In the quiet suburb of Annandale, Virginia, just thirty minutes from the hustle of Washington, DC, lies an extraordinary cultural crossroads known as “Arlingtonbamba.” This is a place where the sounds of Quechua music blend seamlessly with the rhythm of suburban life, and Indigenous women in traditional skirts dance to melodies mirroring Bolivia’s Valle Alto carnival. Meanwhile, Andean food based on potatoes and corn is served. The nickname Arlingtonbamba reflects the intersection of two geographic spaces: Arlington County—where Annandale is located—and the Andean region of Cochabamba. In the community gymnasium, carnivals replicate the traditional dynamics of the Valle Alto, an area considered by some to be the agricultural heart of Bolivia, located south of Cochabamba. This unexpected convergence of Arlington County and the Andean region of Cochabamba isn’t just a geographical footnote. Instead, throughout the other months there are also various community celebrations that serve to reinforce ties and reaffirm culture: quinceañeras, weddings, and kermesses—events with music and food that raise funds for community causes such as health issues or economic needs. Arlington and Cochabamba are further linked by significant remittances that support housing construction in Bolivia and attract more migrants to Arlington. Connections as such redefine how we perceive borders, reshaping public and private spaces alike. That mutual influence is amplified by the internet and social media: sending money to Bolivia is now just a tap away, and Virginia's festivities are streamed live on TikTok and Facebook, bridging distances in real time.
Like Arlingtonbamba, there are other liminal spaces in the United States that expose the complex migratory experience of Indigenous communities from Latin America. In this essay, I aim to reflect on some of these spaces, with a focus on runas—the term in Quechua for Indigenous Quechua peoples[1], and the role of social media in bringing communities together. Learning about these case studies helps us expand our conceptions of borders, uncovering lesser-known dynamics of the Latin American migrant experience, especially by recognizing that these dynamics not only occur in Spanish and Portuguese but in Indigenous languages such as Quechua.
Figure 1. Andean carnival celebration at a community gym in Arlingtonbamba –popular name for the Bolivian migrant neighborhood in Virginia. Photography by Américo Mendoza-Mori.
Global Indigeneity, Borders, and Migrations
Due to legacies of discrimination, we have generally approached studying Indigenous cultures and communities as immutable or timeless. In Latin America—or Abya Yala, we typically associate them with famous archaeological sites like Machu Picchu or Chichen Itza, and have appropriated their music and traditional clothing as elements of national narratives (Mendoza-Mori 2025). However, these national narratives have distanced the knowledges and cultural products from the contemporary communities of origin. As historian Cecilia Méndez has argued, this dilemma is longstanding, dating back to the start of the Latin American republics in the 19th century: “Yes to Incas, no to Indians [sic].” This dissociation reinforces the invisibility and denial of agency for Indigenous communities in modern society.
In this context, new terminologies and methodologies are crucial for repositioning Indigenous voices and presences in academic conversations. One such term is “Indigenous Knowledge Systems,” which reaffirms the connection between Indigenous traditional practices, ontologies, and ways of knowing. This concept encourages the recognition of diverse expertise forms, broadening approaches to knowledge and its objectives. Recognizing Indigenous knowledge as key to social sciences, humanities, and other disciplines also underscores the contemporary relevance of these communities, as well as their processes of adaptation, migration, resistance, and interethnic solidarity. This reflects the broader term ‘Global Indigeneity,’ challenging prejudices about Indigenous peoples as unchanging, when in reality, change and tradition have coexisted.
Global Indigeneity captures many concepts. One approach focuses on the networks of resistance and solidarity among Indigenous peoples globally, encompassing cultures, histories, struggles, self-determination aspirations, and sovereignty recognition (Day et al.). As Maori scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) noted, these networks have existed for centuries but evolved in the mid-20th century with the creation of international bodies like the United Nations. Initially excluding Indigenous representation, these multilateral institutions prompted Indigenous communities to organize and voice their concerns on pressing societal issues such as climate change, land management, and human rights.
Global Indigeneity also highlights the displacement of Indigenous communities. In the 20th century, massive migrations within home countries saw Indigenous people fleeing economic hardship and violence, transforming urban spaces like Quito in Ecuador, Lima in Peru, and Cochabamba or La Paz in Bolivia. Often unwelcome, these migrants faced state neglect and daily discrimination due to their origins and languages. In Latin America, these processes are often understood as part of mestizaje, the ethnic mixing and identity negotiation among Indigenous, European, and Afro-descendant cultures. However, Bolivian scholar and activist Silvia Rivera-Cusicanqui argues that the concept of mestizaje tends to dilute Indigenous cultures in favor of European/Spanish ones. Instead, Rivera-Cusicanqui (2019) reflects on an alternative inspired by Indigenous knowledge systems and practices: ch’ixi, an Aymara term—and chiqchi in Quechua—that comes from the intricate color weaving of Andean textiles. From a distance, textiles may appear gray, yet with closer inspection we can see the individual black and white threads that make them up.
