Rapping for Her People

The teenager exploded onto the stage with an animated rap about the presence of Chile’s military in the territory of the Mapuche, the country’s largest Indigenous group.

The impassioned performance was delivered last year at a campaign event in Santiago, Chile’s capital, just a week before the nation voted on a new constitution. Millaray Jara Collio, or MC Millaray, as the young Indigenous rapper calls herself, was too young at age 16 to vote in the referendum. But she was one of hundreds of artists who campaigned in favor of the new constitution.

“I’m two people in one,” she says. “Sometimes I feel like a little girl—I play, I have fun, and I laugh. Onstage, I say everything through rap. It liberates me. When I get a microphone, I’m a different person.”

The new constitution would have empowered Chile’s more than 2 million Indigenous people, 80 percent of whom are Mapuche, to govern their own territories, have more judicial autonomy, and be recognized as distinct nations within Chile. But it was soundly defeated by voters last year, garnering only 38 percent in the referendum.

But in the wake of that loss, MC Millaray, an emerging music star in Chile, is more determined than ever to convey five centuries of Mapuche struggles against European colonizers.

“This is not the end,” she said defiantly in the vote’s aftermath. “It’s the beginning of something new that we can build together.”

The teenager exploded onto the stage with an animated rap about the presence of Chile’s military in the territory of the Mapuche, the country’s largest Indigenous group.

The impassioned performance was delivered last year at a campaign event in Santiago, Chile’s capital. It was just a week before the nation voted on a new constitution. Millaray Jara Collio, or MC Millaray, as the young Indigenous rapper calls herself, was too young at age 16 to vote in the referendum. But she was one of hundreds of artists who campaigned in favor of the new constitution.

“I’m two people in one,” she says. “Sometimes I feel like a little girl—
I play, I have fun, and I laugh. Onstage, I say everything through rap. It liberates me. When I get a microphone, I’m a different person.”

The new constitution would have empowered Chile’s more than 2 million Indigenous people, 80 percent of whom are Mapuche, to govern their own territories. They would have had more judicial autonomy and been recognized as distinct nations within Chile. But it was soundly defeated by voters last year, with only 38 percent voting yes for the referendum.

But in the wake of that loss, MC Millaray is more determined than ever to express five centuries of Mapuche struggles against European colonizers.

“This is not the end,” she said defiantly after the vote. “It’s the beginning of something new that we can build together.”

Since the arrival of Spanish conquistadors in the 1500s, the land once controlled by the Mapuche has been substantially whittled down across centuries of invasion, forced removals, and purchases.

After several hundred years of Spanish colonization, Chile gained independence in 1818 after defeating Spanish forces, but Indigenous people remained effectively powerless. The loss of Indigenous territory accelerated in the 19th century, when Chile enticed European migrants to settle its south, promising to give them lands it claimed were unoccupied but often were populated by the Mapuche.

Chile, which had many valuable commodities to sell, later became a prosperous country with a democratic government. But frequent political instability prompted the military to intervene repeatedly. In 1973, a military coup ousted a democratically elected socialist government. General Augusto Pinochet ruled Chile in a brutal military dictatorship from 1973 to 1990. Though Chile has embraced democracy once again, the constitution written during the Pinochet era, which didn’t recognize any Indigenous rights, still governs the nation.

In 2020, nearly four out of five Chileans voted to scrap that constitution and write a new one. But the new vision laid out in the proposed constitution was too much of a change for most Chileans. The referendum loss hasn’t stopped Millaray from advocating for the rights of Indigenous people.

Since the arrival of the Spanish in the 1500s, the land once controlled by the Mapuche has become substantially smaller. This is because of centuries of invasion, forced removals, and purchases.

After several hundred years of Spanish colonization, Chile gained independence in 1818 after defeating Spanish forces. But Indigenous people remained effectively powerless. The loss of Indigenous territory accelerated in the 19th century. During this time, Chile encouraged European migrants to settle its south. The migrants were promised lands that the government claimed were unoccupied. But they were often populated by the Mapuche.

Chile, which had many valuable commodities to sell, later became a prosperous country with a democratic government. But frequent political instability prompted the military to intervene repeatedly. In 1973, a military coup ousted a democratically elected socialist government. General Augusto Pinochet ruled Chile in a brutal military dictatorship from 1973 to 1990. Though Chile has embraced democracy once again, the constitution was written during the Pinochet era. It doesn’t recognize any Indigenous rights.

In 2020, nearly four out of five Chileans voted to scrap that constitution and write a new one. But the new vision laid out in the proposed constitution was too much of a change for most Chileans. The referendum loss hasn’t stopped Millaray from advocating for the rights of Indigenous people.

Her songs honor fallen Mapuche and decry environmental injustices. When she sings, she slips between Spanish and Mapudungun, the Indigenous language she spoke with her maternal great-grandmother. Above all, Millaray calls for the return of Mapuche ancestral lands, known as Wallmapu, which stretch from Chile’s Pacific seaboard and over the Andes to Argentina’s Atlantic coast (see map, above).

“For me,” she says, “it would be a dream to recover the territory.”

Her 2022 single “Mi Ser Mapuche,” or “My Mapuche Self,” combines trumpets with the “afafan”—a Mapuche war cry. She sings: “More than 500 years without giving up the fight; there are lands we’ve recovered, but they’re ours, our home; we keep on resisting, they won’t defeat us.”

Her songs honor fallen Mapuche and decry environmental injustices. When she sings, she slips between Spanish and Mapudungun, an Indigenous language. Above all, Millaray calls for the return of Mapuche ancestral lands, known as Wallmapu. The Wallmapu stretch from Chile’s Pacific seaboard and over the Andes to Argentina’s Atlantic coast (see map, above).

