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A journey through Chilean Patagonia: Living on and caring for the edge of the world
In Chilean Patagonia, at the southwestern tip of the American continent, the land breaks up into peninsulas, isthmuses, and islands surrounded by fjords and channels, forming hundreds of labyrinths.It bridges the sea and the land, a fragile yet vital network of ecosystems, with areas that remain pristine and life flourishing in every corner.To experience Patagonia is to inhabit a "maritorio," a worldview that sees "territory" from and within the sea. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. It is to be surrounded by mountains that fade into the water, by glaciers that release small, silvery streams you can glimpse in the distance through the mist.It means exploring one of the planet's most pristine areas, a refuge for rich marine biodiversity. It means sharing the environment with a variety of cetaceans, including the great blue whale, fin whale, and sei whale; Chilean, common, and bottlenose dolphins; sea lions and elephant seals; and colonies of Magellanic, Humboldt, and other penguins.You walk through southern forests filled with lenga trees—native trees with deep roots and slender trunks—up to 400 or 500 years old and reaching over 30 meters. You feel the wind's constant presence on your face as it whistles through the waterways, shapes the foliage, and steers the ships. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. A "maritorio" as identityThe first Spanish settlers arrived in this region around 1520. Beginning in the late 18th century, European and North American sealers and whalers traveled through the Strait of Magellan but did not settle there permanently.In 1843, Chile took control of the region by founding Fort Bulnes. However, indigenous peoples, including the Kawésqar, already lived there. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. The Kawésqar sailed Chilean Patagonia's waters for thousands of years. They lived off the sea and traveled in canoes that served as their daily homes. As they sailed, they hunted for food (fish, shellfish, or sea lions), cooked over open fires, and attended births. They could read the wind and the tides as if they were their own language. The sea was not merely a resource; it was an extension of themselves, their memory, and their identity.But their relationship with the sea was violently disrupted. Seal hunters, whalers, traders, and settlers decimated the Kawésqar population by spreading diseases such as measles, tuberculosis, and smallpox. Their way of life was also disrupted: staple foods began to run short because of the indiscriminate hunting of sea lions and otters.The Kawésqar were forced to give up their nomadic lifestyle, change their clothing, and speak Spanish. Some families were relocated to missions, where they were exposed to disease and forced to live in closed communities and change their customs.The descendants of that population lost touch with their roots to escape the consequences of systematic persecution. The genocide of "the elders" is not a distant story: the older descendants heard about it directly from their grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers, and fathers, who endured that violence and managed to survive. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. Returning to the sea: A way to resist current threatsThe ecosystems of Chilean Patagonia and the indigenous communities that live there have been facing a new threat for years: the expansion of industrial salmon farming. Research shows that between 2009 and 2023, the number of salmon farming concessions granted rose from 1,108 to 1,380—nearly 25%—in the Los Lagos, Aysén, and Magallanes regions. Another 157 applications for new concessions are currently pending.Fattening pens are scattered throughout the marine area, extending into remote parts of the Southern Ocean, even within protected areas. Accumulated waste (including feces and uneaten feed) creates oxygen-depleted zones. In addition, cetaceans have been killed or injured by collisions with vessels, most of which serve the salmon farming industry.Salmon farms are restricting the Kawésqar people’s freedom of movement: They can’t even travel through their own waters!The waterways were their home and their main source of food. Today, few Kawésqar families make their living from fishing. According to community members, they must spend more and more hours on the water to catch as much fish as before. Under these conditions, many people see salmon farming as one of their few job options. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. The Kawésqar people’s connection to the sea—the foundation of their lives and culture—has suffered from a history of dispossession that has not ended, but has merely taken on a different form. The violence of colonization has now become the violence of boundless industrial growth.In light of this situation, the Kawésqar community "Grupos Familiares Nómades del Mar" is leading a project focused on diving and reconnecting with the sea. It seeks to restore the direct bond with the waters their ancestors navigated—a bond that salmon farming is putting at risk.The initiative primarily targets children. But as the diving classes progressed, moms, dads, and older community members were encouraged to enter the water. Some of them had been afraid of those waters, but now they dive into them as naturally as their ancestors would have.It is an act of memory and resistance: to look once more beneath the sea's surface where they were born and to restore to the new generations of Kawésqar a living connection to their maritime heritage—one that is not merely recounted, but felt. Photo: Fernanda Núñez Espinosa. Chilean Patagonia is not just a breathtaking landscape.It is a living space where Kawésqar communities—with support from AIDA, Greenpeace, and FIMA—continue to fight to halt the expansion of salmon farming and the damage it causes, so the sea remains theirs.