Understanding the complexity of adaptation in these migration processes allows us to acknowledge, rather than overlook, the traumatic experiences many runas endured. For instance, Ayacucho communities fleeing to Lima during Peru’s internal conflict faced terrorist violence and state crimes, with nearly 75% of the thousands of deceased being Indigenous language speakers, according to the country’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (2004). Despite facing discrimination, these communities negotiate, adapt, and transmit their traditions and languages. In Peru, the district with the largest population of Quechua speakers is not in the rural highlands but in Lima: San Juan de Lurigancho, home to approximately 100,000 speakers[2]. Across South America, there are currently ten million Quechua speakers, making it the region’s most spoken Indigenous language family.
Quechua-speaking and Andean community migrations have involved community organization processes—from self-management committees that shape the new migrant neighborhoods, to cultural initiatives like social clubs, religious brotherhoods, dance fraternities, and adaptations of local festivities. Added to this, migrants maintain links with their communities to send goods and money. Within these dynamics, Indigenous knowledge systems have traveled and adapted alongside their migrants within their own countries in a complex way. This has also occurred internationally in diasporic communities in the Global North, such as in Spain, Italy or the United States.
In the 1970s and 1980s, immigration from the Andes to the United States greatly increased. Many immigrants chose urban areas with labor demand in factories, while others were recruited as shepherds in rural regions (Mendoza-Mori and Sprouse 2023). This led to Andean communities forming in cities like Los Angeles, Chicago and along the East Coast, including in Miami, Washington, DC, and New York City. In the greater New York area, Peruvians and Ecuadorians established significant enclaves in Paterson, NJ, Elizabeth, NJ, Jackson Heights, NY, and The Bronx, NY. Many Ecuadorians arriving in New York City during the 1970s were Indigenous from the Cañar and Azuay provinces (Jokisch 2001), primarily finding jobs in the service and construction sectors, often specializing in siding, roofing, or cement work (Pribilsky 2007). For Peruvians, the New York-New Jersey metropolitan area and South Florida emerged as key urban destinations, while Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming were common rural arrivals (Krögel 2010). Bolivians from Quechua-speaking regions like Cochabamba and Valle Alto settled in Northern Virginia, making the Washington, DC, area their primary enclave (Strunk 2015).[3] These diasporic communities have continued to grow as migration from the Andes to these established enclaves persists into the present day, along with evolving dynamics to connect and engage with their spaces of origin.
Internet Access Expansion in the Andes
Internet access in the Andean region faces challenges, such as slow speeds and limited availability.[4] This was particularly evident during the COVID-19 pandemic period, affecting virtual education in rural areas. Instances included children climbing hills to capture a cellular signal and access educational materials.[5] According to Peru’s communication regulator OSIPTEL, rural internet access rose from 41.5% in 2019 to 68.7% in 2021, within a year of the pandemic.[6] Primarily using mobile devices, messaging apps like WhatsApp and other social media apps have become crucial for communication, both within the Andes and for connecting with migrant communities abroad. Social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok have become popular in the Andes and the United States.
Social Media To Connect the Andes in the Diaspora
On a Sunday afternoon in October, hundreds gather on a Queens, New York street to celebrate the Festival of Unity and Resistance of Cultures on a temporary stage. This event is organized by the Sisa Pakary Cultural and Labor Center, which, as its name suggests, offers year round counseling for construction workers—a very common job among Ecuadorian migrants—and Andean dance classes for young people and children. This celebration is among several annual events organized by Sisa Pakary, including Inti Raymi, the Andean New Year festival in June, or the Kapak Raymi, the December solstice festival. As the October event begins, the announcer tells the audience: “Raise your hand if you want to appear on social media.” He then asks, “Where are the people from Cuenca, Riobamba, Ambato?” The crowd applauds. The announcer finishes by asking about the people from Ecuador's Cañar province, which is when the audience erupts in cheer due to the high number of migrants from that region. This introduction is followed by traditional dances, interactions with the audience, and live music, all of which is broadcasted via social media.
In Arlingtonbamba, Virginia’s Bolivian neighborhood, social events are streamed on Facebook or TikTok with hosts fluent in Spanish and Quechua. Figures like María Luisa Coca Luján, known as K’ancha, work construction during the week and wear traditional Andean skirts on weekends while acting as a presenter and social media broadcaster for baptisms, weddings, and other Bolivian community parties. In a Washington Post article by Teo Armus (2023), K’ancha said “the broadcasts are a way to link families across different places … Maybe you’re a bit far away, you can’t hug each other. But you can share in this good time and send greetings.” Audiences connect from diverse locations—Madrid, Santiago de Chile, New York, and Cochabamba—but the streaming is explicitly intended to broadcast traditional cultural aspects, such as the use of distinctive clothing, the Quechua language, and dances. As an event attendee explained in the same article, “She [K’ancha] is not presenting it for an outsider. She’s tailoring it to the people who are part of the culture.” The term ‘outsider’ extends beyond geographical boundaries, catering to the transnational community between Cochabamba and the US.