“For me,” she says, “it would be a dream to recover the territory.”

Her 2022 single “Mi Ser Mapuche,” or “My Mapuche Self,” combines trumpets with the “afafan” —a Mapuche war cry. She sings: “More than 500 years without giving up the fight; there are lands we’ve recovered, but they’re ours, our home; we keep on resisting, they won’t defeat us.”

Millaray, which means “flower of gold” in Mapudungun, grew up with her younger brother and sister in La Pincoya, a hardscrabble barrio on the northern fringes of Santiago, where the walls are splashed with colorful graffiti, and hip-hop and reggaeton* blare from the ramshackle homes sprawling up the hillsides. The area has a strong rap tradition.

As a child, Millaray says, she looked forward more than anything to traveling south each summer to the Carilao community in the municipality of Perquenco to visit her great-grandmother, spending afternoons splashing in a nearby river or collecting maqui berries in a jar.

“When I get to Wallmapu, I feel free and at peace,” she says. “I would learn about what I was and what I represent, what runs through my veins.”

At home in Santiago, it was music that most captured her attention, and she attended the hip-hop workshops that her parents—two rappers who met at a throwdown in La Pincoya—ran for local children.

“I grew up in a rap family,” says Millaray. “They were my inspiration.”

Millaray, which means “flower of gold” in Mapudungun, grew up with her younger brother and sister in La Pincoya, a hardscrabble barrio on the northern fringes of Santiago. The walls are splashed with colorful graffiti.
Hip-hop and reggaeton* blare from the ramshackle homes sprawling
up the hillsides. The area has a strong rap tradition.

As a child, Millaray says, she looked forward more than anything to traveling south each summer to visit her great-grandmother. She lived in the Carilao, a community in the municipality of Perquenco. Millaray would spend afternoons splashing in a nearby river or collecting maqui berries in a jar.

“When I get to Wallmapu, I feel free and at peace,” she says. “I would learn about what I was and what I represent, what runs through my veins.”

At home in Santiago, it was music that most captured her attention. She attended the hip-hop workshops that her parents—two rappers who met at a throwdown in La Pincoya—ran for local children.

“I grew up in a rap family,” says Millaray. “They were my inspiration.”

One afternoon when she was 5, her father, Alexis Jara, was rehearsing for a show with his daughter beside him on the bed mouthing along. When he performed that evening, Jara spotted his daughter sobbing in the crowd, feeling left out.

He pulled her up onstage and, sniffling and puffy-eyed, “she transformed—pah! pah!—and started rapping with such force that she stole the limelight,” her father remembers.

“From that day on, we never got her down from the stage,” he says. “Now everything has turned on its head—it’s me asking to join her!”

One afternoon when she was 5, her father, Alexis Jara, was rehearsing for a show with his daughter beside him on the bed mouthing along. When he performed that evening, Jara spotted his daughter sobbing in the crowd. She was feeling left out.

He pulled her up onstage, sniffling and puffy-eyed. “She transformed—pah! pah!—and started rapping with such force that she stole the limelight,” her father remembers.

“From that day on, we never got her down from the stage,” he says. “Now everything has turned on its head—it’s me asking to join her!”

By the time she was 7, Millaray had written and recorded her first album, “Pequeña Femenina,” or “Little Feminine,” which she burned onto CDs to sell on public buses while out busking with her father. They still perform together.

Her political awakening came in 2018, when she was in elementary school. Her history teacher told her class that an unarmed Mapuche man whom police had shot and killed had deserved his fate.

“I couldn’t stay quiet,” she remembers. “I stood up, burning with rage, and said: ‘No, nobody deserves to die, and certainly not for defending their territory.’ In that moment I defended what I thought, and it changed me.”

In the lead-up to the vote on the new constitution, Mapuche symbols and slogans became more common throughout Chile.

By the time she was 7, Millaray had written and recorded her first album, “Pequeña Femenina,” or “Little Feminine,” which she burned onto CDs. She would sell them on public buses while out busking with her father. They still perform together.

Her political awakening came in 2018, when she was in elementary school. Her history teacher told her class that an unarmed Mapuche man whom police had shot and killed had deserved his fate.

“I couldn’t stay quiet,” she remembers. “I stood up, burning with rage, and said: ‘No, nobody deserves to die, and certainly not for defending their territory.’ In that moment I defended what I thought, and it changed me.”

In the lead-up to the vote on the new constitution, Mapuche symbols and slogans became more common throughout Chile.

“We’re more visible now than we have been in my lifetime,” says Daniela Millaleo, 37, a Mapuche singer-songwriter from Santiago whom Millaray counts among her greatest inspirations. “Before it would just be the Mapuche who marched for our rights, but now so many people feel our pain.”

Millaray is currently focusing on recording new material.

“I want to reach more people, but I want every verse to contain a message—I don’t want to make music for the sake of it,” she says. “It doesn’t matter what the style is, I’m always asking myself what more I can say.”

“We’re more visible now than we have been in my lifetime,” says Daniela Millaleo, 37, a Mapuche singer-songwriter from Santiago whom Millaray counts among her greatest inspirations. “Before it would just be the Mapuche who marched for our rights, but now so many people feel our pain.”

Millaray is currently focusing on recording new material.

“I want to reach more people, but I want every verse to contain a message—I don’t want to make music for the sake of it,” she says. “It doesn’t matter what the style is, I’m always asking myself what more I can say.”