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Groundwater: The importance of what we can’t see
Did you know that beneath the ground we walk on lies the planet’s most abundant source of fresh water?These are aquifers, underground geological formations that store 99% of the world’s liquid fresh water.That groundwater provides nearly half of the world’s drinking water; it is the sole source of drinking water for one-third of the world’s population (about 2.5 billion people); and it accounts for 43% of the water used for irrigation.Therefore, keeping this resource accessible and high-quality is essential to the lives, health, and food security of millions of people.Despite their importance, aquifers face risks from extractive activities. One such activity is exploiting unconventional oil and gas deposits through fracking, or hydraulic fracturing, a technique that can lead to groundwater contamination. Key aquifers at risk: The case of BrazilSome of the world’s most important aquifers are located in Latin America, primarily within Brazil. They include:The Guaraní Aquifer System, a transboundary aquifer shared by Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, and Uruguay. It supplies water to about 90 million people, meeting domestic, agricultural, industrial, and tourism needs across more than 1 million km².The Greater Amazon Aquifer System, which spans several Brazilian states and adjacent areas of the Amazon basin in neighboring countries, is one of the world's largest underground water reservoirs and accounts for more than 80% of the water circulating in the Amazon cycle. These strategic water reserves are currently at risk because fracking activities in Brazil could overlap with both aquifers, according to maps. The future of fracking in Brazil—and waterBrazil’s Superior Court of Justice is currently deciding whether to authorize fracking in the country to extract unconventional oil and gas.The technique involves drilling a straight well deep into the ground and then turning the drill to create an L-shaped well. Workers inject a mixture of water, sand, and chemical additives (some of which are toxic) into the well at very high pressure to fracture underground rocks and extract the hydrocarbons they contain.Fracking could contaminate the Guaraní and Greater Amazon aquifers if the toxic chemicals used to fracture the rocks seep through well leaks or surface spills. For this reason, and because of its high water consumption, the technique may jeopardize the water security of populations that rely on these groundwater sources, including indigenous communities and peoples in voluntary isolation.Because water from aquifers isn't just for drinking. It also irrigates crops, keeps rivers flowing, and sustains unique ecosystems.Even though we can't see them, aquifers hold a treasure that is vital to humanity.Protecting them means protecting life.
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A victory for climate justice: Colombia includes climate obligations in environmental impact studies
In Colombia, a case that began as a requirement for the coal sector ultimately became a regulation applicable to all projects requiring an environmental permit.This refers to the publication of the General Methodology for the Preparation and Submission of Environmental Studies, a regulatory "master key" that requires quantifying greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions and including climate mitigation and adaptation measures in mining, hydrocarbon, energy, and infrastructure projects, among others.Colombia's Ministry of Environment and Sustainable Development published this methodology in late July 2026, in compliance with a 2023 ruling by the Council of State.This important resolution was the result of a compliance action filed by a coalition led by AIDA and also comprising the "José Alvear Restrepo" Lawyers’ Collective (CAJAR), Censat Agua Viva, the Center for Research and Popular Education (CINEP), POLEN Transiciones Justas, the University of Magdalena, and researchers.The new methodology for environmental studies represents a major step forward in protecting the right to a healthy environment and ensuring the right to a healthy climate through preventive measures.It also marks a victory for climate litigation in the region, demonstrating that the Colombian government failed to fulfill specific climate commitments and securing a ruling ordering one of the competent authorities to take concrete actions for proper climate management.Other countries in the region may replicate the strategy employed and the precedent set. A three-year path toward climate justiceIn May 2023, AIDA led a coalition of civil society organizations, think tanks, researchers, and a university that filed a compliance action with the Administrative Court of Cundinamarca. The goal was to demand compliance with laws related to addressing the climate crisis in the coal sector.In Colombia, neither environmental regulations nor climate change management regulations address GHG mitigation or the climate impacts generated by the coal sector, despite the significance of coal projects in the country and their role in exacerbating the climate crisis.Colombia is by a wide margin the largest coal producer and exporter in Latin America. In 2024, it accounted for 87.67% of regional production and 99.84% of exports, playing a significant role in its trade balance and its rail and port infrastructure. Furthermore, it ranks third in the region in terms of final consumption (24.52%), and in the last 12 months, nearly 5% of the country’s electricity was generated from coal.But without specific regulations, environmental authorities lack the tools to establish effective measures to prevent, mitigate, and manage the climate impacts of coal industry activity.The Administrative Court of Cundinamarca ruled in the coalition's favor in the first instance. The Council of State—the country’s highest authority on administrative matters—upheld the ruling on second instance. Consequently, it ordered the Ministry of Environment and Sustainable Development to comply with the obligations outlined in Law 1931 of 2018, which establishes the minimum actions the country must take to honor its international climate commitments.And this is where the case went beyond its initial objective: the ruling established a specific obligation for the ministry to regulate the consideration of climate impacts not only in coal sector projects but in all projects requiring an environmental permit. In other words, it includes the mining, hydrocarbons, energy, and infrastructure sectors, among others.This entails, among other things, quantifying GHG emissions from these projects and assessing how environmental offset measures can help Colombia meet its climate commitments under the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change.The ruling also ordered the government agency to issue a resolution adopting the Mandatory Emissions Report, which would require major greenhouse gas emitters to report their total emissions annually on a disaggregated basis. Similarly, it ordered the agency to issue the environmental sector’s climate change management plan and coordinate actions with territorial climate change plans. A significant and reproducible rulingThe Ministry of the Environment’s publication of the methodology for environmental studies marks a milestone in environmental permitting by incorporating specific procedures to ensure environmental impact studies account for the climate impacts generated by projects seeking permits.It also focuses on environmental permitting and human rights, considers indirect emissions, and introduces new guidelines for assessing projects' environmental impacts.In addition, it sets a regulatory precedent that demonstrates, in practice, the climate unfeasibility of new coal mining and burning projects.In short, it is a regulatory instrument that seeks to close gaps in environmental permitting processes and strengthen the assessment of shortcomings associated with the climate impacts of certain projects, particularly in the coal sector. It incorporates a human rights perspective—a first within an environmental permitting process.Its scope is ambitious: stricter technical and climate management requirements would raise the compliance costs of coal-fired projects—making them more expensive than cleaner alternatives—and could support strategies to phase out coal as part of the country’s efforts to meet its climate obligations.The orders contained in the Council of State’s ruling do not end with the publication of the methodology. Other orders also seek to incorporate specific guidelines for climate change management.Among these is the Mandatory Emissions Report, a key tool for establishing processes to monitor, verify, and control the mitigation actions implemented by major greenhouse gas emitters. However, the ministry has published only a draft resolution adopting this instrument, which, if confirmed, would represent a unique regulatory advancement in the region with strong potential for replication.In other words, the Council of State’s ruling sets a very important precedent for the region for two reasons: it demonstrates that strategic litigation can lead to concrete regulatory actions to address the climate crisis, and it highlights the need to update regulatory frameworks to incorporate specific measures for climate change mitigation and adaptation in specific sectors and procedures.Therefore, it will be important to design strategies that allow both the litigation approach and the results achieved during implementation to be replicated in other countries in the region.
