Project
Preserving the legacy of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, Heart of the World
Rising abruptly from Colombia’s Caribbean coast, the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta reaches 5,775 meters (18,946 ft.) at its highest points, the peaks of Bolívar and Colón. It is the highest coastal mountain system in the world, a place where indigenous knowledge and nature’s own wisdom converge.
The sheer changes in elevation create a wide variety of ecosystems within a small area, where the diversity of plant and animal life creates a unique exuberant region. The melting snows of the highest peaks form rivers and lakes, whose freshwater flows down steep slopes to the tropical sea at the base of the mountains.
The indigenous Arhuaco, Kogi, Wiwa, and Kankuamo people protect and care for this natural treasure with an authority they have inherited from their ancestors. According to their worldview the land is sacred and shared in divine communion between humans, animals, plants, rivers, mountains, and the spirts of their ancestors.
Despite this ancestral inheritance, development projects proposed for the region have failed to take the opinions of these indigenous groups into consideration. The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta is currently threatened by 251 mineral concessions, hydroelectric projects, agriculture, urban sprawl, and infrastructure projects.
Many of these concessions were granted without the prior consultation of the indigenous communities, which represents a persistent and systematic violation of their rights.
Mining, which implies the contamination and erosion of watersheds, threatens the health of more than 30 rivers that flow out of the Sierra; these are the water sources of the departments of Magdalena, César, and La Guajira.
These threats have brought this natural paradise to the brink of no return. With it, would go the traditional lives of its indigenous inhabitants, who are dependent on the health of their land and the sacred sites it contains.
The Sierra hosts the archaeological site of la Ciudad Perdida, the Lost City, known as Teyuna, the cradle of Tayrona civilization. According to tradition, it is the source from which all nature was born—the living heart of the world.
The four guardian cultures of the Sierra are uninterested in allowing this natural and cultural legacy to disappear.
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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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