural population, according to Ramsey, numbered no more than 25,000 men (Molano 2015, 26; Ramsey 1981, 206).

  5. 5. Elsewhere, I have examined the convergence between Fals Borda’s historical dialectic between utopia and subversion (1969, xii) and Benjamin’s dialectical image insofar as both carry a sense of urgency, as if they were to rescue a memory in danger of sinking into oblivion – something like the ‘tiger’s leap into the past’, as Benjamin wrote in his Thesis XIV, trying to ‘seize a momentary flashing image at the moment of its recognisability’ (Benjamin 2006, 390–91).

  6. 6. The first three social orders are: (1) the rule of the pre-Colombian group, the Chibchas, and its domination by the Spanish conquest; (2) the three-century seigniorial order with its Hispanic peace, and its partial liberal-democratic transition in the mid-nineteenth century; (3) the seigniorial-bourgeois order after the Conservative hegemony, 1885, and the socialist transition, stemming from the ideology that appeared in Colombia after 1925.

  7. 7. According to Fals Borda, ‘scholars tend to jump from one stage of historical development to another’, without giving systematic information about the factors that influenced the transition between social orders (1969, 4). Within the framework of the sociology of conflict, Fals Borda draws on Mannheim’s Ideology and Utopia (1960) and Ernest Gellner’s Thought and Change (1965) in search of a ‘master theory’ to enable analysis of periods of transition leading to or preventing the emergence of new social orders in Colombian history. Following Gellner’s socio-historical approach, Fals Borda seeks to understand how hegemonic power is eroded by collective endeavours in Colombia, to which end he considers four components: social values, social norms, social organisation and techniques. The process undermining the old order is ‘subversion’: a condition reflecting the internal incongruities of the social order recognised during a specified historical period in the light of new, more highly valued goals.

  8. 8. Fals Borda traces the origins of the concept subvertere as synonymous with violent and destructive actions back to Gaius Sallust’s Catilinarian Conspiracy (circa 44–40 BC). Sallust, an aristocrat accused of corruption, described Catiline (who attempted to overthrow the power of the aristocratic Senate) as a deliberate foe of law, order and morality, which allows Fals Borda to argue that this definition, introduced in Western dictionaries, ignores genuine cases of subversion, the promoters of which have over time been recognised as heroes or even saints, especially in Jewish and Christian cultures. As Rev. Castillo-Cárdenas wrote to Fals Borda, the subversion, led by Moses and legitimised by Jehovah himself against the tyranny of the Pharaohs, and the prophetic voices against injustice and oppression in the Old Testament are the backbone of the Judeo-Christian tradition (ACH-UN, FOFB. Subversión, 63). Along these lines, Fals Borda questioned the medieval perception which associated subversion with evil or heresy, as was seen at the trials of advocates of ‘social equality and freedom of thought’, such as Jan Hus (1415) and Thomas Münzer (1525) (ACH-UN, FOFB. Subversión, 47–51). Ironically, Fals Borda (ACH-UN, FOFB. Subversión, 82) noted, in the Latin American republics, which were established after radical subversions, those who challenge the social order are considered anti-social, no matter how just their causes are.

  9. 9. The rebel groups were the Movimiento Revolucionario Liberal (MRL), founded by Alfonso Lopez Michelsen, son of President Alfonso Lopez Pumarejo, and himself later president from 1974 to 1978, and El Grupo de La Ceja, whom Fals Borda had contacted to offer his intellectual support. Fals Borda’s attempts to liaise with a new politically dissident movement within the Liberal Party soon met with disappointment. The La Ceja group disintegrated and the MRL’s dissidence was revealed to be a strategic move designed to channel popular frustration, and hence it served to prevent many liberals dissatisfied with the National Front from abandoning the party (El Espectador 11 May 1965).

  10. 10. Camilo Torres, ‘Message to Communists’, in Camilo Torres (1971, 371).

  11. 11. The group’s second meeting in the city-port of Buenaventura was followed by the Golconda Declaration (1968), which reflected on the practical implications for the Colombian Church of the official declaration issued by the Conference of the Latin American Bishops that had been just celebrated in Medellín and inaugurated by Pope Paul VI. Golconda’s declaration echoed the Conference’s conclusions regarding the need for a Christian theology grounded in critical analysis of the socio-political situation of the region. But the fact that the Colombian hierarchy had delivered their own document rejecting the Conference’s final document resulted in the condemnation of Golconda’s declaration and, soon after, of the group itself, which was seen as an instrument of Marxist infiltration in the country (Funk 1972, 85).

  12. 12. Cintya White, co-founder of the NCSDP, recalled that the concept of self-development entailed that the poor were the real experts of their own reality and knew how to solve their problems: ‘They might need financial and expert help but they should remain in control of the solutions’ (in Moreno 2017, 144).

  13. 13. Rappaport focuses on the experimental nature of the pamphlets and analyses the level of epistemological control taken by the participants over the process of production. Escucha Cristiano, she argues, provides us with a good example of early action research methodological experimentation: ‘[it] is not research in any standard sense of the word, although it constituted research in the [participants’] new understanding of the investigative process’ (2020, 64). Poggi, who looks at this graphic story with a focus on the content and use of the material, sees it as a partisan ideological instrument that contributed to reproducing the subject–object asymmetry (2015, 76).

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