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Páramos = water = life
Páramos are high-mountain ecosystems that capture water from fog and supply it to the lowlands. They lie between the upper limit of the Andean forest (about 3,000 meters above sea level) and the glaciers or permanent snowfields of the mountains (about 4,500 meters above sea level).Typically, páramos can be found in tropical regions near the equator, especially along the Andes mountain range.In Latin America, páramos cover more than 30,000 km2. South America is home to more than 80% of the world’s páramos, and Colombia accounts for 50% of them.The páramos are not isolated; rather, they form a high-mountain system that maintains ecological connections with other biomes and ecosystems, extending beyond national borders. In the Andean region, they form a corridor known as the "string of pearls," stretching from the Cordillera de Mérida in Venezuela, across Colombia and Ecuador, to the Huancabamba Depression in northern Peru.There, the water retained by low-altitude wetlands gradually flows downward, forming streams and rivers that flow down to the coast or the Amazon basin.Because of their interconnectedness, the páramos also serve as natural bridges or "springboards" for the migration and dispersal of species. Their conservation, therefore, cannot be limited to specific areas; it must extend to protecting the ecological, biological, and cultural relationships they share with other ecosystems. The importance of protecting the páramosWe must protect the páramos because they are essential to sustaining life. Among other reasons, this is because:They feed key watersheds, which in turn support agricultural and livestock systems that contribute to the population's food supply. They are the primary source of water for more than 85 million people. In Colombia, these ecosystems supply 70% of the freshwater consumed in major cities.They are home to a unique biodiversity: more than 3,370 plant species and 250 animal species. Among the endemic species found there are the frailejón (a plant with hairy leaves that trap moisture from the fog and regulate water), the Andean condor, the mountain tapir (or Andean tapir), and the spectacled bear.They serve as living spaces and homes for rural and indigenous communities. According to the 2018 páramo census, more than 76,000 people in Colombia live in the country’s páramo ecosystems. Furthermore, their stunning natural beauty drives nature tourism, thereby sustaining local ways of life.They are extraordinary natural carbon sinks and are indispensable allies in mitigating the climate crisis. They can sequester up to ten times more carbon dioxide per square meter than a tropical forest. In specific areas of a páramo, such as peat bogs, carbon sequestration can reach 2,000 metric tons. Photo: Aztlec Flickr (Creative Commons).What threats must we protect the páramos from?Despite their great importance, the páramos currently face several threats. One is the climate crisis, which is raising ambient temperatures; because these ecosystems are located high in the mountains, they have no cooler thermal zones to migrate to.On the other hand, extensive livestock ranching and agriculture—particularly potato farming—affect considerable areas of páramos. Deforestation or reforestation with non-native species also endangers them, as does a lack of knowledge about their importance and characteristics.And mining is undoubtedly one of the greatest threats to these ecosystems. Due to their geological formation, these ecosystems contain large quantities of minerals and metals, such as gold and silver. The mining industry poses serious risks to the páramos because:It extracts large volumes of water and builds infrastructure on wetlands, reducing their ability to regulate water flows, and can cause pollution from mercury and other toxic substances, leading to species loss and affecting water quality and availability in low-lying areas.Underground mining can alter groundwater flow dynamics through dewatering processes designed to prevent tunnel collapse. This can lower the water table, cause land subsidence, and dry up water sources, among other impacts.It removes vegetation cover and organic soil, degrading fragile ecosystems such as the páramos, weakening their role as natural carbon sinks, and releasing stored carbon.Its impacts can last in perpetuity—for centuries or millennia—timeframes that cannot be predicted with certainty. Tailings dams and other infrastructure (tailings piles or dumps) where mining waste ends up, for example, have effects that persist indefinitely because they were not designed to be dismantled. Learn more about the true cost of mining in the páramos. The iconic case of the Santurbán páramo in ColombiaThe Santurbán case reflects the socio-environmental conflicts that arise from corporate efforts to establish mining operations in páramos, as well as from citizens’ efforts to protect these ecosystems and the life they sustain. Photo: Alberto Peña Kay. Located in the heart of the Eastern Cordillera of the Colombian Andes, in the departments of Santander and Norte de Santander, the Santurbán páramo covers 129,743 hectares and is home to 57 lagoons, 457 plant species, and 293 vertebrate species.Santurbán is home to mineral deposits—primarily gold, but also silver and copper—that have attracted foreign mining conglomerates for decades, which have sought to establish large-scale projects in the ecosystem, threatening to degrade it.This has raised concerns among the population that relies on the Santurbán water sources—more than two million people—who have mobilized to defend water, their land, and life.The Committee for the Defense of Water and the Santurbán Páramo has led these efforts. This coalition of environmental advocates, supported by AIDA and other civil society organizations, has thwarted the mining industry’s ongoing attempts. The defense of Santurbán has included litigation and national and international advocacy. Learn more about the effort to protect the Santurbán páramo. Protecting Latin America's páramosAs with Santurbán in Colombia, indigenous peoples, rural communities, and citizens in other countries in the region are using legal strategies to protect the Andean páramos.Also in Colombia, rural communities in Cajamarca, in the department of Tolima, succeeded in rejecting the La Colosa mining project—which would have involved gold mining in the Los Nevados páramo region—through a public referendum. They are currently defending the referendum's validity and the páramo demarcation in court.In Ecuador, the Kichwa Saraguro indigenous people are pursuing legal action to protect more than 27,000 hectares of the Fierro Urku páramo, which were granted as mining concessions for gold, silver, and copper without prior consultation. At the same time, they are demanding compliance with a protective order that suspended the Loma Larga mining project in the Quimsacocha páramo until prior consultation is guaranteed and environmental impact studies are conducted.In partnership with communities and allied organizations, AIDA works to protect the páramos and other ecosystems that sustain life in Latin America.