US-based journalist Jordan Salama (2023) found similar dynamics among New York’s Ecuadorian migrant Indigenous communities. Since 2020, the pandemic has significantly impacted Ecuador’s economy, resulting in a large migration wave to the United States. Many Indigenous individuals document their migration on platforms like Facebook and TikTok, sharing construction job experiences or selling candy in New York subways while wearing traditional outfits. They reflect on the American dream and ‘chulla vida,’ an Ecuadorian term blending Kichwa and Spanish, that describes the solitude of the migrant experience in the Global North versus Andean collective lifestyles (Pribilsky 2007).
Much of this content comes from everyday people, though some is curated, such as that by Doctora Pacha Muenala from Otavalo’s Kichwa community. While promoting her own cultural initiatives on traditional healthcare, Muenala also shares community activities in the New Jersey/New York area where she lives. Additionally, some evangelical churches serving Kichwa migrant populations, like Mushuj Causai in Spring Valley, NY, and Iglesia Alfa y Omega in Minnesota, livestream their services in Kichwa via TikTok. While most content is available in Spanish and Kichwa, some is also available in English from US-born members of the Kichwa diaspora who share about their everyday lives attending college, preparing traditional food, or reflecting on the complexity of navigating multiple identities: Indigenous, Latine, and US American (Román and Gonzalez-Quizhpe 2024). To cater to these diverse audiences, viewers often notice the use of multiple phones for different social media platforms: one for Facebook (targeting older audiences) and another for TikTok (aimed at younger viewers).
The content’s impact is reciprocal. In Ecuador, migrants’ relatives also engage via social media. For instance, Salama notes, “there are unboxing videos of people opening care packages of clothes, medicines, and other gifts sent from the US.” Similarly, during live Quechua/Kichwa festivity broadcasts from rural Peru, Bolivia, or Ecuador via TikTok or Instagram, people actively post in chats, connecting from distant places like the United States, Spain, or France. Much like the unboxing videos, the festival’s host or attendees thank migrant relatives for sponsoring hometown festivities during the live broadcast. Politics is not excluded from this interaction; Indigenous candidates participate in events in the United States and broadcast them live through social media. For instance, during the 2025 Ecuadorian presidential elections, Leonidas Iza, a then-presidential candidate for the Pachakutik Plurinational Movement, visited Queens, NY with his supporters, while attending the annual UN Forum on Indigenous Issues in New York City.[7] Thus, internet access in rural areas has rapidly influenced how Indigenous communities in the Andes engage in transcultural dialogues with overseas members.
Final Reflections
As Indigenous Quechua-speaking communities continue to navigate the complexities of migration, social media serves as both a bridge and a mirror, reflecting and connecting their identities across borders. These digital platforms not only preserve cultural ties for Quechua/Kichwa communities but also foster new forms of expression and engagement within their evolving transnational landscapes. The interaction between the Andes and its diaspora through social media exemplifies the transformative power of technology in redefining runa borderlands—not as static boundaries but as dynamic, intersectional spaces rich with potential for cultural resilience and innovation.
This ongoing digital dialogue challenges traditional geopolitical constructs of territory, identity, and belonging, presenting a vivid panorama of intercultural exchange where Indigenous languages and traditions both flourish and adapt in real-time. It serves as a powerful testament to the fluidity and creativity of lived experiences at the margins in non-lineal temporalities. Similar processes also occur among other Indigenous transnational groups, for instance, Guatemalan Mayans in the US[8]. Recognizing these digital spaces as vibrant arenas for cultural exchange provides community leaders, educators, and policymakers with a unique opportunity to support and elevate these voices. In doing so, they ensure that Indigenous cultural expressions thrive globally, embracing the possibilities of emancipation, healing, and the continuous reimagining of identity amidst the complexities of modern migration.
The Quechua/Kichwa diasporic experience illustrates how borderlands serve as sites of both tension and creativity—where past injustices and the challenges of assimilation can give rise to new futures. These spaces allow us to confront unresolved pasts while simultaneously offering a platform for imagining and enacting diverse, harmonious futures. Without denying its complexity, limitations, and ongoing challenges, this experience symbolizes the coexistence of multiple realities, where cultural, gender, and ethnic specificities find expression beyond the confines of established frameworks. Through the lenses of social media and migration, Quechua communities exemplify the resilience and ingenuity needed to thrive within and beyond these contested spaces.