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Self-generation: How to democratize access to energy
In the traditional and dominant model, electricity is generated by large power plants and distributed through extensive grids that make up an electric power system. These activities are the exclusive domain of large electric companies, whether privately or government-owned.Therefore, the current energy system, based on fossil fuels—coal, natural gas, and oil—is not only one of the main causes of the global climate crisis, but it is also inequitable because it is concentrated in the hands of a few, in addition to limiting access to resources and public participation in decision-making.This requires that the energy transition involves not only a shift in the energy mix but also the creation of a new energy system that—among other things—enables democratized access to energy from clean, renewable sources.Energy self-generation, as a decentralized production model, is an opportunity to move in that direction. What does democratic access to energy mean?Energy is necessary for people to have access to better food, clean water, job opportunities, education, and other rights. Therefore, energy is also a right and a prerequisite for ensuring the enjoyment of other human rights.Energy democracy is both a principle and a movement that seeks to ensure that energy decisions—how it is generated, who generates it, and who benefits from it—are in the hands of the people rather than concentrated in the hands of large corporations or elites, prioritizing the use of clean and renewable energy sources as well as decentralized systems, with a focus on social justice.Therefore, democratic access to energy entails:Community control of energy resources.Citizen participation in energy planning.Equitable distribution of benefits. This contrasts with traditional centralized systems—often monopolistic—that have led to inequities, such as communities paying high electricity rates or suffering the impacts of large-scale electricity generation, yet having no say in the decisions that affect them.In Latin America, the active involvement of indigenous, rural, and traditional communities in energy projects is seen as a cornerstone for achieving a socially and environmentally just transition, closing energy access gaps, and strengthening energy democracy.In this regard, energy self-generation embodies energy democracy, as it allows entire communities to make their own energy decisions and reclaim control over key links in the electricity value chain, such as generation and management. What is energy self-generation?Self-generation is a decentralized model of electricity production that relies on locally available clean and renewable energy sources (such as solar, hydropower, or wind). This approach is used in projects that are often small-scale and can be used individually or collectively to meet energy needs in urban or rural areas, including those far from distribution grids.It is a model that enables progress, at the local level, toward reducing greenhouse gas emissions—which exacerbate the climate crisis—without repeating the extractivist model. It recognizes the right of communities to generate their own energy to meet their needs and, at the same time, helps reduce energy poverty and dependence on centralized power grids.Energy self-generation can take two forms:Distributed generation: A small-scale self-generation system connected to nearby distribution grids to feed surplus energy into the grid.Off-grid systems: A closed-loop self-generation system disconnected from distribution grids. In this model, users are no longer passive participants but instead play an active role in generating and managing energy wherever they are. A self-generating individual or community both produces and consumes energy. Examples of energy self-generation in Latin AmericaAcross the continent, success stories in implementing the self-generation model are strengthening the regional movement for energy democratization. Here are a few examples:Mexico - "Energy for the Yeknemilis (Good Living)." A community initiative implemented in the Northeastern Highlands of Puebla to promote local energy sovereignty through the installation of photovoltaic systems in community spaces.Colombia - Community solar project on Isla Fuerte. Installation of a solar microgrid with batteries (150 kW peak and 348 kWh of storage), not connected to the National Interconnected System, capable of providing continuous electricity to the 250 households on the Caribbean island.Brazil - Percília e Lúcio Renewable Energy Cooperative. A community initiative founded by the NGO Revolusolar and developed by residents of the Morro da Babilônia and Chapéu Mangueira favelas in Rio de Janeiro. Solar panels were installed there, reducing electricity rates by more than 50%.Chile - Curicó Electric Power Supply Cooperative. A community-based initiative operating in the Maule Region that installs solar panels to supply electricity to rural grids and community facilities. Challenges for energy self-generationDespite the progress made, the widespread and effective implementation of this model faces significant challenges on the continent. The main ones are:Inadequate regulation (complex or insufficient). Often, a country’s domestic regulations make it difficult or impossible to implement such schemes. This is due to limitations on the number of megawatts (MW) that can be generated, complex contractual requirements, or a lack of appropriate legal structures.Limited financing. Many low-income households cannot afford the upfront cost of solar panels or other technologies. Government support or loans for these projects are scarce. The risk is that self-generation will be concentrated among those with the financial means to implement it, thereby excluding the segments of the population most affected by energy poverty.Inefficient electrical infrastructure. Local grids often lack the capacity or technical capabilities to integrate energy generated by decentralized sources, limiting the ability to take advantage of surplus energy feed-in. Furthermore, the need for storage systems to address the variability of renewable energy sources, as well as the lack of grid backup, increases project costs. Energy self-generation: A solid path toward a just transitionThe pursuit of equitable access to energy through tools such as energy self-generation is consistent with the need to ensure that the energy transition puts people at the center and prioritizes improving their living conditions as its ultimate goal.Electricity generation models designed by and for communities are an important means of ensuring access to affordable, reliable, sustainable, and modern energy for everyone.Because discussing a just energy transition means reclaiming energy as a tool to meet human needs in the context of inequities and finite resources. Learn more about a just energy transition in Latin America.
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Voices for the Motagua River: Olga Vázquez, hands that shape hope
Stories of courage, dignity, and resistance for life in the face of pollution in Guatemala’s longest river.For generations, clay was the heart of Santa Cruz Chinautla. It emerged from the earth as a daily gift, was shaped by patient hands, and transformed into pots, jugs, whistles, and comales that were taken to the markets in the capital.There, between the river and the wood-fired kilns, doña Olga Noemí Vázquez grew up. From childhood, she learned the art of pottery from her mother. Today, at nearly sixty years old, she continues to work with clay, but the craft is no longer the same. Clay is scarce, the river smells like sewage, and her hands crack from the chemicals carried by the polluted water.Doña Olga fondly recalls how she first got into pottery. "I learned it when I was ten years old. My mom taught me. I wanted to make different shapes and styles, because sometimes tourists would bring different figurines, and here we’d try to imitate them," she says from the small workshop she’s set up in her home. Every piece she creates is an act of remembrance, a way to resist oblivion and the loss of the landscape and her livelihood.He also recalls that in the past, the town's inhabitants didn't go to the capital to work. "We made our living right here. We grew vegetables, güisquiles, and corn. Everything was produced right here. And we made a living from clay. Today, it’s not like that anymore." Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. From drainage to destruction The change was slow, like a tide that rises without you noticing. First came the drainage systems. Then, the trucks. The city’s trash found its final destination in Chinautla. "There was nowhere else to dump it, so they dumped it on us," she says. That’s how the tragedy began: the rivers turned into channels of waste, the banks became covered in gray crusts, and the odors became unbearable, especially during the rainy season. "The river carries all the trash from Zone 3. It smells awful. There’s no clean clay anymore; we can’t dig it up as we used to."The 1976 earthquake left a mark on the town’s memory, but it was systematic neglect that ultimately disfigured the landscape. The municipal government, she says, moved from Santa Cruz to Zone 6, and since then the town has been left without any real representation. "There’s no mayor here. They come here to put up their campaign posters, they hold office, but they’re never here. They’ve never taken us into account," she laments. Women who resist In the face of institutional silence, associations, collectives, and struggles emerged. Among them was the Chinautla Women’s Association. "We organized because if we didn’t, we would have been left with nothing. The clay was running out, the sand miners were advancing, and the river was washing everything away. The women here don’t go to the capital to work. They make pottery at home and take care of their children. If we ran out of clay, we’d have no life left."In 2010, disaster struck with full force. Two rivers, Las Vacas and Chinautla, overflowed due to the accumulation of sand that had been extracted without any controls. The water swept away a bridge. The community banded together and built another one with their own hands. The municipality did not cooperate. "That bridge is in ruins, but we, the neighbors, built it. Otherwise, we’d still be cut off."Sand mining has become their most persistent enemy. "The sand miners are wearing us down. They take out tons and tons of sand every day. Our clay is gone with them. We’re left with almost nothing. And what little remains is contaminated," he says. The damage isn’t limited to the landscape—people’s health is suffering as well. Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. The value of words and justice The expansion of businesses, the passivity of the authorities, and social erosion have caused divisions within the town. "Politics has planted ideas in people’s minds. There are thousands of residents, but only 500 support us. The rest don’t cooperate. They don’t understand that this isn’t about a political party—it’s about our town," she explains.In recent years, the women’s association has joined forces with the town’s ancestral authorities. Together, they have succeeded in opening channels of dialogue with government ministries, halting the renewal of extractive licenses, and bringing the conflict to the government's attention. The 2025 ruling, handed down after years of legal battles, was a ray of hope amid the neglect. A court ordered the municipality to assume its environmental responsibility. For the first time, someone listened. "Thanks to that ruling, a businessman was stopped. His license hasn’t been renewed. It wasn’t like that before: you’d go to talk to them, and the ministers only thought about making a profit. Now, at least, they listen to us."The future is uncertain. Drinking water is delivered only once every eight days. Mining permits can be renewed at any time. The river continues to carry trash. But there’s one thing doña Olga is not willing to lose: her dignity. "I advise women to get involved, to stay informed. We can’t just stay at home without knowing what politicians, businesspeople, and ministers are doing. If you get involved, you’ll find out. And once you know, you’ll fight."When asked what Chinautla was like 50 years ago, her eyes fill with lost images: girls playing in the street, clean water flowing over stones, women shaping clay at sunset. "It was peaceful," she says. “It was ours.” Today, amid pollution and plundering, Chinautla endures thanks to women like her, who continue to shape its history with clay, memory, and courage.
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Voices for the Motagua River: Nazario Pascual, an artery of the Poqomam people
Stories of courage, dignity, and resistance for life in the face of pollution in Guatemala’s longest river.Nazario Pascual needs no embellishments to define himself: "I am a Poqomam warrior who uses music and sung poetry to plant a little seed in people’s minds. I am an artery of the Poqomam people."A musician, cultural promoter, and independent producer, Nazario lives in Santa Cruz Chinautla, a community affected by pollution in the Motagua River. From there, he sings in Poqomam so that his language will not disappear, and so that the children who listen to him will grow up knowing that the river, too, has a memory.His journey began in the church pews, watching his father play. But it was an intimate moment that ignited the spark: one night, he heard his dad praying in Poqomam. "I thought, ‘Wow, God hears us in Poqomam. It’s your heritage.’ That’s where I started." The landscape that took away his childhood When Nazario talks about his childhood, he describes fruit trees, springs, and a communal washhouse where mothers washed clothes while the children played. Today, all of that is gone.The uncontrolled expansion of the capital and the diversion of stormwater to the Zone 3 landfill have turned the river into an open wound. Added to this are the sand pits that extract material without any oversight: "They’ve eaten away at a large part of the Poqomam territory. Here we call it ‘black gold.'"His family has lost their land dozens of times. When it rains in the city, the smells reach Chinautla even if not a single drop falls there. Houses are sinking, the ground is cracking, and residents are being displaced."The river is a monster coming from the city," he says. Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. A legacy of struggle, but also of weariness Nazario inherited his father’s conviction to protest. He took part in demonstrations, organized meetings, and, together with others, built a retaining wall under the red bridge with community support. But he also bears the weight of so many years: "At first there were 17 of us at the protests, then 12, then 7, and now barely 4."An aunt told him straight out: "Don’t try to be a folk hero." The remark made him reflect on the limits of commitment… and on the need for new forms of resistance. Seeds that sing Nazario found that new path in music. He formed a band with his cousins and later began working with children. Together, they write lyrics about the river, compose melodies, and sing in Poqomam. That’s how "Mamut" was born—one of the songs sung in the community today."Getting children and young people involved is the small contribution I’m trying to make,” he explains. “They’re the ones who will remain here." Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. A message that endures Nazario knows the problem is bigger than he is. The Motagua River carries trash that ends up in the Caribbean, affecting entire communities. But he also believes that local struggles have power."It’s understandable to go to work—because we have to—but we shouldn’t be indifferent to what’s happening in the town."He fears that the real plan of the polluting and extractive industries is to wipe the Poqomam people off the map. But he dreams of a different story:"I imagine Chinautla with the river stabilized, children growing up in a dignified environment, knowing their rights and fighting for them." The pulse of a community His voice is a blend of pain and hope. He speaks of losses—of his father, of the land, of the river—but also of music, of living languages, and of children singing along to his songs."I am an artery of the Poqomam people," he repeats.And like any artery, he beats to keep his community alive.
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5 keys to collective action: Lessons from the meeting of environmental defenders from the Southern Cone
Can an energy transition be just if it repeats the harms of traditional extractivism?That was one of the central questions of “Articulando Territorios: Meeting of Defenders from the Southern Cone”, an event held on June 9 and 10 in Santiago, Chile, that brought together environmental defenders from Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile.For years, AIDA has stood alongside those defending their territories against extractive and energy projects in Latin America. This meeting was part of that commitment: a space to share experiences, strengthen protection capacities, and collectively reflect on the impacts of the pressures of the global energy transition, including the rise of extractivism.Here are the five key lessons we took away: 1. Communities are at the heart of the resistance for a just and sustainable energy transitionMany of the activities promoted under the global paradigm of the energy transition—such as lithium, copper, and other “strategic” metal mining, as well as port megaprojects—aimed at decarbonizing the energy mix continue to reproduce the historical dynamics of intensive resource extraction. The experiences and lessons shared in regions such as San Antonio in Chile, Salinas Grandes and Vaca Muerta in Argentina, and the salt flats of Bolivia point the way toward environmental justice. Against this new backdrop—and amid a wave of extractive expansion—local communities are shifting from being areas affected by these projects to becoming strategic allies in the resistance movements of the Southern Cone. 2. Defending the territory is a project that encompasses all aspects of life and shapes one's identityBeing an environmental defender is not a temporary job or activity, but a true life’s work. From this perspective, territorial defense goes beyond the protection of a physical or economic space. It involves cultural identity, collective memory, spirituality, and the intrinsic “body-territory” relationship. This framework explains why the impacts on ecosystems cannot be measured solely in economic terms: they directly damage the social fabric through community fragmentation, the forced migration of young people, and the painful loss of ancestral practices. 3. Protection must be comprehensive, collective, and proactiveThe protection of those who defend the territory cannot depend on individual reactions or improvised measures when the risk is imminent. Protecting ourselves means identifying threats and strengths, and increasing our capacity to respond to risks. Building support networks, ensuring protection protocols are in place, and prioritizing collective care are the foundation for establishing robust processes for territorial and environmental defense. 4. Communication is about challenging narratives without revictimizingCommunication is a fundamental tool for political protection and strategic advocacy to counteract power imbalances. Communities must position themselves as primary sources of territorial knowledge and as the authors of their own narratives. Effective communication means bringing their knowledge, their proposals, and their capacity for organized resistance to the forefront, without reducing them to suffering or revictimizing them. 5. Recognize the right to defend the environment and use international tools as a means of protectionRecognizing that defending the environment is a holistic life project means recognizing and legitimizing the right to defend it. Territory and environmental defenders safeguard common goods that benefit society as a whole. It is necessary to explicitly recognize the legitimacy and dignity of this work by eliminating stigmas and criminalization, and by ensuring safe spaces for the exercise of this right.In this context, the tools of international law are part of the range of protective measures, including:Strategic litigation. The success and transformative value of strategic environmental litigation go far beyond simply obtaining a favorable court ruling. Its true potential lies in bringing silenced conflicts to light, generating independent technical evidence, and opening up political spaces—all of which occur when it is well coordinated with community-based organizational processes.Escazú Agreement. The Escazú Agreement is a fundamental regional framework thanks to the three procedural rights—access to information, participation, and justice in environmental matters—that it guarantees and upon which it is built. It is key to the active protection of environmental human rights defenders. This framework must be transformed into a tool for defense in the hands of communities, particularly through well-founded legal action and the activation of the mechanisms provided for in the agreement. The recent gathering of environmental defenders from the Southern Cone confirms something that AIDA has observed across the entire continent: the defense of the environment and human rights is built through networking.We will continue to stand with communities and environmental defenders in Latin America to ensure that the energy transition does not come at the expense of their territories and their lives.
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Environmental law in Latin America: Progress and setbacks
Environmental law in Latin America is currently facing a paradox.The continent has recently seen historic progress in developing binding legal standards to protect the environment and those who defend it. However, this progress coexists with the weakening of legal and institutional frameworks for protecting the environment and the rights of communities in various countries. At the forefront of protecting the environment, the climate, and peopleIn the context of the climate, environmental, and social crises, Latin America has been the birthplace of important legal tools to protect territories, ecosystems, communities, and the global climate.These recent developments have included the Escazú Agreement and Advisory Opinion 32 (OC-32/25) on the climate emergency issued by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, which reinforce and reaffirm binding standards for climate action, environmental protection, and the defense of human rights.The Escazú Agreement, which entered into force on April 22, 2021, is the first regional environmental treaty—and the first of its kind in the world—to include specific provisions for the protection of individuals, groups, and organizations that promote and defend human rights in environmental matters in Latin America and the Caribbean.It is an international milestone in the areas of participation, information, and the protection of environmental defenders, as well as a model for other continents.As for the Inter-American Court’s ruling, made public on July 3, 2025, it recognizes the right to a healthy climate as an autonomous right—enforceable in its own right—with clear obligations for States in the face of the climate emergency. The court even reaffirms the State’s obligation to keep the planet’s average temperature at 1.5 °C, recognizing that this threshold is already having an impact on human rights.The court also establishes rules for enhanced due diligence, which entail, among other things, the duty of States to conduct environmental impact assessments, to establish clear guidelines for activities that may harm health or ecosystems, and to regulate public and private activities that affect the climate more rigorously and strictly.Furthermore, the ruling recognizes the right to science and the importance of the traditional knowledge of indigenous peoples and traditional communities as a fundamental component of climate action from a human rights perspective, applicable to all countries. Setbacks for protecting the environment and human rightsRecent examples in various countries across the continent show dangerous setbacks in the frameworks for the protection of the environment and community rights, as well as in the institutions responsible for this task.These setbacks jeopardize the rights of indigenous peoples and traditional communities and highlight extractivist pressures that threaten to exacerbate environmental degradation.These dynamics are reflected in the merger of environmental ministries with entities tasked with production or extraction, as well as in the relaxation of environmental assessment processes, which limit the tools available to communities and defenders to protect ecosystems and ways of life. Here are some examples: Chile (2025–2026). Two developments threaten the integrity of the country’s environmental governance: the reform of the regulations governing the Environmental Impact Assessment Service and the legislative process for the Framework Law on the Authorization of Sectoral Permits. Both seek to expedite environmental permits based on sworn statements, without prior oversight or the submission of environmental impact studies or statements. They also incorporate the concept of “administrative silence,” which means that if the administrative authority does not rule on a project’s admissibility, the application is officially accepted for processing.In addition, the government is pushing forward with a major reform to boost investment in Chile. Among other things, the so-called “Miscellaneous Law” makes the Environmental Impact Assessment System more flexible and allows companies to be compensated if environmental courts revoke an environmental permit.Argentina (2022–2026). Mining expansion took hold in the province of Jujuy following a constitutional amendment that did not include consultation with Indigenous peoples or mechanisms for citizen participation, particularly in connection with lithium mining in areas historically inhabited by Indigenous and peasant communities.At the national level, the Ministry of the Environment was abolished in 2023, and its responsibilities were transferred to the Ministry of the Interior. In 2024, the Incentive Regime for Large Investments was created, which grants tax and customs benefits for up to 30 years to megaprojects without requiring environmental impact studies, thereby creating an imbalance between investment rights and environmental rights. In addition, the “glacier law” was amended, marking another setback for environmental protection. Bolivia (2026). The Simplified Mining Compliance Regulations were approved, modifying environmental requirements and exempting project proponents from prior consultation and environmental impact assessments. This enables and expands gold mining in protected natural areas and indigenous territories, violates the rights of indigenous peoples, and disregards the rulings of the Agro-Environmental Court.And in August 2026, President Rodrigo Paz abolished the Ministry of Development Planning and the Environment. As a result of that reform, the Vice Ministry of the Environment was placed under the Ministry of Productive, Rural, and Water Development, an agency headed by an agribusiness executive.Ecuador (2025). Under the banner of “administrative efficiency,” the Ministry of the Environment, Water, and Ecological Transition was merged with the Ministry of Energy and Mines. This led to the creation of the Ministry of Environment and Energy. Experts indicate that this decision could undermine the independence of the environmental authority and, as a result, weaken due diligence principles, facilitate the approval of extractive projects, and reduce environmental oversight powers. Brazil (2025). The new General Environmental Licensing Law (Law 15,190/2025) aims to streamline the granting of environmental permits. The law extends the "License by Adherence and Commitment"—a self-declaration system that does not require a prior impact assessment—to small- and medium-scale activities with low or medium pollution potential. Regarding indigenous participation, the law restricts the mandatory opinion of the National Foundation for Indigenous Peoples to officially recognized lands, thereby excluding from this oversight at least 297 territories currently undergoing regularization. Furthermore, in cases where such an opinion is required, it lacks binding effect, thereby weakening the role of the licensing authority as a guarantor. Subsequently, the regulation was amended by Law No. 15,300/2025 to create the Special Environmental License, intended for projects classified as “strategic” by the Governing Council, with a maximum completion period of one year. Both regulations are being challenged before the Federal Supreme Court through four legal actions. The court plans to review these cases on August 12, 2026, to issue a ruling on the validity of the two laws. The legal frameworks and institutions that make up environmental governance cannot be viewed as mere technicalities or bureaucratic procedures, but rather as tools for protecting the right to a healthy environment. This right is essential to ensuring the enjoyment of other fundamental rights, such as the right to life, food, and water, among others. The weakening of environmental institutions or procedures does not merely “shorten timelines.” It undermines and restricts rights, reduces oversight, and broadens the scope for decisions that may affect territories and ecosystems without sufficient information, meaningful participation, or effective access to justice.The procedures that guarantee the human right to a healthy environment are not obstacles. They are essential to ensuring life. Recognizing the challenges without losing hopeInternational law is grounded in human dignity and the inherent integrity of nature. It is not a matter of declarations or decisions made by any body, but rather the recognition of an order that exists above all else, that precedes and belongs to all people without distinction. It is also a mechanism for preventing conflicts.What is at stake today carries far greater weight than the short-term deregulation efforts of successive governments. The hard-won rights that are now being eroded are the result of years of collective organizing, through which legal, social, and cultural safeguards have been established to protect future generations as well.In this context, strategic litigation and social mobilization are key tools for promoting environmental democracy, preventing setbacks, and establishing precedents that ensure the effective enforcement of already recognized rights. Similarly, the role of Indigenous peoples, traditional communities, and ancestral culture is central not only in terms of the recognition of rights but also in safeguarding territories, ancestral knowledge, and ways of life based on a respectful relationship with nature.None of this can be sustained without the active support of society as a whole. Defending what has already been achieved requires collective awareness, organization, and commitment so that the progress made in the region is not eroded but rather strengthened. This depends on our continued demand for transparency, participation, justice, and respect for standards that reflect the intrinsic natural order of people and the environment.
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Fracking: A step toward the energy transition or a continued reliance on fossil fuels?
One argument made by supporters of fracking as a step toward the energy transition is that the technique buys time while alternatives to fossil fuels reach maturity and stability.Behind this line of reasoning lies the possibility of extracting more gas and the myth that it is a natural resource—when in fact it is a fossil fuel—and that it allows for the safe generation of energy without causing as much pollution as oil and coal.But a technique that perpetuates the use of fossil fuels—and whose environmental and social harms are widespread and well-documented—cannot be viewed as a solution or a step toward a transition that not only seeks to move beyond fossil fuels but also involves a paradigm shift in the energy system.Furthermore, by increasing dependence on oil and gas, fracking contributes to the worsening of the climate crisis due to methane emissions associated with the gas industry, as methane has a greater global warming potential than carbon dioxide (CO₂).Below, we debunk arguments that promote this technique as a step toward the energy transition. The continuation of an extractivist systemHydraulic fracturing, or fracking, is a technique for extracting gas from underground that involves drilling deep into the ground to inject, at very high pressure, a mixture of water, sand, and chemical additives (some of which are toxic) to fracture underground rock formations and extract the hydrocarbons "trapped" within them.Like the oil and coal industries, fracking uses a non-renewable energy source, intensively exploits natural resources such as water, and causes large-scale disruptions in the areas where it is carried out.Not only does it replicate these patterns of the fossil fuel industry, but its negative impacts are similar—and even more severe—than those of other fossil fuel exploration, extraction, and production activities. These include: water and air pollution, overexploitation of natural resources, land encroachment, ecosystem disruption, and the devastation of flora and fauna.This repetition of patterns seen in the fossil fuel industry means that fracking not only perpetuates dependence on fossil fuels, but also contributes to its expansion and consolidation.In fact, the development of infrastructure for its operation helps create and consolidate markets for long-term gas consumption, since it requires large-scale investments spanning several decades. This can create economic incentives to maintain and maximize its use over time, and discourage or delay decarbonization efforts. "Natural" gas? Less CO₂, but more methaneThe gas obtained through fracking has been called “natural”—a label meant to make it seem clean. But gas from fracking is neither natural nor clean.It’s dirty from start to finish—from the toxic chemicals injected into the ground to extract it to the greenhouse gases emitted during its production and combustion. Not to mention that it’s a fossil fuel, just like oil or coal.Another argument used to suggest that fracking gas is cleaner—and thus to promote it as a "transition fuel"—is that it produces fewer CO₂ emissions than other fossil fuels. This is a half-truth, as it fails to mention that the main component of natural gas is methane, a greenhouse gas whose global warming potential is much greater than that of CO₂.According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), methane’s global warming potential is approximately 82.5 times greater than that of CO₂ over a 20-year time horizon. This means that, despite emitting less CO₂ during combustion, fracking gas can have a climate impact equal to or even greater than that of other fossil fuels when methane emissions are taken into account.These emissions can occur both during planned events and as a result of leaks throughout the entire production and supply chain.Some studies estimate that methane leaks from unconventional gas operations—such as fracking—can reach up to 12% throughout the production and transportation chain, or that global leaks account for up to 5% of total gas production. Incompatibility with climate and human rights obligationsAs we have seen, fracking means greater dependence on fossil fuels and higher levels of polluting emissions. This not only undermines the argument that it is a "transition fuel," but also shows how this technique runs counter to countries’ international commitments regarding the climate crisis.The Paris Agreement, the most important binding global commitment to address the climate crisis, stipulates that countries must substantially reduce their greenhouse gas emissions—including CO₂ and methane—to limit the rise in global temperatures.How could a country justify that using a technique that involves generating more polluting emissions is consistent with its commitments to reduce them?Implementing fracking is also incompatible with States’ obligation to protect the human right to a healthy environment, especially in light of the impacts of the climate crisis. This principle was established in Advisory Opinion OC-32/25 of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, which reinforced States' obligation to adopt measures to protect the climate system and the human rights of both present and future generations.At this time, when various countries in the region are considering launching or expanding fracking activities, it is essential that discussions not be limited to technical analyses, but rather address the environmental, climate, and human rights dimensions of these activities in light of the countries’ international commitments.So that narratives attempting to portray fracking as a step toward the transition do not obscure the fact that, in reality, it is an anchor that keeps us tied to our dependence on fossil fuels. Learn more about the impacts of fracking and the actions being taken to curb its expansion.
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